honesty

As optimistic and hopeful as my last post was, life isn't all sunshine and rainbows.

Life is also the gritty messy bits, too.

Life is the gritty messy bits.

Today has been an extraordinarily difficult day.

I can't pinpoint exactly how or when it crept in, but I have been absolutely flattened by homesickness for Nigeria this evening. I'm a mess right now. Lots of tears. It's not the missing phenomenon, either. "I miss..." would be an impossible fill-in-the-blank at this moment.

It's so hard to put words to this! I don't have the vocabulary for the emptiness I feel. I'm angry and I don't know why, and I don't think it's fair to be angry, and I don't know where to direct my anger: myself? I chose this. I chose to leave.

It's just this; as in, this is all there is:

I don't feel comfortable in my own skin right now, and I just want to go home.

goalsetting

Today's pennyworth wisdom: Know what you want out of life.

If for no other reason but that someday an important person on the other side of a mahogany desk may just ask you, Where do you see yourself in 5 years? or What's your ideal career path--where do you want to end up?

I've been thinking a lot about this very concept, and even though this might not be my go-to answer in an interview, this is really what I want my life to look like in the next few years:

1. I want to get a full-time job. Something with benefits. Doesn't have to rock my world. Does need to be steady income.
2. I want to get my own place. I'm content renting. A studio is fine. And I think I want to live alone.
3. After those two things happen, I think I'll get a Netflix subscription or maybe a puppy. I've always wanted a yellow lab. Okay, maybe not in a studio apartment, but I can dream.
4. I want to find my passion. I hope it will be a cross between writing and bettering mankind, but I don't want to set the bar too high.

Wait a minute, you know what? It's my passion. My dreams. I don't think the bar can be too high there. I mean, it's not like I'm hoping to become a pop star. It's writing to change lives. Still within the realm of possibility. Maybe we'll classify it under "high hopes."

If there was a number 5, it would be optional. But if this was a theoretical universe where 5 did exist, number 5 would be a man. As it is, 5 is optional. Because #1-4 are definitely possible without the theoretical number 5.

Check that: I just discussed my job search, my life goals, and my relationship status in the same post. I'm getting good at this.

you can laugh...

The fundamental rule to embarrassing moments is that as long as they happen to somebody else, they're hilarious.

As long as they happen to somebody else.

Not today, my friends.

This afternoon I switched phones. The Samsung Sway I purchased last summer ended up being a major disappointment. (Clearly, I hadn't anticipated moving to Nigeria when I upgraded.) I would not advise you to ever purchase this model - the battery lasts less than 24 hours, even when not in use and the screen rarely functions. And this is after being turned off for 10 months while I was overseas.

Right, so I switched phones, back to the one I used in college. It contains most of my contacts anyways, and while it's not cool-looking, at least I can read the screen when someone calls me.

The phone also contained all texts sent and received from last summer before I left for Africa. Instead of just deleting all the messages like a smart person, I re-read and deleted each one individually. Like a not-smart person.

And then somewhere in that process, I resent a couple of those messages. Accidentally. Messages from a year ago. Messages that don't mean anything anymore. Messages to the guy I dated last summer. Messages to the guy I'm no longer dating, but whom I was dating when I first sent those messages.

Oh. My. Gosh.

Also, oops.

Also, my bad/sorry.

Also, that's embarrassing.

See? This is why technology complicates our lives. This is why cell phones suck and I'm a terrible texter. Because apparently I'm also a re-texter.

who am i?

I don't know what happened. I don't know what snapped, or clicked, or popped, or [insert onomatopoeia here].

I have become a person I know not of.

I'm talking about that moment where you finally begin to process that you have, indeed, left childhood. That you are, unbelievably, an adult. No qualifiers, no "to an extent", no "occasionally" or "sometimes." You just know: this is what adults do, and I'm one of them.

It did not happen when my student loans came due. It did not happen when I realized I can pay off my car loan (hooray!). It did not happen when I bought a shirt whose tag reads "Dry Clean Only."

We're getting warmer, though.

Because it did happen in my room. Yes, my friends. The moment I realized I'd become an adult occurred right here in the space that is all mine (save for the family's ironing board in the corner).

I have somehow become a person who makes her bed. Who puts things in drawers...and not just any drawer - no, no...the right one. I'm a person with a file box that functions perfectly. I hang my clothes facing the same direction, I iron my skirts, and I keep all my African clothes together in a hanging shelf system.

I pick up my room each night before bed because I don't enjoy blindly navigating the mine field of throw pillows, high heels, purses, dirty clothes, and the occasional book first thing in the morning.

Who am I?

The fun answer is "my mother's daughter." Because the truth is that I become more like my mom every day I move around on this planet.

But the truer answer to that question is that I'm just growing up. I'm putting childish things behind me, and finding new ways to take control of my own life. It starts with dry-clean only dress shirts, and the next thing you know, it'll be a job.

Oh come on... you didn't actually think I could write a post with no mention of my job search, did you?

lessons learned

I'm learning some really important things about myself in this time of joblessness (also called funemployment). Which is why I'm choosing to not only endure, but to thrive on this season. There are lessons to be learned here. If I'm too busy craning my neck, waiting for my train to come in, I'm going to miss something crucial.

1. I am probably not suit-and-tie material. I could be coerced, convinced, or transformed to be that, but it's not my preference. And I'm not just talking fashion here. I'm talking about the whole philosophy behind corporate. As much as I may dream about being a yuppy, it's not in my nature.

2. The type of writing I desire is not hard-hitting sales writing. I am creative person, but I'm a people person, too. I don't want to write anything if it can't make a difference in someone else's life...and selling them a product doesn't quite equal "making a difference."

3. I want to work for something I can get behind--something bigger than me. I never want to apologize for what I do or who I work for. I never want to be embarrassed to be associated with a particular organization. Which is great on one hand, because it means that I'm going to be an invested employee. It's also not so great, because it means that my employer has to actually stand for something. Something other than profit.

4. Searching for a first job is not the time to cling to ideals. Regardless of lessons 1-3, I need to learn this one thoroughly. The job I take will likely not be the job I keep until I retire, and that's okay. I can do anything for a year (see: previous 10 months). I can be suit-and-tie, I can write with a sales bent, and I can work for a corporation who is only interested in stock market success. I can do that. And I will. Because the most important lesson I've learned in the last month is this:

5. I will do what I have to do today so that one day I can do what I want to do.

an open letter to CareerBuilder.com

Dear CareerBuilder,

I've been coming to you for advice and recommendations for a good year and a half now. You're straightforward and easy-to-use and I appreciate that. You even send me recommendations every Monday, which is very proactive.

But after reading today's recommendations email, do you know what I realized?

You don't know me at all. This whole relationship is a sham, and no amount of advanced searching is going to correct the image of me you've built up in your head.

It's not just the recommendations; oh, no. It's also your name. Your name is misleading. Am I the builder of my career? Are you giving me the building blocks with which to build my career? Are you the builder? If you are the builder, we need to talk because I think you're trying to build me a career in education, based out of Boston, with the option for up to 50% travel.

What kind of entry-level educator travels up to half the time?!

So, my dear CareerBuilder, today I am frustrated with you. I narrowed my search terms and got you down to 15 pages of jobs in Minnesota with the keywords "writing" and "communications." We're getting there.

I'll stick around and hope something good comes along, but the small voice in my head reminds me that only 3% of positions hired are a result of online job boards. It's not looking good, CareerBuilder.

Love,
Maggie

funemployment

There is no such thing as funemployment.

Being unemployed is not fun. It feels wrong on a cosmic level. As in, I have a brain, two hands and two feet, and a winning smile...I should be working!

I mean, maybe one would enjoy waking up after 9am, doing some dishes & laundry, going for a run, reading, and spending time with friends. And I would admit, those are all really wonderful things in moderation.

The fact that this is the soundtrack of my life right now is not glamorous. Or exciting. Or luxurious. And definitely not fun.

My aversion to unemployment runs deep. This is the first time I've been without a job (or fulltime school) since 8th grade. I've been working in some capacity for 10 years! And I do not like not working! It makes me feel purposeless and unproductive.

However, being unemployed gives me the freedom to do the things I want to do, and what I want to do is invest in people. And I get to do a lot of that right now.

coloring with my favorite little guy
(courtesy Amanda P.)

celebrating important moments
(courtesy Meredith M.)

So as disorienting as being out of work is, I'm grateful for this time to pour my energies into the people I love.

And go on interviews. I'm doing a lot of that, too.

365 days of life

Exactly one year ago today, I accepted the offer to teach Literature in Nigeria.

I had only an inclination of how my life would change. And today, 365 days later, I feel I am a more complete me. I wouldn't have changed anything.


In an ironic twist of fate (but really just because of Delta's flight cancellations), Mrs. O and Mercy were in Minneapolis last night on their way to see family in North Dakota. I was able to introduce my two "families" to each other, which was incredibly meaningful and profound.

Kind of makes me want to go back. Kind of.

on just saying hello

In keeping with my promise (warning?) that I will use this space to process my new Nigerian consciousness, today I need to revisit culture shock. Actually, it's less "shock" and more "longing."

I find myself grieving the loss of Nigerian culture, and while that is about as blanket as a blanket statement can get, it's tough for me to be specific. This is mostly because I miss everything.

However, I think I've finally pinpointed what I miss most, and it's so small and insignificant, but so profound to me. I hope in explaining it, it can be profound to you, too.

I miss the greetings most.

The greeting phenomenon was my very first cultural lesson in Nigeria, and consequently, one of my very first blog posts. You can read about it here.

The basic summary is that in Nigeria, you greet everyone: friends, family, flatmates, classmates, supervisors, security guards, fruit sellers in the market, people younger than you, and most assuredly people older than you. You may very well greet the same person several times a day, but you must greet them every time you see them.

It requires effort and courtesy. You must be aware of the time of day to alter your greeting from "Good morning" to "Good afternoon." And you ought to have an inclination of the age of the person you are greeting, so as to show deference as applicable: "Good morning" to a child, and "Good morning, sir" to a male elder ("Good morning, ma" to a female elder; "ma" means "ma'am").

I was never great at estimating ages. A dear friend had to remind me once not to call young women "ma" because I was most likely their elder. That was difficult for me - in my efforts to not offend these gracious people, I just called everyone "ma" or "sir"!

Having learned the greeting culture so thoroughly and becoming so adapted to it, you can imagine how difficult it was for me to arrive back in the States, where it is permissible to pass someone in the hallway, on the sidewalk, etc. and not greet them. Or worse: saying good morning to someone, then passing them just a few minutes later and ignoring them completely because after all, you've already said good morning! See the difference?!

And this is not to say that Americans are hateful people, because we are products of our culture and that's the culture we live in. But in Nigeria, I always felt that the culture reinforced the concept that everyone you meet, even a stranger, matters.

I've probably had too much time to unpack the whole concept, but to me, greeting says this:

You are another human sharing the space I occupy on this earth, which makes you important. When I greet you, I show that I see you. I acknowledge your presence as I respect that I am part of your space, too. Greeting you is my small-small way of recognizing that I need you as you need me, and as we breathe the same air, we appreciate each other.

Okay, so that's very dramatic and exaggerated, but that's the concept: Everybody matters. The woman pushing her cart through the aisles at the store matters. The important-looking businessman walking down the street matters. The small child on the corner matters. (And those are just images I recall from Nigeria.)

Thus, I greet everyone here. I greet the teenager at the Target checkout and I delight when he raises his eyebrows, surprised, and says, "Well good afternoon to you, too!" I repeat my greeting when the waitress does not acknowledge it and cringe a little when she finally responds with "Yeah, okay, hello."

So when I say things like "Good morning, how are you?" or "How was your night?" or even "Can I help?" it's just my way of reminding you that you matter.

when my childhood resurfaces

This is the face of a woman who has just hit rock bottom.

For her sake, I hope this is the worst it gets.

In case you live in a cave, or don't own a TV, or don't regularly follow the court proceedings of Los Angeles, let me fill you in: Lindsay Lohan was just sentenced to 90 days in prison for probation-related offenses. Her rap sheet includes numerous car accidents, drunk driving, and drug abuse.

The Lindsay Lohan pictured above is a stranger to me. This is the Lindsay Lohan I knew, the one I remember:


My relationship with Lindsay was certainly strange. It was weighted down with all the implications of childhood, and acting, and growing up too fast. We first met during the screen testing process for Parent Trap (see above).

I suppose I saw her as some kind of novelty. I'd never met an 11-year-old who could demand money from her parents and actually get it.

After screen testing in June, Lindsay was cast as the dual lead, and I called her at her home in Long Island to congratulate her. She began filming that summer, and I caught up with her in September for my filming segment.

I suppose I saw her then as someone already bewitched by Hollywood. She didn't interact with me except on camera. She had her own set teacher, her own trailer, her own schedule. I wasn't jealous. I just didn't know who she was; maybe I hadn't ever.

My family and I followed Lindsay on her road to stardom, and back down again. With every TMZ report, every news feature, every Google image hit, I've hoped that Lindsay would take stock of her life before she ran out of options.

Methinks the next 90 days will be time enough for stock-taking.

In the meantime, I'll remember better days. And pray she finds what she's looking for.

you're welcome

After a marvelous absence from this blog, this continent, and this past year, I'm back.

[If you missed it, I've been over at MaggieInNigeria.blogspot.com. No, literally, I've been over in Nigeria.]

Armed with new memories, new experiences, and a fresh perspective, I'm going to write through the process of merging two cultures; or rather, I'm going to find space for both in my life.

As we say in Nigeria, you're welcome here.