Patience is Becoming Me

I have always wanted to improve my skills in patience. I believe that patience is the key to understanding so many things, so many people, and so much of life in general.

But man, is patience hard to hold on to. It is a slippery, slippery virtue to hold on to.

My entire life right now, due to the amount of chaos it contains, requires immense amounts of untapped-into patience. Patience I didn't know could even exist in a person.

I have discovered something certain about myself. I have a much higher rate of success, at anything, when I'm challenged. So when approaching a near fatal meltdown in the search of patience, I turned it into a challenge. When reaching the brink of tears for the third time that day, I would turn to "Lauren, can you really not do this? Are you really giving up right now?"

I can't think of anything in the world I hate more, than admitting defeat. So the battle rages on.

What am I talking about?

I am talking about everything. I am talking about trying to catch a bus in a snowstorm, and after walking the half-mile to the bus stop and wiping out 3 different times, watching the bus whiz by you at the very last second. Only to get to a class 45 minutes away, that unbeknownst to you, has been canceled. The bus scenario alone, has driven me to the point of near mental breakdowns on numerous occasions each day. Missing them, getting on the "short routes", losing my bus pass (during a wipe out), not having the correct change, buses that stop running before I am out of work, catching them at 5:30 a.m. only to still arrive late to work. It's enough to drive a person mad. But still I battle with succumbing to the idea of a car. It's public transportation right? I am the public, I need to be transported. People do it every day, all their lives. Why am I better than any of the people I work with that take the bus to and from...wherever they're going?
I believe in trying to reduce the damage to the environment, buses do that.
I believe there are too many cars on the road and not enough carpooling, buses work against that.
I believe that I should not succumb to the hustle and bustle and the need for immediacy that our society thrives on and that cars feed into.

But. I've fought this battle with every last sprint, every last fight against tears of frustration, and with every last laugh of hysteria that I got.

And now I also believe, I should be able to get to work on time, and home from work on time.
I believe I should be able to get groceries without asking a roommate or friend to drive me there.
I believe I should be able to do something that would take me an hour, in...well...an hour, not three.
I believe bus drivers are evil.

Ok, maybe not really on that last one. When a girl is huffing and puffing, covered in snow and almost coughing up blood...let her sit down despite the fact she doesnt not have this so-called "correct" change.

Anyway. I'm giving up the good fight. I'm getting a car. Call me a sell out, but call me it behind my back, I can't handle the defeat.

Yes, I just ranted about buses for almost an entire blog. And you know what? it feels wooonnderful!

But the battle of holding on to that patience doesn't stop there. It only begins with the bus, it takes its full toll on me when I arrive at where the bus is bringing me. Work.

I love both of my jobs. But today, I found myself extremely jealous of those sitting behind a desk, committed to a routine, and working with paper and computers, and not whiney, stubborn, needy people.

Yea, I said it.

For one week, I would like to drive a car...to a parking space...walk to my cube, sit down, and type-tippity-type away on my computer from 9 o'clock a.m. to 5 o'clock p.m. Where I would then say, welp, today is done! Walk back to my car, maybe meet some other cubicle-shaped friends for a nice little happy hour, and go home to chat about what I am doing on my weekend that doesn't consist of any homeless people, or any staying up all night, or any chance that someone might call me in somewhere, sometime, somehow.

But then, would I feel more in control, or more controlled?

Today, I almost threw one of the guys I usually chat it up with, out of the shelter. i got called in to work a grave, after working at the shelter that morning and then at Imagine that afternoon. Then this morning was filled with unhappy faces, whining, and straight up (excuse me) bitching. Near the end of the morning, I walked into the atrium to find Joe getting loud and making a "I'm going to pound your face in" motion with his hands. So I walked up to him and said over his voice "Cut it OUT, cut it out RIGHT now, I don't want to SEE it, I don't want to HEAR about it, I'll throw you out of here." He just looked at me, tried to defend himself complaining that one of the other guys stole stuff out of his car. You know what? I DON'T CARE. No patience for street-guy, tough-guy, take-it-outside bull. I cut him off, telling him if he says one more word about it, I'll put him out for that too, that I don't care and I dont want any of it in this shelter.

He shut-up and walked away. Amazing what a little respect built up over the past couple months can do.
I then hid away in the office, announcing to the rest of the staff, that I no longer feel like talking to homeless people this morning. They understood.

But this is when I noticed that my little pocket of stored up patience wasn't as accessible as usual.

Then I go to Imagine. The car I get assigned to is a royal piece. I drive to pick up a little girl I've never worked with before. I ntice, hey, feels like the power steering is gone. And oh, look at that...the temp gauage is sky-rocketing towards that lovely red "H". I pull over and call the other staff I'm working with, she says she's coming to get the little girl, Channing and I.

In the meantime, Channing is rambunctious and complaining that she is hungry and doesn't have a snack. I tell her I don't have food, or money. She tells me she has to go to the bathroom. I fall for it. I take her, brilliantly, into a conveniance store. I learn, Channing doesnt have to go the bathroom, Channing is manipulating me with every passing moment.
Channing then grabs a banana, looks at me and my pathetic attempt at getting her to put it down, and books it for the door.

Now, do I explain to the cashier what is going on and let Channing take off into the parking lot, or do I become an accomplice to the crime and chase her out the door.
I chose the latter, luckily she didn't go far before she stood grinning outside the door. I spent the next five minutes explaining to her that its not our banana, and that that is not o.k. I took the banana back in and just kind of shrugged at the cashier. So she touched it, you peel them anyway.

The rest of the day consisted of chasing her around the building, sliding under bathroom stalls that she locked to find her standing on top of the toilet. And then pulling the car over on the side of the highway numerous times to get her to sit down and "show me her feet". I found myself making requests through gritted teeth and welled up tears one second, and then laughing hysterically with her the next while she made funny faces at me in the rear view mirror.
My one accomplishment...in the beginning of the 20 minute car ride, she informed me "I hate the car". I told her, hate is a strong word, and she should be careful when she uses it. And that maybe she should say, "I don't like the car" instead. And of course, she did. Just to make sure I understood on my level, I guess.
But after a couple stops on the side of the highway, a couple battles won by me, and a game of her hiding out of my view and jumping back up with a rediculous face ready to scare me, she then informed she didn't want to get out of the car. Sucess!

Small successes, but I'm learning in order to survive this job, those have to feel huge.

When i arrived back at Imagine, again feeling like I had failed at my day, Kate greeted me with "I think you did an awesome job with Channing today." All that weight was lifted again.

I don't know if these things the staff syas to me are true, or if they were trained on how to keep new staff around with what to say and exactly when.

Either way, it's working.

And after defeat, and exhaustion, and teary eyes, and sprinting, and begging, and maneuvering, and gritting teeth, and swallowing pride, and taking bites, slaps, and scratches, and deragatory comments, and manipulation, and long cold walks...i was walking home from the bus stop the other night, and I found myself smiling. I couldn't think of why. Just that it was nice out, and a good song was on on my ipod, and I was just...smiling.

I was smiling because through battles lost and won, the war with patience is turning to victory.
And patience, is becoming me.

The Bitter Taste of Near-defeat

What a crazy life I have landed myself in. My passion for chaos, has finally overcome me. It's everywhere, all around, pure chaos.

The chaos of the shelter, the chaos of Imagine, the chaos of not having a car, the chaos of hell, living in Boulder.

I almost wove the white flag today.

Last night I worked my favorite shift at the shelter, the long, which puts me there from 5pm to 1am. I like this shift because you're there for all the excitement and fast-paced motion of intake from 5-7. Then after that, (unless interupted by extreme intoxication, medication, or mental illness) it slows down and thats the perfect time to walk around and chat it up with whoever. After around 11 or so, people disappear into the dorms, and you're left with a couple hours to kick it and do some reading. I love it.

Last night, I chilled in the TV room with the guys to watch 24. I was in there for about 20 minutes having a pretty enthralling life-conversation with my buddy John, when my walkie-talkie made that oh-so-official sounding static sound. Josh, another resident, who is a self-proclaimed hippie, spun around and said, "Oh man!! You're in here? I didn't even know, you totally snuck in under my radar!" Now, I had properly dressed in an old stretched out hoodie, with an oversized tye-dye shirt hanging out the bottom, my orange sneakers, and my hair all poorly bobby-pinned into what attempted to be a pony tail. So, he spit one of my favorite lines at the shelter so far..."Look at you! No more tye-dye to work...thats like dressing like the enemy! Unfair!" I almost peed myself laughing.

The rest of the night was filled with strange and obscure comments and occurences that kept me laughing and muttering "I love my job."

On to the next realm of chaos...me not having a car. So i bolt out of work an hour early to catch the last bus down Broadway. I learn that the other bus that I need to transfer to, has already stopped running. Long story short, the bus driver goes off-route and offers to drop me at the corner of my street. Ha! Thank goodness, it was that or wake up my already passed out roommate, who has already forfeited enough sleep due to my war with transportation.

Today, I go to Imagine. I sit through a Cooperative Behvior class. Which I adamantly took notes for (because I am a nerd and crave the rewarding feeling I get from organizing thoughts into neat little outlines on paper, yea...I know...). All of this made me miss school incredibly. The speaker had his PhD in behavioral science and gave some very logical and helpful hints on, well, how to parent more effectively. Which, is basically what we are doing in the time we spend with these kids. He spke about "junk behavior", a.k.a rolling eyes, stomping feet, yelling etc. He gave tips on how to ignore it properly, and how to positively reinforce rather than negatively. All very interesting, and I'm sure, all very effective.
Now, possible after a full day of "junk behavior" or "temper tantrums" or "long day at work"? Maybe not. But either way, rather interesting.

I then went over to work my shift with the after-school program. And OH, what a shift it was.

We were doing music today. We sit in a circle, we sing, we dance, we make animal noises, we play instruments. What do we do if we don't want to do any of the above? Easy, we pick Lauren as your primary staff, and...we pardon my French, "lose our shit".

I was working with a little 10-year-old girl today who suffers from many different disorders, and who apparantly, does not like music. Barbies, but not music. My agenda quickly turned from attempting to get her to participate in music, to getting her attention away from biting and scratching herself. Her frustration only grew. I tried every "can you please your voice with me, (insert name here)?" And every "can I have your eyes please?" And every "Can you tell me what you want to do, I love to hear your voice..." i tried going for a walk, I tried to distract her with a different toy. She was just plain not having it. It escalated to her dropping to the floor, screaming, biting, and banging her head against the floor. I was fighting to hang in there, to regain her attention, and to divert her energy somewhere else. She eventually despised me for that, sat up, and ran her little nails down my entire hand, grabbing my other one to bite it. Luckily, I escaped that attempt.

Finally, feeling totally defeated and helpless, I turned to another staff member. She had to be escorted into another room, where her tantrum lingered on for another hour or so.

I learned something today, I learned where my breaking point resides.

I have never felt so overwhelmed, defeated and inadequate all at once, in my whole life. Seeing that this was only my third shift, and on my previous one, I was grabbed and bit, I just did not have the strength to withstand another defeat. I went back to the group, slightly shaky and on the verge of tears. I contemplated quitting, coming to the conclusion that I was just not the type of person that could handle this sort of thing. I wanted to leave, and go home.

It is not an empowering feeling, to learn where that weak link in your self lies. I had a silent battle with myself while I sat out the rest of music. (The chaos with other kids only rose around me in the meantime)

After shift, I got to talk with a bunch of the different staff members, all who have been there longer than I. I asked what else i could have done, the answer was nothing. That I handled it perfectly, said all the right things, and tried everything i was supposed to try. The answer was to let her have it out, and simply protect her from hurting herself or you. I felt better learning that. Learning that i wasn't completely inadequate or helpless, that there just is not a a comfortable solution to that situation.

I decided, I'm in this, and I am capable. Couple rough days, (which I'm told is "rare") and now I am facing it as a challenge again. A challenge to get to know the kids, to get them comfortable with me, as much as there is room for.

I go back tomorrow.

I may go back in full body armor.

People are just people

I wrote this blog on my myspace page...and decided I would transfer it over here, even thought it's a little old.

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I'm reading Sidewalk (thanks Jesse!), a book about the NYC street vendors, panhandlers and homeless, and the society and structure they have created for themselves. It's an amazing book that really allows you to see the differences between class, race, and gender from all perspectives.

Some perspectives I really sturggle with. One man that is fighting to "clean up" the streets says, "Where I think there should be a change in the law is that I don't think that the First Amendment should protect people who are street people. They are not homeless. These people never had homes." - Honi Klein.

Sooo...people who have not conformed to what we consider "societal norms"...should not be considered people.

On a more positive note, I am also listening to an amazing artist, Regina Spektor, who smashes the previous quote with a more simple...

"Cause people are just people,
People are just people,
People are just people like you." _Regina Spektor, Ghost of Corporate Future

I had to share, so that I don't suffocate in ignorance by myself over here...
I think thats enough reading for tonight. Maybe more music.

Chocolate muffins and life haikus

I'm on another grave shift. My eyes are burning. And once in a while, one slowly droops closed, begging the other to follow. I've come close to losing the battle a couple times now. But I stand strong with my water and my book and my endless surfing of the internet.

The only problem with the grave shift is, you're cornered. If someone wants to talk to you, they can talk allll they want, and you have NOwhere to turn. One of the residents is notorious for this. He came in at about 1:15 a.m. and set up camp at the window right in front of me. I tried to look busy real quick, but nothing I do right now is by any means, real quick. I failed. He took the lead.

He opened his little folder filled with his research. On what you ask? On life. He spilled out sheets and sheets of self-help type advice he had printed out. Little haikus, tests, articles...you name it, he had it, and he was here to share. And here I am, the caged ear.

He started with information on how to determine whether or not the person you are with is your soulmate or not. And of course, this is all decided after answering 25 questions, each of which were read aloud to me.

We then moved on to poems about love, and how to know what you want, and something about adam and eve played a part in there. I struggled to keep up.

This went on. And on. And on. I was begging for my book to jump up and start reading itself to me, so I could excuse myself.

An hour and 15 minutes later, I was set free. It is at this point, that I decided I would try and write the anti-self-help book. To free all these mislead souls that believe 25 questions will lead them to love, or if they eat just lemons and sweet potatos they will heathily lose weight. Or that an article written a by a woman who is clearly bitterly heart-broken and alone, will not give you the answers of what a woman wants, or how a man wants to be treated.

Here's my self-help advice. PUT the book DOWN. Step away from the media-driven literature that has tucked life's "answers" into neat little equations, questionnaires and haikus.

Maybe I'm just tired, and slightly frustrated that I am not allowing myself to eat the chocolate muffin that is taunting me from behind that kitchen door...


......if I eat it quick enough, it could be like it never happened....

the time warps of travel

I woke up in my room in Boulder yesterday, slightly alarmed and confused. I laid there, staring at my window, for at least 15 minutes, trying to register where in my life I was again.

After staying up all night, fighting to hold on to something I didn't want to leave again, I got in a car at 5 am and arrived at the airport at about 6 am. We flew to Nashville, I passed out on the chairs (thank god for no arm rests!), we flew to Kansas City, I passed out on Lindsays shoulder on the plane. We got on a highly clastrophobic shuttle, couldn't pass out there. We get to Lindsays car, I hop in back, and immediately construct a bed-like structure out of my snowboard and backpack. I pass out again.

I wake up to Lindsay asking her dad why we're still in Missouri. It has now been at least a half hour. We went the wrong way. Now we're backtracking...and I'm passing out again. I wake up every 20 minutes or so to find, ooh, more Kansas.

While I'm in the car, everything feels ok. Because you aren't really anywhere. It's like this safe little purgatory of constant movement, where you left doesn't really feel gone yet, and where you're going still hasn't really registered. So I drift in and out of sleep, in and out of daydreams, and in and out of extremely painful positioning against my board and bag.

We dance in and out of skeezy little gas stations and rest stops. We take down sodas, and Red Bulls, and cookies and gummy worms. Then I curl up in the back again, feeling sick and tired and sick and tired of Kansas.

We arrive in Boulder at 12am Colorado time, 2 am east coast time. I mumble to my roommate that I will talk to her tomorow when I am slightly more coherent.

This is when I wake up, confused and flustered. My brain tries to register where it is, home? No. School? No. Abroad? No. When did I leave? What time is it? How much time has passed since I was on my couch, begging time to slow down? It hasn't, thats for sure. Much more of it has passed than even makes sense to me at the moment. Finally it all settles in, and I realize I am in my other life again. My Boulder life.

The home life registered much quicker than I had imagined it would. No stuttering, no confusion, and no feelings of being misplaced. Just bam, home, done. This is my home, this is my family, these are my friends, it all makes sense. That is the most comforting feeling in the world. To know, as much as I may come and go, and for however long it my be, home is home is home. It's registered, it's mine. And I love it.