Don't Cry For Me

My hands are open before me with fingers spread. My shoulders are lifted slightly, and my arms arm elevated and spread out to the side.

What does it mean?

• In a relationship it can mean I've done all that I can.
• To a child it means I don't know what to DO with the mess around here.
• To a dog it means I have given out the last treat.
• If I am being robbed it (hopefully) means I'm not making any sudden moves.
• Preparing for a fire on a cold winter day it's an invitation to fill my arms with wood.
• Hiking with a group that was equal parts hopeful and foolish to put me in the lead it means I don't know where we are.
• Should I make my debut on stage some day, sharing my stories of improbable occurrences with decisive insight and sarcasm, it would mean asking for comments of agreement from the audience and hoping it came accompanied with laughter.
• Evita would lift her hands after asking the country not to cry and it would be a pose awaiting adulation.
• A conductor may be signaling the violins and the horns to enter the piece on cue.
• A construction worker may be about to let the truck now to 'c'mon back'.
• A baby may be reaching up to be held, which may be the closest thing to what I mean by the gesture.

What it means today

My hands are empty as I lift them because I have nothing of my own to give. Nothing that I can offer to... to what? To the Universe? The Great Spirit? The Void? The Almighty?

They are lifted in thanks. Lifted humbly, lifted as a gift and a testament. Lifted as an offering and acknowledgment of my place in the world.

I'm the little drummer boy with nothing to give but my talent. Nothing to do but stand in awe of all that I see and realize.

I am blessed. That is the naked truth. Blessed. Yes indeed-y, the past few years have been, well, horrific is the best way to say it. Some days I am aware enough to admit that I feel like I was trapped in a codependent relationship with my career choices for two years and with two separate companies.

Two years ago I was travelling for Thanksgiving, working for a company that was struggling due to poor decisions made by the private equity firm that power drove a 65 year-old company into the group in under two years. Trying to support a working team while running defense against misguided decisions and aching over the results. The death throes were hard and coincided with the horrors of a world suddenly ill, enforced quarantine, and everyone losing their jobs quickly and irrevocably.

It is no exaggeration to say that I was traumatized, depressed, and emotional. Add in the social media posts and recriminations from former coworkers, those that held the opinion that I MUST have known what was going to happen, or that I was complicit in the destruction (what power I didn't know I had!), and I was barely sleeping more than a few minutes at a time. A call offering me what I saw as a chance to 'fix everything' was something I jumped at, sure I was making the correct decision, sure this start-up company offer was a gift. Exactly what I was supposed to do.

And, maybe it was. I certainly learned a lot about a lot. And was able to pay bills during a time when others weren't even working. So: blessed.

One year ago at Thanksgiving I was working for that start-up company, being urged to 'hire-hire-hire' as we pushed through transportation, supply, and delivery issues. I learned how to connect through Zoom calls, how to conduct training virtually, how to work with contractors and vendors, how to build a vision with people that I respected, some that respected me, and some I would never come to understand. So; life, right? We'll see where it goes.

Where it went was closing stores, some that had been open less than weeks, and once again dashing the hopes and dreams of some people that had been burnt and taken by surprise by the company folding just months before. Believing that it was necessary to lose a few to ensure the health of the rest I worked harder (if that was possible) to keep everyone up to date, trained, encouraged.

But it didn't work. It didn't work SO BAD and SO MUCH. Bad decisions, yes; the pandemic and supply chain issues, more ego and terrible decisions, company in bankruptcy, people losing jobs; the lost sleep and effort meant nothing. The company closed, bit by bit, whimpering and sighing along the way. But I was able to stay on and doula that closing. Was that difficult? Oh, YES, yes it was. But it paid the bills, and let me work as a contractor during that time, and I gained back some confidence in my skills. So: blessed. Even in all of that. Blessed.

This year, again at the week of Thanksgiving, I am working. Learning new things. No longer in the same type of organization, but still in a position to do what feeds my soul: helping and supporting people. And I'm thinking of the past two Thanksgivings and how different they are from now. How they almost seem to have been part of the life of someone else.

As my husband drove North towards family, North towards a time away for just us two, North towards where we had spent the last two stressful and uneasy thanksgivings, I thought about being thankful for blessings. Thought about the choices I've made to be where I am now. Thought about what has been, where I am now, and the possibilities for the future.

And I felt my hands rising, my fingers opening, my arms spreading: offering all that I have, all that has been given to me, all of these unearned blessings and love. Not Evita looking for adulation, just me and showing adoration. A thanks offering to that which I am confident can see me and knows my heart.

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