You can only start all over when you leave the old behind.
By suddenly renaming something the Old, that for years had been the Present - my job, it feels like my life turned upside down. My job had determined who I was over the last few years. I committed my time, energy and love to a place, the people, the work. When I told strangers about my job, I also told them about me.
Of course, not everyone sees it that way. People have jobs that don't say a thing about what they like or find important in life. People who work at IKEA don't necessarily like to arrange or build things or love Scandinavia. But in my case, by leaving my job, I now don't belong there anymore, I'm not a part of a place that felt like home for such a long time.
There's no better way to separate the New from the Old than leaving. In this case by traveling to the other side of the world for a few weeks (which lead to envy from people at home who have to work and to pity from other travelers who are on the road for months).
The problem with traveling though, is that you are constantly determining your identity. The first things people ask when you meet them are: who are you and what do you do? I still have to get used to talk about my new occupation, and I always feel a little insecure when I tell them. But it is a relief to see that no-one questions me and everyone just accepts it when I tell them.
They already believe me. Now I have to start believing it.
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
Rituals
People love rituals. We are creatures of habit, who like to know what is coming, so we can live our lives quietly and without any hassle. Everything that disrupts the ordinary has to be normalized as quickly as possible, because we want to feel safe.
When you want to start again, you need to change your rituals and habits. You have to break with existing patterns, to make place for new ones. Resigning your job means that work rituals will disappear: snoozing in the morning, getting a coffee when you arrive at the office, incoming emails that will determine your work, time ticking away too slow, but more often too fast so it's too late for lunch and almost time to go home, chats with your colleagues about life after work. A new job will replace some of the stress. because even though the coffee cups and your lunch buddies will look different, the snoozing and chats will probably still be a part of your life.
Without having a new job, without lunch buddies or coffee in the morning, your new life feels like a huge black hole of unknown depths. Sure, you can make yourself a coffee at home, you can have lunch with potential partners and force yourself to start snoozing early in the morning. But facing the unknown nature of your work, which only gradually will become clear, goes against all human behaviour.
It's frightening not to know what is going to happen over the coming months and eventually years.
I regularly feel like I'm jumping into a pool of icecold water, that takes my breath away. It's like that typical sauna feeling when every fiber in your body cries out: WHY? Why jump into this bath, when we were having such a great time in the eucalyptus scented heat? But you know, while the fibers in your body keep shouting at you, that although the heat was indeed lovely and safe, once you'll climb out that cold bath, those little screaming fibers will start purring like kittens because the next feeling will be so much better than if you hadn't jumped.
So whenever I am mentally catching my breath in the cold, I imagine the wonderful feeling that will come next, and I try to be confident that everything will turn out right. The lack of rituals can only mean that there are endless possibilities and anything that will happen might become a new ritual in time.
When you want to start again, you need to change your rituals and habits. You have to break with existing patterns, to make place for new ones. Resigning your job means that work rituals will disappear: snoozing in the morning, getting a coffee when you arrive at the office, incoming emails that will determine your work, time ticking away too slow, but more often too fast so it's too late for lunch and almost time to go home, chats with your colleagues about life after work. A new job will replace some of the stress. because even though the coffee cups and your lunch buddies will look different, the snoozing and chats will probably still be a part of your life.
Without having a new job, without lunch buddies or coffee in the morning, your new life feels like a huge black hole of unknown depths. Sure, you can make yourself a coffee at home, you can have lunch with potential partners and force yourself to start snoozing early in the morning. But facing the unknown nature of your work, which only gradually will become clear, goes against all human behaviour.
It's frightening not to know what is going to happen over the coming months and eventually years.
I regularly feel like I'm jumping into a pool of icecold water, that takes my breath away. It's like that typical sauna feeling when every fiber in your body cries out: WHY? Why jump into this bath, when we were having such a great time in the eucalyptus scented heat? But you know, while the fibers in your body keep shouting at you, that although the heat was indeed lovely and safe, once you'll climb out that cold bath, those little screaming fibers will start purring like kittens because the next feeling will be so much better than if you hadn't jumped.
So whenever I am mentally catching my breath in the cold, I imagine the wonderful feeling that will come next, and I try to be confident that everything will turn out right. The lack of rituals can only mean that there are endless possibilities and anything that will happen might become a new ritual in time.
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
Again
Once, I did this theatrecourse of a week, that was titled 'Again'. You had to repeat things, but each time like it was the first. So I jumped for half a day like I hadn't jumped before, and I had to sink to the ground and stand up again in slow motion for at least one and a half day. We were given a time frame (the duration of a song, five minutes starting now) and couldn't change our pace. It probably won't sound all that exciting, but I still have fond memories of that week. It was when I found out that there are numerous ways to do something that seems the same in a different way.
It feels like I'm starting over again. I'm not talking about the New Year and the twelve empty months that lie ahead and that I get to colour. Ten years ago, I graduated and got my first job. Slowly, I found my way: I found what I liked to do and what I didn't like so much. I had several temporary jobs untill I decided to err on the side of caution and take a 'real' job. And by a nice twist of fate, I got the job I knew would be mine when I applied for it.
Now, after working at this amazing place for six years, I choose the unsafe path and step into the unknown. I am going to try to do something I'm not so good at: to follow my heart. I am going to try to do the things I really want to do, but that actually scare me too much. And more and more, I am reminded of the course I did years ago and the fun I had finding new ways to go down and push myself up again. Whenever my daily panic attack hits me and I feel like jumping into a pool of icecold water, I try to focus on how I pushed myself up again. I guess it will be like that in real life too.
I will start again
It feels like I'm starting over again. I'm not talking about the New Year and the twelve empty months that lie ahead and that I get to colour. Ten years ago, I graduated and got my first job. Slowly, I found my way: I found what I liked to do and what I didn't like so much. I had several temporary jobs untill I decided to err on the side of caution and take a 'real' job. And by a nice twist of fate, I got the job I knew would be mine when I applied for it.
Now, after working at this amazing place for six years, I choose the unsafe path and step into the unknown. I am going to try to do something I'm not so good at: to follow my heart. I am going to try to do the things I really want to do, but that actually scare me too much. And more and more, I am reminded of the course I did years ago and the fun I had finding new ways to go down and push myself up again. Whenever my daily panic attack hits me and I feel like jumping into a pool of icecold water, I try to focus on how I pushed myself up again. I guess it will be like that in real life too.
I will start again
Sunday, October 7, 2012
New
October is Buy Nothing New month. An initiative that started in Australia, and now also has a Dutch version. The idea: not to buy anything new for a month (and enjoy what you already have). When I registered for the Challenge, which mainly means you promise to participate in exchange for tips and ideas, I was asked for my motivation. My answer: I think that this idea is already part of my lifestyle.
Maybe it's the books that I've read and the documentaries that I saw about the excessive use of stuff, raw materials and especially the impact on the environment, global warming, climate change. Maybe it's because I never really outgrown my student life. Anyway: I buy very little new stuff. My last major purchase by this horrible Swedish furniture company was about four years ago, when due to circumstances, I had to buy half of my furniture new. Only for the convenience - and not for the money - I dragged myself on a weekday through their shop to get my pre-selected couch and bookcases from the warehouse. After that, everything I bought for my house has been second hand stuff.
As far as my clothes go, I have limited myself to the closet space that I currently have (2 cabinets from that same Swedish company, bought when I moved to a bigger student room). This fits both my summer and winter collection, and there's only room for something new when something old goes out, which rarely happens. When I see something nice or beautiful, I always wonder if I really need it, which 9 out of 10 times results in not buying it. Because I really don't need it after all.
My big temptation are bookstores and shops that sell paper and paint. I can not go into a bookstore without buying a book. My solution: only going in to buy a present. That way, I can fulfill my need, without having another book at home. And once in a while, I let myself walk around a paper shop, where I can feel the different paper, and look at all the different patterns they have. Sometimes, I let myself buy some of them.
Since the beginning of this month, the only thing I've wanted to buy new is a frying pan. The one I have is crooked, which makes my food slide to one side when I'm cooking. But hey, as long as I stir enough, it's not a real problem.
I have decided a long time ago that I won't ever buy anything from the Swedish furniture company anymore. And so far, so good!
Maybe it's the books that I've read and the documentaries that I saw about the excessive use of stuff, raw materials and especially the impact on the environment, global warming, climate change. Maybe it's because I never really outgrown my student life. Anyway: I buy very little new stuff. My last major purchase by this horrible Swedish furniture company was about four years ago, when due to circumstances, I had to buy half of my furniture new. Only for the convenience - and not for the money - I dragged myself on a weekday through their shop to get my pre-selected couch and bookcases from the warehouse. After that, everything I bought for my house has been second hand stuff.
As far as my clothes go, I have limited myself to the closet space that I currently have (2 cabinets from that same Swedish company, bought when I moved to a bigger student room). This fits both my summer and winter collection, and there's only room for something new when something old goes out, which rarely happens. When I see something nice or beautiful, I always wonder if I really need it, which 9 out of 10 times results in not buying it. Because I really don't need it after all.
My big temptation are bookstores and shops that sell paper and paint. I can not go into a bookstore without buying a book. My solution: only going in to buy a present. That way, I can fulfill my need, without having another book at home. And once in a while, I let myself walk around a paper shop, where I can feel the different paper, and look at all the different patterns they have. Sometimes, I let myself buy some of them.
Since the beginning of this month, the only thing I've wanted to buy new is a frying pan. The one I have is crooked, which makes my food slide to one side when I'm cooking. But hey, as long as I stir enough, it's not a real problem.
I have decided a long time ago that I won't ever buy anything from the Swedish furniture company anymore. And so far, so good!
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Marina
Het is alweer een paar weken geleden, maar de beelden schieten nog steeds door mijn hoofd. Het enorme podium, de gekte van Defoe, die zich inleeft in het verhaal dat hij vertelt, terwijl de beelden naast en achter hem aan het publiek voorbij trekken, de strakke blik van Marina, wanneer ze haar moeder speelt en natuurlijk, natuurlijk, Antony, die in een prachtig gewaad letterlijk voor me stond waardoor de rest van Carre leek te verdwijnen en hij alleen voor mij zong.
Vooraf wist ik van de hype. Ik had gehoord over de run op kaarten, en besloot niet mee te doen. Ik kende die hele Abramovic niet echt, en voor zo'n bedrag hoefde ik haar ook niet te leren kennen. Tot de mogelijkheid zich voordeed om voor een dubbeltje op de eerste rang te zitten. En ik letterlijk voor het podium zat en het geweld aan beelden, teksten en muziek over me heen liet komen.
Toen begreep ik de hype die door Amsterdam zoemde. En na afloop wilde ik meer. Meer Marina, meer verhalen. Met dank aan Holland Doc kreeg ik meer. Profiel besteedde een hele aflevering aan haar project Meet the artiest, waarin ze drie maanden lang in Moma voor zich uit staarde, en keek naar de personen die tegenover haar plaats namen. Het verhaal kende ik, en ook de ontroering van de bezoekers. Maar ik begreep het niet. Pas toen ik haar zag, en haar performance, en de mensen die allen op hun eigen manier terug keken. Toen begreep ik het. En zat ik met tranen in mijn ogen naar de televisie te kijken. Sterker nog, ik huilde. Net als de mensen tegenover haar. Net als zijzelf soms.
Hoewel ik al weken mijn best doe om uit te zoeken wat het nou precies is dat zo ontroert, kom ik niet op de juiste beschrijving. Maar waarschijnlijk is het precies dat: er zijn geen woorden voor, en daarom ontroert het. Zo hoort kunst te zijn.
Monday, August 27, 2012
Train 2
On the second day, I'm having breakfast in the observation car. Opposite of me sits a man who first only throws me some looks but finally starts a conversation. When I tell him I'm from Amsterdam, he nods: "You all speak English in Denmark, right?" I nod too.
We talk about the surroundings, where he grew up in. Then, the blogger from last night joins us. He takes pictures of everything that can be seen. I try to help him and point out other photo moments.
Then a guy from New York joins us. He carries several cans with vegan food. The conversation switches to food and what is healthy to eat. The guy is a raw-follower, he only eats food that hasn't been heated over 40 degrees celsius. The man from Denver keeps repeating that humans are carnivores. "Cows eat gras, we eat cows, why not cut out the middle man," the Raw guy says. I keep quiet.
We start talking about cars, and all three guys find a mutual interest. The carnivore shows us pictures of his seven cars. Flashy colors, a lot of convertables and of course all made in America. One of the pictures is of a real American pick-up truck, taken from down below, with the Stars and Stripes waving over it. "A real American car, the American flag, taken on the fouth of July," he says, full of pride. I ask him if he's a patriot. "Very much," he answers. The Raw guy and the blogger look at all the pictures and keep saying: "that is so sick!". The carnivore looks up: "Is that something bad?" he asks.
The others tell him that it means it's very cool.
In one of the short breaks, I'm standing outside on the platform, catching some fresh air. Then, Ben starts talking to me. He is as high as my waist, has a crooked face and wears clothes that remind me of the Little House on the Prairie. He's from Pensilvania and is Amish. This is the first time he travels by himself to the west coast. Normally, his wife travels with him, but since their garden needs to be harvested these days, she decided to stay home this time. He tells me he wanted to talk to me on our way to Chicago, because he likes to talk to tourists. He and his wife even started a small B&B, to accommodate visitors to the Amish area. He talks about his family - he has six children - and his life style. " I love to meet people with different life styles, because I always learn new thugs," he says. I ask him how hard it is to hold on to their way of living, with all the new techniques forcing themselves into our society. He answers that he likes the piece and quiet. "I see all these people on th train using electronic devices. But I like looking outside and talk to people."
Later, I'm writing on my laptop when Ben passes me and gives me a friendly pad on my shoulder.
Then a guy from New York joins us. He carries several cans with vegan food. The conversation switches to food and what is healthy to eat. The guy is a raw-follower, he only eats food that hasn't been heated over 40 degrees celsius. The man from Denver keeps repeating that humans are carnivores. "Cows eat gras, we eat cows, why not cut out the middle man," the Raw guy says. I keep quiet.
We start talking about cars, and all three guys find a mutual interest. The carnivore shows us pictures of his seven cars. Flashy colors, a lot of convertables and of course all made in America. One of the pictures is of a real American pick-up truck, taken from down below, with the Stars and Stripes waving over it. "A real American car, the American flag, taken on the fouth of July," he says, full of pride. I ask him if he's a patriot. "Very much," he answers. The Raw guy and the blogger look at all the pictures and keep saying: "that is so sick!". The carnivore looks up: "Is that something bad?" he asks.
The others tell him that it means it's very cool.
In one of the short breaks, I'm standing outside on the platform, catching some fresh air. Then, Ben starts talking to me. He is as high as my waist, has a crooked face and wears clothes that remind me of the Little House on the Prairie. He's from Pensilvania and is Amish. This is the first time he travels by himself to the west coast. Normally, his wife travels with him, but since their garden needs to be harvested these days, she decided to stay home this time. He tells me he wanted to talk to me on our way to Chicago, because he likes to talk to tourists. He and his wife even started a small B&B, to accommodate visitors to the Amish area. He talks about his family - he has six children - and his life style. " I love to meet people with different life styles, because I always learn new thugs," he says. I ask him how hard it is to hold on to their way of living, with all the new techniques forcing themselves into our society. He answers that he likes the piece and quiet. "I see all these people on th train using electronic devices. But I like looking outside and talk to people."
Later, I'm writing on my laptop when Ben passes me and gives me a friendly pad on my shoulder.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Train
The guy who at first had put his bags in the chairs behind us, starts talking to us and says he wants to sit next to a nice girl. "You seem nice, but I think you'e a couple," he says to me and walks away. Ten minutes later, he reappears, moves his bags and sits in the chairs next to us. He starts to make phone calls. With two phones. At the same time. He's on his way to Oakland, to do some course. His name is Terrence.
In the observation car, which has big windows and relaxing couches, is Randy, who's wearing sunglasses both on his nose and on his forehead. He wears a black shirt which says in glitter letters I love Soho. He talks to everyone who sits near him about his adventure in some hotel where he got to stay for free and got a free breakfast on top of it, about his job as a truck driver and stand-up comedian and about his girl friend, who just left him but who he still loves so much. Then, he pulls out a pork shop out of a paper bag and starts eating it while starting up a new conversation with other people.
Opposite me, a guy with long hair is working like a madman on his laptop. Every three minutes, he grabs his camera to take pictures from the landscape. The train moves too fast, his pictures are moved. He pulls his hair and shakes his head. Then he disappears behind his computer again and starts writing on his blog.
One table further sits Alex, who just pulled up his shirt to show the dj who is also going to Burning Man and Randy his scars from Vietnam. They talk about the murder on Kennedy, Michelle Obama, the current political situation and the politics that kept the Bush family in power. Terrence joins the conversation and talks about his experiences in Iraq. He's been there five times.
Next to me, a nice looking, middle aged, couple sits down. They look at the guys in front of us and softy talk to each other. Then Randy walks up to them and starts talking. When he bursts out in a song, they quickly get up and give me a friendly nod while they leave. We have been traveling for an hour. Fifty two more to go.
In the observation car, which has big windows and relaxing couches, is Randy, who's wearing sunglasses both on his nose and on his forehead. He wears a black shirt which says in glitter letters I love Soho. He talks to everyone who sits near him about his adventure in some hotel where he got to stay for free and got a free breakfast on top of it, about his job as a truck driver and stand-up comedian and about his girl friend, who just left him but who he still loves so much. Then, he pulls out a pork shop out of a paper bag and starts eating it while starting up a new conversation with other people.
Opposite me, a guy with long hair is working like a madman on his laptop. Every three minutes, he grabs his camera to take pictures from the landscape. The train moves too fast, his pictures are moved. He pulls his hair and shakes his head. Then he disappears behind his computer again and starts writing on his blog.
One table further sits Alex, who just pulled up his shirt to show the dj who is also going to Burning Man and Randy his scars from Vietnam. They talk about the murder on Kennedy, Michelle Obama, the current political situation and the politics that kept the Bush family in power. Terrence joins the conversation and talks about his experiences in Iraq. He's been there five times.
Next to me, a nice looking, middle aged, couple sits down. They look at the guys in front of us and softy talk to each other. Then Randy walks up to them and starts talking. When he bursts out in a song, they quickly get up and give me a friendly nod while they leave. We have been traveling for an hour. Fifty two more to go.
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