Dreams and the Day Job

For those in that position…

Does everyone, as a child, imagine what they will be like when they grow up? What they will look like as a working person, doing something? Or even not only as a child, but at different times. So often “Who do I want to be?” equals “What do I want to do?” Which is naturaI, because also through doing you become more of your own person.

Plus, how else does it work?

(Or you do things for a while and then realize you don’t really know anything, nor will you know EVERYTHING FOREVER AND RIGHT NOW, but you know enough for this moment and that’s fine.)

In your mind, especially in your teens, when you’re not a kid anymore, but also not an adult with some quantity of experiences and years allowing you to look back, gain perspective, you end up planning it all out in your head. This is the dream, this is what I can do to get there, here’s the research. Sometimes it’s more a list of questions than a plan, in varying internal tones of seriousness or worry. You might set yourself time frames, because not only are you extremely eager and ready, as you think, to get where you want, you also want to get out of wherever you are now.

Through various circumstances relating to the practicalities of life, geography, relocation, money, concentrating on an education and those first part-time jobs, just to name a few factors, and work, work, work to know as much as possible about what sets what YOU want to do apart, that time plan, those earlier images might be somewhat different in reality.

But are they? OK, maybe getting that degree took longer, but you wanted it and you had a lot of support while you were at it. Maybe you met your best friend during those few years. Maybe that first internship that wasn’t directly connected to writing, in the beginning, was the first foray into working in a medium that would turn out to accompany you for the next four years in various (very educational) internships before you landed the day job. Maybe you learned a lot of other things (the workings of an office universe) before that first internship led to a lengthy translating and writing stint in two languages you originally didn’t expect to work in, or even imagine you’d have fun with. Maybe that other assignment at that next job that friends don’t believe you about when you tell them now taught you how to concentrate on getting the job done correctly no matter the subject matter.

Having a day job and being a creative person have been two elements perfectly capable of combination for centuries, even if it’s sometimes a challenge. It doesn’t hurt the dream to have a framework of stability and it certainly helps it grow. I’d say it even feeds it and there are so many conclusions, discussions, thoughts, ideas I may not have arrived at for those joyful creative hours otherwise. All of that makes what I create more relatable, at least to me, which is where it all starts anyway. In turn, the creativity feeds the day job and prevents me from taking myself too seriously, or helps during difficult moments, by just mentally stepping away and thinking for a moment, “This could be good for a story or a blog post.” Whatever it is doesn’t always end up in a story or blog post. Sometimes it ends up on a spoon tucked into an evening bowl of ice cream, but that’s not so bad, either.

So maybe the packaging is different, but the contents are the same. There isn’t just one way to do things anymore.

Or, as my mother says, don’t overanalyze and go for it.

Hamburg in the Time of Corona: Diary Note #2

“Get out of your comfort zone! Do something this weekend that you’re too lazy to do or that you don’t trust yourself to do.” This was the energetic suggestion, in German, on the tear-off calendar a lovely friend gave me. The thing has 365 ideas for 2020. Since March, I’ve smiled at some of them, sighed wistfully at others and filed away a few in hopes of a future where it might be possible to do more again.

I’d say we’re very fortunate in Hamburg with the freedom we do have, knock on wood, and even if it isn’t always easy, especially mentally and emotionally, I’m prepared to wait things out and follow social distancing rules if they are prolonged. Like many, I hope we won’t have to wait too long, though at the same time it’s just not possible to predict. Still, it seems a small price to pay for not only reaching a point where no new corona infections are reported, but to be able to hug loved ones.

I don’t know if the comfort zone exists any more, these days at least. But doing things I haven’t trusted myself to do for a long time? Heck yeah, where do I start? Maybe I should get on the bus again? On the subway? Push it and pass two stops instead of one? Touch a door handle with my bare hands? Stop repeating to colleagues and friends that I’ve “just washed my hands” if I give them something?

To be honest, while I’ve stopped feeling scared and exposed when going grocery shopping, the process is still plenty outside of my comfort zone, enhanced by the mask element, though I occasionally forget and just wear it on autopilot. The thing is, what I don’t trust myself to do now are things I used to do before, they just have to wait due to external circumstances. At least I don’t go, “Wow, real people!” anymore when I go outside. Progress.

If All the Clichés about Russia and Siberia Were True…

…then I guess this is what my memoir would read like.

It was dark most of the time growing up. Winters started in September and lasted well into May, though that’s actually just a lie we tell foreigners since they seem to think individual seasons have a beginning and an end. Weirdos. In reality, it’s winter all the time.

The snow just piles up year after year, but it’s good that there’s so much of it, because then we can go outside, fill up our buckets and basins with it, or, if you’re lucky, maybe a baby tub currently not in use. It’s a group job, as well as a nice occasion to bond with neighbors (if there are any around) and family members. Though I wish Uncle Vanya wouldn’t come with. One ear of his shapka is dangling by a thread and you can smell the Stolichnaya on his breath when he lets out that laugh of his. Only the best for Uncle Vanya. One time he fell into the tub of snow he’d just filled, face first. We got him out, but had to dump out all the snow and start afresh.

The snow is really clean, because we live in the forest. There’s just forest everywhere. I mean, just taiga, to be completely honest. So there’s plenty of space for everyone, but that’s why you might not have neighbors, at least not nearby. We found ours entirely by chance, and then marked the trees on the way with our pocket knives, so we would be able to navigate the path and visit each other. Walking is possible, but skiing is best.

I got sidetracked. We collect the snow for water. Depending on how warm it is in the house that my parents built before I was born, it’ll either melt quickly by itself or we dump it all in the enormous cauldron in the kitchen. We have running water, but it needs to be used sparingly. The pipes burst every now and again, but that’s OK, because there’s always enough snow.

The town isn’t far away and we can go there for supplies, but we really prefer the forest. The few hours of daylight are sufficient for jaunts into the outside world or errands, and the rest of the time we eat, read, stream stuff and sleep. Yes, we do have internet, who do you think we are, cavemen? How would we get stuff delivered, otherwise? As to how the postman finds us, his problem. Never asked.

In the evenings we often sit by candlelight at the table after dinner, singing Russian folk songs. Kalinka always gets me going and then everyone starts dancing (we have a big family), so we go to bed after 2 in the morning, though it doesn’t matter, because it’s already been dark for 12 hours before that. Thankfully, Uncle Vanya is forbidden from coming over to dinner and my parents still haven’t told me why.

I’ve yet to meet a polar bear. I thought I saw one once when Sasha and I, the neighbors’ son, wandered off somewhere, but it was hard to tell because of all the snow. We did hear some growling and ran off fast. Well, Sasha ran off, then he discovered I wasn’t running with him, because I was wearing my high-heeled boots and red miniskirt, so I was kind of prancing after him. He did come back to help me, tried to carry me on his back, even, but then he said I was too heavy and that I should lay off the potato pies. The next day I threw the matryoshka he gave me for my birthday out the window when he came by. It him him on the forehead. He kept bleating outside, “But come on, nuuuu, shto, davai, kotik…”

He can bleat all he wants, I’m already looking for a middle-aged American millionaire online. Sasha is shouting something about a (Siberian) tiger outside, but I’m too busy.

 

Things You Tell Yourself in Your Thirties

Oh, glorious time…

Well, that’s one of the things you tell yourself, definitely. Love that movie! And it is a glorious time, like any other decade is special for its own reasons. Some other things popping into your head might be the following…

Hey, wait, I DON’T have to listen to this BS anymore!

What a load of crap, I’m outta here.

What. A. Jerk.

**** it.

Have money, will travel.

Don’t have money, will go on a day trip.

Will save money!

DANCEFLOOR!

It was never my fault.

Still gotta do the laundry…and it’s fine.

Sometimes I feel like all I ever do is laundry.

Do it now.

I’m in control, I’m totally in control, I’m so in control…OK, I’m not…I think I’ll just eat some chocolate and think about it later.

Roof over head, check. Payed off all the furniture buys, check. Have friends who like to paint walls, check. Have a tried and tested pizza place to call after aforementioned painting job, check.

I love my bed.

I love glitter.

I love a lot of people.

Wait, why is everyone so worried about their 30s, again?

 

 

 

 

From the Women in My Life

Happy International Women’s Day! March 8 has always been a part of my life. If you have Russian roots or even spent part of your life in Russia, you’ll know that this day is a national holiday over there. I confess that disclosing said fact to people I meet in Hamburg after I moved still brings me immense pleasure, mostly because the majority had no idea. Wait, International Women’s Day is a state holiday in Russia? Yes, indeed!

So what happens on the day? Well, you’ll congratulate your mother, grandmother(s), aunt(s), sister(s), female friends, favorite female teacher(s), maybe buy some flowers and chocolate for them, though depending on your age and financial options, you might also do some DIY. Then men in your life will do some of the aforementioned, too. No worries, they also get a special mention.

March 8 isn’t the only day of the year I think about the women in my life and what they’ve given me, the woman I myself have become, am becoming. But it’s a nice occasion to share some quotes and gems (sources shall remain anonymous to protect the adorable and lovingly remembered).

The best way to preserve an item of clothing is to wear it.

I just keep tissues, band-aids and gum in every handbag.

The best package to arrive next weekend is you.

Trust, but check (Russian proverb.)

We have power!

Shoulders straight.

She is here! (about oneself when entering a room.)

“Constant vigilance!” Thank you, Professor Moody, my family are all fans.

“Just in cases.” Thank you, Spanglish.

When someone created stupidity, they created enough.

It’s not luck, it’s work.

Knock on wood! (Russians actually knock on wooden surfaces.)

Don’t worry.

The world at large doesn’t care.

Well, here’s what I have to say: HAHAHA.

And finally…

Of course I talk to myself. It’s nice to talk to an intelligent person.