PVC IV

As I write this morning, I'm sitting on the train on my way to work. A three-month temp position has now lasted a full year, and a couple of weeks ago I got promoted to Supervisor. I'm now one of two people in charge of a staff of thirty, taking the busy work off the hands of the permanent employees and making sure it gets done by my team. I evaluate what needs doing, who on the staff can do it best, train them in the task, and take it back ensuring their accuracy before I pass it on. It's odd, because I'm so used to doing work that I feel like I'm not actually getting anything done during the day. It's odd because I haven't worked less than 60 hours per week for the last month, but I can't point to a task I've personally accomplished.

My hours at the bar have been significantly cut because of this position, but now that the Cubs are out of the playoffs again, it won't much matter until next season. In the meantime I'm still a beer vendor at Soldier Field during Bears home games, and I may or may not pick up my winter bartending position I had last year.

I'm finally making enough money that I feel comfortable doing some things for myself—I can go out for a few drinks, out to dinner, and not sweat over making rent. I have to remember to buy my tickets for Video Games Live coming to the Chicago Theatre in November, and I just this week signed up at a dojo that teaches Aikido, Systema, and sword-fighting.

My hair has grown past my shoulders (someday I'll update some pictures), so I need a trim before finding someone to take new headshots before I begin to apply for graduate school once more. As much as I love living here and the opportunities this town has provided me, a year from now the template that provides a backdrop for my life may look as different by contrast as it does from now to a year ago, or from then to the year before that.

Nonetheless, the more I get ahead, the more I feel like I'm behind. Finally moving toward my life and my goals has served to show me exactly how far away they are. Fortunately, I'm past the part where I'm walking on flat ground and I'm past the part where I'm sprinting up a steep slope. Now I'm to the part of the climb where I have to use my hands, be more diligent than ever as I strive for the top. A slip now could cost me more than I've gained, and reclaiming the difference won't be as satisfying the second time around. The handholds are smaller, but my grip is stronger. The risks are greater, but the rewards are immeasurable. Best of all, the peak has never been so close, and the sky is beginning to fill my vision.

Also, I apparently miss rock climbing.

It occurred to me recently that I've completely given up wishing for things. I used to wish all the time; at 11:11, while knocking on wood, or upon finding a penny on the ground. Finally, I grew to acknowledge and accept that the life I want isn't going to find me. The world is too big for that, too full of people ferociously grabbing up opportunities for me to catch one that happens to be floating by.

The world needs my help to get me what I want.

I've got to stretch out my arms and extend my legs, lift myself off the couch and push out into the street, run and jump and make my presence known to everyone who has what I want. I have to become the obvious to the oblivious. Only then will it find me. And it will find me not merely waiting and hoping, but standing victorious at the end of a cord of accomplishments, ready to cross the threshold into a realm of challenges both great and imperceptible.

One day at a time. All is well, and all is well, and all manner of things will be well.