Reinventing oneself in an uncertain economy: gratitude and grace with aside of biscuits and gravy

I've just accepted a second waitressing job.

Evolution is a powerful thing. Just a few months ago, I wrote about my job as a server with a certain amount of shame. I made sure to tell at least one of my tables on any given night that I was just "in transition" - that I had a master's degree and years of professional experience.

As if that means anything.

Our silly little egos. We must soothe them. We tell ourselves what we need to in order to make ourselves feel better.

The truth is, who am I not to be grateful for what I am, or what I have been, or what I have been given?

I've been a lot of things that might surprise you. I was once a telemarketer for a very large portrait studio chain. It was my first job. I called people, usually interrupting their dinner, to try to persuade them to buy portrait packages. I was 14. From then, a long line of job titles evolved, and not all of the titles are impressive: dishwasher, camp counselor, horse trainer, camel handler, zoo keeper, camp cook, landscaper, marketing associate, dog sled handler/guide, cashier, waitress, tutor, substitute teacher, adjunct professor, health educator, research associate, communications specialist, addiction and tobacco treatment specialist, and now...freelance writer/photographer/waitress.

I have lamented my fate in the job market over the last year, becoming more and more despondent  with each rejection letter. I've taken them personally even though I know in my heart those letters were simple form letters and not personal in any way. I've spent sleepless nights asking myself what am I doing wrong? I've read books on cover letter and resume writing, blogs on job market and interviewing skills, felt jealousy and anger at others who have comfortable, predictable salaries and savings accounts. I've scoured job search engines all over the Midwest, crafted cover letters that were conventional and not-so-much-so. I've cried, prayed and wished upon stars.

And all the while, I didn't realize a transformation was taking place inside of me.

I started becoming better at what I do best: following my creative heart. I started reinventing myself. I started saying thank you. I started to enjoy being a waitress almost as much as being a writer or photographer. Once, the two jobs intersected. I was called to photograph beautiful food at my friend's restaurant, and, the next thing I knew, I was waiting tables and serving IPA beers behind her bar!

A "Farmhand Burger" at the Farm Girls Pub & Grub in Alliance, Ohio

Cheryl Strayed said in Tiny Beautiful Things: Advice on Love and Life from Dear Sugar: “You don’t have a right to the cards you believe you should have been dealt with. You have an obligation to play the hell out of the ones you’re holding and my dear one, you and I have been granted a mighty generous one.”

I have been waiting: for the right time, the right job, the right moment when things will miraculously open up for me.  I've been sacrificing now waiting to relive then. Suddenly my mind has shifted, like a "forest for the trees." All we have is now. And, right now, I am a waitress. I am a writer. I am a photographer. And not one of those things is shameful or less important than the others. The best thing we can do in this life is to play the cards we are dealt.

And, to again quote Cheryl Strayed, “The best thing you can possibly do with your life is to tackle the motherf*%king shit out of it.”

Indeed.

Mimosas and martinis: the fine madness of waiting tables

Rejection letters always start off the same. Thank you for your interest. After careful consideration, we've chosen another candidate. blah blah blah blah.

My "stack" - rejection letters

I've started a small collection of rejection letters. Some may say this is masochistic. I thought so, too, when I'd heard of people saving rejection letters in the past. A friend once saved every rejection letter he'd received from the literary journals he'd submitted work to.

Each letter (and a lot of them are electronic, so I don't have hard copies) is a reminder of something I wanted, something I invested and believed in. And, I have to believe that with each rejection comes the possibility of honing my skills, building character, an opportunity to adapt and add grace to my life.

I started waiting tables two weeks ago, and so far, here's what I know: it's a hella more difficult to wait tables at 40 than it was at 25. But, I walked in on a Monday to fill out an application, and walked back into the same restaurant on Wednesday ready to serve. It's a fairly swanky, one-of-a-kind local place where people order mimosas with Sunday brunch and martinis with Porterhouse steaks.

Here's what else I know: you have to be willing. When you are willing, opportunities present themselves. 

Author Cheryl Strayed said in Tiny Beautiful Things: Advice on Love and Life from Dear Sugar, “Most things will be okay eventually, but not everything will be. Sometimes you'll put up a good fight and lose. Sometimes you'll hold on really hard and realize there is no choice but to let go. Acceptance is a small, quiet room.”

My small quiet room is a bustling room of mimosas and martinis, of chicken marsalas and porterhouse steaks, of American Express and Visa. And every day I'm hustling.

For whatever reason, this is what presented itself to me at this time. I've chosen to embrace it with love and as much grace as I can muster. I have to believe there is a method to the madness.

I'm lying on my hammock half dozing, lulled by a warm breeze that sways the hammock gently from side to side. Above me, tiny buds emerge from the small stand of dogwood trees that support the hammock cradling me; beyond the branches, the sky is a delicious azure. Bald eagles screech and  red-winged black birds call from trees surrounding the Ranch's seven acres.

I am savoring this day off and have vowed to stay off my feet -- and outside -- as much as possible. I've curled up with a copy of Kathleen Norris's The Cloister Walk,  which seems perfect.

I open the book to a random page, and find this:

“Prayer is not asking for what you think you want, but asking to be changed in ways you can't imagine.”

Amen. 

Thanks to my friend Jim for recommending The Cloister Walk.