When I love, I love with every thing I have.
When I work, I work with 110 percent of my perfectionism.
When I care about something, I care and don't look back.
When I believe in something, I can't hardly be disuaded.
When I serve, I serve well.
When I'm having fun, watch out world.
When I'm mad, I'm mad. And in the words of Terri Clark, I just wanna be mad for awhile. The good news is it takes a lot to push me to that point, which is why some people reading this have never seen me there.
But I'm totally there - I have been all day and like the proverbial "root of bitterness," this anger in my soul has not left me, which makes me wonder what is your problem?
I was falsely accused today of two things in a managerial error of generalized accusations.
It was one thing (along with lying and outright disobedience) that Mom did not tolerate when we were growing up. It was one thing that hurt me growing up as much as it pissed me off today. I think because it's the dichotomy of the pursuit of truth that I've devoted my life to. Find the truth and expose it.
Plus, the accusations just insulted me and my work ethic.
My anger goes something like this:
1) the initial incident
2) the incident marinates in my mind for a little while
3) I realize how unjust the incident was
4) I want to prove my point
As soon as I feel the anger start building, I know I have to RUN ten steps backward or I will say/do something I will regret. And I refuse to let that happen. In a situation where I or someone else has been wronged, I struggle to keep my emotions in tact long enough to wait for a logical method of handling the incident. But I do.
Today I was driving home crying. Angry tears. Angry sobs that choked up and threatened to make me pull over.
Why am I so bitterly angry about this, I cried in my soul.
The more I realized about myself, the more I wanted to scream-cry.
I realized that I was stooping to someone else's level of what they deemed important and it was a far cry from what has been important in my life. Their drama had become mine and it was a scene I did not want any part of.
I'm used to driving home from work with real issues on my mind. Issues like a girl having her head blown off in a ditch with a high-powered rifle. Issues like a kid being stabbed on their way to school....talking to people who don't know where their next meal will come from....politicans' promises....the layoff of 1,000 people in two days....the local pitbull fighting ring....and on and on and on and on the stories can go.
What have I traded that life for?
I don't know.
But I miss it. I miss it terribly.
More then anything, I miss not making a difference (and here come the tears again.)
figuring out the name of the victim before the police had and gaining instant access to an investigator because of it
50 people showing up to volunteer at the food pantry because they read my story about the starving and homeless in our county
casually talking to politicians in my office and then later holding them to their promises - but didn't you say that????
rolling out of bed to a phone call of "get your ass at the high school - there's been a stabbing"
holding the county finances responsible to the public
not being able to straighten my hair because the mine just laid off 1,000 people and I've got to get there
touring ranches on my days "off"
the office at 1 a.m., my eyes burning but my heart proud because we were going to turn out a damn good paper the next day
the truth and the pursuit of it.
Tears flooded my eyes when I realized that a lot of my anger stemmed from the fact that I feel like a loser. A loser for letting the mistake of someone less experienced and less mature then me get to me that bad. A loser for putting myself in that position. A loser.
I recently applied for a(-nother) job at a newspaper. (and just noticed a typo in the e-mail I sent...probably won't get called back on that resume!)
In my cover letter, I wrote:
It’s been almost four months since I’ve written and/or edited copy and I miss it. Some people live their whole lives never knowing what they want to be when they grow up. I consider myself fortunate to not only know that I am and will always be a journalist but to go to work every day loving what I do.
Corny and sentimental, I know. But so true. I have never once doubted my calling as a journalist and the day I do is the day I look for something else to do.
Me, in true optimist unangry form, consider this: at least now I know how miserable people are who work at a job they don't like. I pity them.
Yet I am thankful.
I'm thankful that I do have a calling, that I know what it is, that I know it makes me "tick" and that I sure as hell am counting down the days to when I can walk in that again.