Stuffed or Starving: A Conversation from the Split Personality of Every Freelancer

(Okay, maybe not every freelancer. Maybe just me.)

I’m a planner. I work best when I have a series of actions that I can execute one step at a time. In part, that’s why I like freelancing, and it’s also what I liked about school: every assignment can be broken down into actionable, time-stamped steps. Need to write a paper by the first of the month? No problem—just schedule research for this week, first draft next weekend, revisions the following week, and wah-la: a finished term paper! Plus, what’s even better about both school and freelancing assignments is that no one cares when, where, how, or even whether you perform any of those steps. They just care about two things: the deadline and the final product.

So scheduling and executing . . . not a problem. This means that, as work is rolling in—the “feast," as it were, because freelancing is nothing if not feast or famine—I am fairly successful at keeping the internal voice shouting Ohmygod you’ll never get this all done to a dull roar.

Because really, it all comes down to living by a saying my father loves: How do you eat an elephant?

One bite at a time.

And I can definitely do that.

Unfortunately, it’s when there are no bites left that I start to panic. Like, for instance, right now, when I’m sitting here blogging, trying not to think about the fact that I have gone thirteen days without working a single billable hour. Sure, I’ve written some emails about lining up potential work. I’ve had phone calls with a few prospective employers. I've even gone on job sites and applied directly for projects. But earned any cash money? No. Which leads to what I can only describe as an argument between the two sides of my Split Freelancer Personality. The exchange goes something like this:

All the work has dried up. No one will ever hire you again.

Untrue! We had tons of projects last month. Just wait it out.

Yeah, okay. Keep waiting. You know what they say about people who wait? They starve to death.

I don't think that's the saying. [pause] But yeah, I know, I should be doing more. Pitching more magazines. Researching more university writing departments. Looking for more freelance assignments. Networking. [shudder]

Orrrr you could just start looking for a fulltime job. Because that’s what you’re going to have to do, anyway, when this little endeavor of ours spectacularly fails.

Just because you’re scared doesn’t mean I have to give up already.

Scared? I’m realistic. Remember all those people who told you that writing is not a viable way to make a living?

Working 40+ hours a week at a job I hate isn’t making a living--it’s making a salary.

Let me know how those platitudes taste next month, when you're eating rice and water out on the curb.

Don’t be dramatic. I can pay the rent for several more months even if we don’t get any more work. And I will get work. I’m qualified. The work is out there. Other people are doing this.

Yeah, other people with advanced degrees and resumes that include NY Times bestselling authors.

Okay, fine, I might not have a MFA or a PhD in editing--do they even have those?--but I’m good at this damn it! Or at least I think I am. Some people have told me that I am.

Sure they have. If you sucked, would they have said anything?

Well. No. But I wouldn't have repeat clients if I sucked. And Professor X requests me personally!

One professor. Wow. Way to go.

Hey, we're just starting out. Be patient.

We've been at this for almost a year.

Ten months. And I like it! I like the work, I like the lifestyle. I feel way more fulfilled now than with anything I was doing before. And I don’t care if I never make six figures. That has to count for something, right?

Never making six figures and barely making five aren’t quiiiite the same thing.

Oh shut up. I’m going to go back to brainstorming articles to pitch.

Or you could take a nap. Because do you really want to spend all those hours researching and writing and revising, only to get paid $50 a pop? Plus, they might just reject you outright.

… or I could take a nap. Okay. You win. For today.

Survey Results

First off, a huge thank you to everyone who took the survey, responded on Facebook, emailed me, etc. Self-branding is quite the soul-searching process, I've discovered, so all of your input and suggestions have been extremely valuable.

THANK YOU!

Now, I've had several people ask me about the results, so I'm going to put them up here for you to peruse. However, I have to admit to one giant mistake I made when posting this survey: I did not explicitly indicate whether "1" meant best or whether it meant worst. Therefore, I am certain that at least a few people used "8" to mean best rather than "1" (which is what I had intended: for 1-8 to be ranked best-worst), which of course then skews the results.

That said, here's what I've got.

In spite of the ellipses, all of the original name options are shown in full on this graph
 except for the 3rd option from the top, which should be "Allison Editing Services."

People gave some really good reasons for choosing their favorite name, although some of the explanations were so good, I started feeling almost as lost as when I first posted the survey! Here are a few of my favorites:

Write, Edit, Allison -- It puts things in order of importance. I also like the one-syllable, 2-syl, 3 syl rhythm.

Allison, Wordsmith -- I think "editing" is too vague

Gold Edits -- I like how this one both combines your name, what service you're offering, and has a bit of flair/double meaning (Gold as in gold standard or first rate editing!). It's not as fun as some of the others but not totally sober either.

Allison L Goldstein -- It's you and at the end of the day people are hiring you. My guess is that you'll get more business by word of mouth than by someone picking up your card from a Starbucks (or name your favorite shop) counter. You're selling you and it's vague enough that should you ever evolve into author, screenwriter, director, or general contractor, the domain allows you to do so.

Ally Edits -- Ally: "to join (yourself) with another person, group, etc., in order to get or give support". It plays off your name while also sending a message that you are easy to work with and will form an alliance with the writer. You are part of their team.

I also got some fantastic--sometimes hilarious--suggestions for other business names. (Although unfortunately a number of the matching domain names were already snatched up.) In no particular order, here are some of the suggestions:

• AG Editorial Services
• Goldstone Content LLC
• Editrix
• Edit-chic
• Halycon Editing
• ReadingWritingAllison
• Cleanedits
• Goldstein Scribing
• Word crisp
• ED-IT
• All Gold Media Services
• Meditopolis
• Word'em up

And now, for what you really want to know....

At the moment, I'm leaning toward using my full name, most likely with the "L," with a tagline of some sort below, kind of like this. (Anyone have any suggestions?) You could call this the lazy [wo]man's way out, because by going this route I can stay a sole proprietor and I don't need to register a fictitious "doing business as" name anywhere. However, my primary reason is that I agree with whoever made the comment about "people hiring me." I've spent many hours hunting down and exploring competitors' website, and I've found that those editors who market themselves under their own name strike me as somehow more trustworthy than those who offer services under a more anonymous business name. Ultimately, I always went to their "About Me" page anyway!

My main hesitation with this approach concerns my impending marriage: if I ultimately decide that I want to change my name, that will throw a huge wrench into things; I'll have spent all this time building my professional identity around my current name, and then what? But, as they say:

How do you eat an elephant?

One bite at a time.

Looking before the Leap

I'm at a precipice, peering over the edge. It's steep, a straight drop down the side of the cliff, and I'm keenly aware of my the parachute strapped to my back, separated from my skin by a thin layer of sweat-soaked cotton. I'm not sure what this parachute looks like. I imagine it is faded in color, maybe a red bleached nearly pink by the sun, and threadbare from rubbing inside the pack for so many miles. I finger the rip cord dangling at my side and pray it works, because I've never tried this before, never launched myself into free fall and the mercy of the wind.

A breeze brushes my cheek. Swallowing, I close my eyes. I can picture the trail behind me, the soft earth path, the green billowing trees. My heart is beating a racket in my chest, a warning, a plea. I clench my fists and feel the nails bite into the creases of my palms. I came here for a reason. I will not turn back. My heart is beating in my chest. I step forward. One foot. Two. I open my eyes. And my heart is beating.

The Thing About Picking Up the Phone

Here's the thing about picking up the phone: no one does it anymore. Everyone has smartphones that text and ichat and snapchat and email. And when we do pick up the phone to make a call, nine times out of ten we wind up talking to an automated system instead of a real person.

Therefore, when we are finally forced to talk to a real person--never mind a real person we don't know--on the phone, well . . . I for one find it terrifying!

I bring all of this up because for the first time in my life, I am forced to face this very task on an almost-daily basis. And I can't avoid it or put it off or write a letter instead. It's part of my job.

For anyone not in the know, after six-plus years of service at Wiley, I left last November and joined CenterForce, a five-person conference company based in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. Although I've been there for nearly three months already, I've put off writing anything about my new job because, honestly, I wasn't sure what to say.

Essentially, I didn't want to judge the experience prematurely. Change is hard, new jobs are hard, new coworkers all sitting five feet apart is hard . . . so I didn't want my emotions to cloud my judgement when I finally sat down to write about the experience. Even now I cannot really say that I'm writing emotion-free. When anyone asks "how I like my new job," all I can really say is, "Wait and ask me again in 6 months." Because maybe by then I'll feel like I know what I'm doing. Maybe.

But now I know I can at least say with confidence: my new job involves making phone calls. Lots of phone calls. To literal strangers.

And it. Is. Terrifying.

My job is to recruit high-level executives who handle intellectual property at companies to come and speak at our conferences. (Imagine Susie Q:  a corporate lawyer who deals with IBM technology patents--when they're filed, who's trying to use the technology illegally, etc. That's who we want.) Basically, I comb the internet for these people and then email them an invitation. If they don't respond, I might email them another invitation. And if they still don't respond, I start calling.

Every time I pick up the phone, my heart rate speeds up. Yet I know it's an irrational fear. My head tells me, "Allison, what's the worst that can happen? That you'll stutter and sound like an idiot? That they'll yell at you? Hang up on you? Who cares! You'll never see them again!" And based on my--albeit limited--experience, none of these things are likely to happen. Everyone I've spoken with so far has been very polite and oftentimes even nice. No one seems angry or annoyed.

So what am I so afraid of?

Honestly, I am not sure. What I do know is that I'm out of practice with talking to complete strangers (especially strangers who seem much more "important" than me), and I'm out of practice calling people who aren't my friends or family, and all this lack of practice makes me very very nervous when it comes time to dial a new number.

However, if nothing else, I'm getting lots of practice these days. So now it's just a matter of getting that heart rate down and banishing the feeling of dread that always climbs into my gut when I pick up the receiver. Fingers crossed that such a day comes soon. In the meantime, you'll have to excuse me, but I have a phone call to make.

I Almost Interrupted That Meeting

I was in the kitchen at my office today, boiling some water for tea, when a colleague of mine came in for a glass of water. This man is not someone I see on a regular basis, since he's pretty high in the pecking order. Incidentally, however, we had just attended a meeting together the day before. He kept giving me these odd glances, and since I had nothing better to do other than watch the kettle boil (or, so far, not boil), I smiled congenially and wished him good morning.

"You know, I have to tell you," he began. "In that meeting the other day?"

My heart began to race as I backtracked to every single thing I could have been caught doing during the meeting. I managed to stay fully awake at this one, so he couldn't have caught me sleeping. Could he have seen me doodling instead of taking notes?

"I seriously almost stopped the meeting several times--"

Oh my god! Was I slurping my tea too noisily? Did he notice when I spilled some on my blouse? Maybe it wasn't me; maybe it was someone else. Why was he smiling?

"--to say how great your new haircut looks. Really, it looks fantastic."

I think my heart just about stopped. So I did the only thing I could: I smiled. And blushed a little. And then, finally, said, "Thank you."

Notes from an IT Presentation

After sitting through an IT presentation about "new" technology that we have recently received with our latest Microsoft update, I have a few notes I'd like to share. When you work for IT and are trying to convince colleagues to use new technology:

• Don't start the meeting with technical difficulties. If IT can't get it to work, how do you expect us to use it?
• Don't sound like you are convincing yourself how easy it is. If it's easy, we'll figure it out. If not, no amount of pontificating will convince us to use it.
• Don't assume that your normal non-IT colleagues have the same snazzy equipment as you do. If it's not standard-issue, we don't have it.

Why We Shouldn't Outsource Design Work

Aside from actual lack of design (which is a whole different issue), here are some messages recently received from the designers (who, as you may gather, are not from the US):

"Should I should the file you uploaded or the one you specified"

"I am not sure with our initial agreement of sending the message with an hour interval, will cause the next batch to consider as spamming."

The response I'd like to send:

"Engrish next time, pweez!"

A Suggestion for Coping

This was recommended to me by my darling baby bugga-boo, when I complained about having had to stay at work until after 7pm. Not exactly prime advice for getting ahead, but hey, it would be amusing.

Why We Should Have Stuck with Snail Mail

I left work last Friday like this:

I took today off to see this:

I took a sneak preview of my email tonight, only to be caught in this:

Tomorrow is not going to be fun.

What Happens When Your Boss Leaves

The End: 21 Days of Thanks

Lumping the final 3 days together is not really the best way to finish off my experiment, but on a positive note, I made it through with only 3 slip-ups! Here are my 3x thanks for Days 19, 20, and 21.

A guest appearance on K___'s blog. It's about her family (as is somewhat evident from the title OkMom&Dad), but I was tickled to show up in two posts about her brother, "Taboo" and "Yin."

Successfully finding Takoma Pool. With my unfortunately poor sense of direction and lack of smartphone, this admittedly took me over an hour; however, on the plus side, I did manage to correctly navigate the metro system (i.e. get off at the right stop), and it was a lovely day to be wandering around the suburban streets of Takoma. Plus, I'm getting less and less shy about stopping strangers to ask for directions!

My train was on time. It left on time and arrived on time. I can only hope that my flight tomorrow will be as smooth!

Seeing L___ the night I arrived. Seeing her upon arriving in a still-unfamiliar city is the best sort of welcome!

Seeing K2 and meeting her friends during the same work trip. It's so nice that my friends take time out of their schedules to see me when I am in town. It makes these work trips that much more fun!

The fact that I can give tasks to a shared assistant while I am away from the office, and he capably and confidently completes them. N___ is such a lifesaver; I don't know how we functioned before without him.

Meeting friendly work colleagues who make enjoyable and interesting dinner partners while travelling. I don't know how people can work for companies where they don't like any of their coworkers. Life would be miserable!

Being remembered by customers from my old paper route. A few ladies passed by my parents' house and, when they saw my parents outside, stopped them to ask how I was doing. One of them even mentioned the Christmas letter I used to write and include in the paper once a year. I am really touched that she appreciated them enough to remember them, even this many years later.

The opportunity to go to San Diego tomorrow! I'll probably only have a couple half-days to do any sightseeing, but it's a nice break to get out of the office and see another area of the country.

And that, folks, is it! Hopefully I've become less grouchy in the past 21 days, and while I can guarantee that I'll never stop complaining completely, hopefully this exercise has helped me tone it down a bit and become a more pleasant, positive person.

Day 9, Inspired by TV, Movies, and Travel

Made it to Day 9 with less than an hour in the day to go.

A boyfriend who likes Project Runway. I prefer not to watch TV alone, and somehow I ended up dating someone who likes watching most of the same stuff as me. What luck!

Encouragement to see Titanic 3D. I haven't watched that movie since I was about 12, but when I saw the preview at Hunger Games, A___ and I both got chills. We're seeing it tomorrow.

The chance to travel for work. As much as I love NYC, sometimes I just need a change of scenery. Better yet, this way I don't even have to pay for it!

Work-Themed 3x Thanks

Day 4, with a bit of a work theme to start off the week.

My coworkers have a sense of humor. Not too sure how else I'd get through a day full of "Sorry for the interruption, but an office that is not yours is having technical difficulties with a system you don't use," emails without tearing my hair out.

A Guide to Academia already has four 5-star reviews on Amazon.com. For whatever reason, I've taken an unusually vested interest in promoting this book, so I really want to see it sell well.

My boss is very cool and doesn't have a problem letting me take vacation days on short notice. He also has a sleeve--so yes, he's pretty cool.

Idioms and Idiocy

I guess if you're a "branding specialist" you have to be both corny and corporate. However, before actually meeting a "branding specialist," I never considered how that particular combination (corny and corporate) would manifest itself in a human being.

Then, the other day, I attended a presentation about a re-branding or brand-consolidating initiative my company is undertaking, and as I listened, I could not help but be struck by the outrageous number of idioms that crept into the presenter's speech. When I finally regained the presence of mind to write these down (about halfway through the presentation), here is what I came up with:

Where the rubber meets the road

Don't need to recreate the wheel

Everyone's an expert

The sizzle and the steak (I personally have no idea what this one means, but he said it more than once, so someone must know!)

Very finger-wagging

The cart before the horse

Roll it out (This is right up there with my all-time least favorite corporate-speak terms; it should be used in reference to pie baking and nothing else)

Take the learning and bake it into our process (Not an idiom, but it was such a bad metaphor I had to include it)

And perhaps the best of all:

I'm not going to teach my grandmother to suck eggs

This last one I had to look up on Wikipedia when I got back to my desk. I invite you to do so now.

Please consider all of these constituted only half of his presentation, which was maybe a half-hour long at best. I challenge you, reader, to use all of these idioms (and bad metaphors) in a single day. Your achievement earns you . . . my undying admiration. But isn't that worth having?

Thinking of the Future

In a society where your job very much defines who you are, the "who" and the "what" definitions of any one person are nearly interchangeable. I never thought I would have a problem determining "who" and "what" I would be. But I was wrong.

First, I wanted to be an opera singer. My mom was an opera singer, and at 7 or 8 years of age, my life ambition was to do whatever she did. Plus, the director of the children's choir praised my voice, and in second grade, I even got a solo in my school's Christmas pageant, so it was clearly a logical career path!

Once I picked up other interests such as playing the flute and swimming, my aspirations to become an opera singer soon gave way to what, for many years, I was sure was my life purpose: to become a writer. An Author. Scribbling away in my notebooks, I was sure that someday soon I would look up at the shelves in our local library and see my name on the spines of books on display. I would sit in bookstores and sign copies. I would visit universities around the country and give readings. Everyone would love and praise me, and my name would be known around the world as synonymous with "literary genius."

Little did I know that the more formal writing education I had, the harder it would become to get words down on paper. Still, I continued to receive unending praise and support from friends, family, and teachers alike, so I kept persevered, churning out stories and poems and essays and plays. I wrote for classes; I wrote for my friends' amusement; I wrote for the local newspaper; and all of it was worth it, because it was bringing me that much closer to becoming a Real Author.

Then I reached college. Here was where I realized that plenty of people can write at least passably, but very few of them land book deals, and even fewer are able live off of what they make as a writer. That realization, combined with the simultaneous realization that the people who land book deals aren't necessarily the ones who are any good at writing, ruined any lingering remnants of ambition I had left. Despite what any of my teachers or friends or parents believed, I would never become a true writer.

While I may have given up the dream of seeing my name on a book jacket, I wasn't ready to give up on my love of language. If I couldn't become an author, I would go into publishing from the opposite angle and become an editor. Although this would mean giving up the glamor and prestige of having my name on a book jacket, my experiences editing my friends' papers and tutoring college peers assured me that being an editor was both something I could be good at and something I would enjoy. And after all, wasn't that the ultimate goal in life: to find a satisfying job that you could do well and that would provide for your immediate needs?

Then I landed the job. No, it wasn't the exact job I had hoped for, but it gave me a way to support myself in NYC, which, in the 2008 economy, wasn't anything to take lightly. Here was where I learned that the editorial job of my dreams didn't really exist. I had envisioned a job that consisted of reading manuscripts, separating the wheat from the chaff, and then working hand-in-hand with authors to improve their manuscripts to the point of perfection. In reality, these editors, called "acquisitions editors," are forced to meet quotas: to sign X number of books per year amounting to Y dollars in revenue for the company. This reduces what I thought was an artistic, creative process to a money machine--just like every other company-company out there.

So now I'm stuck back at square one, only with more pragmatic, "adult" concerns like rent and health insurance to worry about.

What do I want to be when I grow up?

A Reprieve

The best way to make corporate employees happy is to give them a half-day on the Friday before a holiday weekend. The second-best way is to break the e-mail server.

Every day, when I get to work, I log into my computer, turn on the light above my desk, change my shoes, and promptly log into Outlook. I then spend the first 10-15 minutes looking through new messages, determining which ones must be answered immediately (i.e. emails from my boss or other supervisors), which ones will need to wait until I have more time (i.e. emails from outside the company, where a typo might be critical), which ones will require at least an hour's worth of work (often about a quarter of the emails), and which ones I probably don't have to read until tomorrow, or Friday, or next week. Once I have mentally sorted these emails and written myself a few post-it note reminders, I go make myself a cup of tea. The daily panic has begun.

Yesterday, for what I believe was the first time since I started working at Wiley, I arrived at work to an Inbox empty of new messages and a phone message informing me of the following:

"Good morning. This is Technology Report Services. The email client in North American offices is currently out of service. We are working hard to fix the problem and will--"

At this point I hit the *-3 key combination on my phone to delete the message. No email? Great! Now I could finally get some work done! And when I had a question to ask a colleague, I would . . . instant message them. Phone them. God forbid . . . get up from my desk and walk over to ask them in person.

It felt like a revolution had taken place. In those four hours free from incoming emails, I packaged and shipped eight boxes of conference materials, wrote copy for five fliers, generated a book list in Excel, researched articles for the blog (WiSci), faxed reservation packets to two conferences, and paid in-person visits to three different colleagues. More importantly, during those four hours, I felt completely focused and at ease. There were no phantom messages popping up in the bottom right-hand corner of my screen to alert me that someone needed something ASAP. I did not feel the compulsion to click into Outlook every five minutes to check and see what urgent messages I might be missing. Instead, I worked steadily through the morning and cleared three layers of paper off of my desk. Then, I went for a short run, made my lunch, and returned to my desk to find that "North American email service was back in operation." Fortunately, since most of my other colleagues hadn't had email all morning, either, there weren't too many messages awaiting me, and I had a moderately productive afternoon, as well.

I don't know if this experience has implications about the advent of technology and modern communication or if it just demonstrates that I am easily distracted by email and feel undue stress by constant string of demands from others that arrive via email. However, in either case, it makes me wonder what the office place felt like before the arrival of Internet and email. After all, that revolution only occurred about twenty years ago (or at least that was when the Internet became publicly available; its widespread use and dependence probably occurred even more recently). Were people stuck on the phone all day long? Did they silently do work at their desks? Was there more office chatter and less click-clack of keyboards? And most of all: would I have liked it better?

The Problem with Blogging

Computers are supposed to make our lives easier, or, if not easier, at least better. Word processing gives us tools like format painter and auto-correct—features no typewriter or mechanical pencil ever could. Email and the Internet have enabled us to communicate faster, father, and cheaper than any other form of communication. With microchips, we can now take cabinets, closets, and even warehouses full of information and distill that information down into a slice of metal no larger than a fingernail.

These are undeniably improvements upon “how we did things before.” What has not improved, however, is what all “advances” are supposed to better: our quality of life. Yes, I value the ability to chat with my Singaporean friend via gmail rather than scheduling expensive phone calls over a thirteen-hour time difference. And yes, it is fun to see pictures of my old babysitting charges on Facebook—something I never would be able to do if pictures were all still printed from film and kept in photo albums. However, the mandatory nature of computers in personal and—particularly—professional life has actually diminished my appreciation for all of these technological perks that I now take for granted.

I can still recall when I used to feel excited about using a computer: in junior high school, I had to beg my parents to let me commandeer our phone line for “just an hour” in order to check my Juno email account and sign into what was, at that time, the newest craze: chat rooms! In high school, I hurried to get my schoolwork done so that I could spend the rest of the night chatting with my friends K8y99 and SnOEcone59 and downloading music on LimeWire. In college, I spent more time reading textbooks and copying down notes by hand than I spent working on a computer, so checking my email was still exciting; back then, I looked forward to finding emails in my Inbox almost as much as finding physical letters in my CPU box. Computers were necessary (as many of my professors would never have let me turn in a hand-written report), but they were not yet mandatory—they did not yet dictate the pattern of my day.

Then I had to get a Real Job. Until I graduated from college, I had only ever worked standing-up, hands-on sorts of jobs: delivering newspapers around my neighborhood, lifeguarding at community pools, brewing espresso and cutting brownies at the campus coffee shop. I took a few summer internships that involved desk work, but most of these were part-time and, therefore, allowed me to continue to work one of my “active” jobs.

Then graduation arrived. Soon after leaving college, I took the job at Wiley and became one more slave laborer on a cubicle farm. Every day, I come in, hang up my coat, and log onto my computer. While the machine sets itself up, I change my shoes, boil a cup of tea, check my mail slot (and my boss’s), and finally settle in front of the computer screen for the next 4 hours. At noon, I usually go for a half-hour run, just to have an excuse to leave my seat and breathe some fresh air, and then settle back down at that computer for the last 3-4 hours of my day.

As you can see, I spend an average of 7 hours each day in front of a computer. This means that of the approximately 16 hours I am awake on any given weekday, nearly half of those hours are spent chained (and I use that word only vaguely figuratively) to a computer. Now, instead feeling excitement at receiving a personal email, I cringe, knowing that I will have to take the time to reply to it when I get home from work. Which, of course, means spending more time in front of a computer.

Which, ultimately, brings me to the problem of blogging. Blogging is one more activity that must be done on a computer. And quite honestly, the last thing I want to do when I come home from work—where I have already spent most of my waking staring at a computer screen—is be on a computer. I have no desire to reply to emails, look at Facebook, browse YouTube, or, alas, sign onto Blogger.com. This, I must admit, is the primary reason my blog entries have trailed off over the past couple years: not because I dislike writing or have found fewer things to say, but because when I finally have the time to write a post, I must begin by sitting down at a computer—the biggest struggle of all.

The November Trip, Part 1B: The Frenchman

It began at dinner.

Most of the meals I ate during the Society for Neuroscience conference were in one of two hotel meeting rooms, where we ate the same salad with the same dressing, followed a main course with the same side of oily asparagus, all washed down by the same glass of water or iced tea. Thankfully, this particular dinner was celebrating one journal’s 30th anniversary, and so the venue was a real commercial restaurant where we would (presumably) be served considerably more exciting food.

Tables inside the restaurant were arranged to seat six, so the marketing manager and I sat down together at one table (we usually sat together at these events) and were eventually joined by three other gentlemen. The two gentlemen across from me were Korean and Japanese, respectively, and the man to my left was French. While we made a valiant effort to shout across our appetizers to one another, the Korean man, the Japanese man, and I eventually gave up at attempting to hold a conversation and settled for those sitting closer: for them, this meant the marketing manager; for me, this meant the Frenchman.

Although we had asked that the board members not bring guests, this Frenchman—let’s call him “Alex”—was just that: a guest. He had no official affiliation with the journal, or even with our publishing company. Consequently, instead of being a graying, wrinkled old scientist, Alex turned out to be a 30-something world traveler. He worked as a scientist and had his own lab, but he spent more time travelling to other labs around the world to consult on various scientific projects.

Throughout the dinner, we chatted about our various travelling experiences. I mentioned my study-abroad trip to England and told him of my twenty-four-hour excursion in Paris. He described his work in countries all over the world and told me he would be visiting New York City in early 2011. I enthusiastically told him that he should email me before he comes, and I will offer suggestions for what to see and where to eat. He thanked me graciously, and we finished the meal with further discussion of our jobs and our travels.

After dessert was served and everyone seemed to be starting on their final glass of wine (these scientists could drink!), I pulled my purse from under the table and extracted a business card for Alex. “My email address is on here,” I told him, “So just email me before you come and I’ll send you suggestions and stuff.”

This was when it happened. I don’t know what it was about that business card (it was plain white with simple black lettering, so basically as boring as possible), but his eyes lit up and he clutched it as though someone had just handed him a $100 bill. He thanked me as he stood and inserted it into his jacket pocket, reiterating his excitement to come to New York . . . and then he sat down in his chair and pulled it right up so that our knees were nearly touching. “Perhaps we will see each other when I come,” he added.

That should have been my red flag. I had mentioned having a boyfriend throughout dinner, but always in a broad way in a larger conversation. The marketing manager had been talking about football, and I had mentioned my boyfriend likes the Cowboys. A few of us were discussing Americanized Chinese food, and I had mentioned a restaurant that my boyfriend and I had yet to try, near our apartment, that had several rabbit dishes on the menu. I had not, however, brought R___ up in direct conversation with Alex. So, it was possible that he had missed those other comments. Or, alternatively, perhaps he simply wanted to see a familiar face in a foreign land, and so he now perceived me to be his “New York contact.” I could not fault him for that. If I went to France or Greece or China, I would much prefer to have a native show me the sites, whether friend or acquaintance.

So, as I tend to do, I gave Alex the benefit of the doubt and went with the latter presumption that he was just hoping for a local tour guide for his trip to New York City. We chatted a bit longer, with me inching my chair away little by little, and finally I got up in order to say my goodbyes. After I had shaken a number of strangers’ hands and given my regards to both my boss and the journal’s editor-in-chief, I grabbed my purse and slipped out the door. Even though I was giving him the benefit of the doubt, I felt that it was in my better interest not to say any special good-byes to Alex.

I had made it about halfway down the street when I sensed someone on the sidewalk behind me. Again, I consciously decided that it could be any board member who had left at the same time as me, and since all of the hotels were in approximately the same area, it made sense that we were walking the same direction. This assumption was ruined, however, when the steps behind me quickened and an arm was suddenly thrown over my shoulder.

“Where are you going?”

I shrugged off Alex’s arm and continued my brisk pace. “Back to my hotel.”

“Oh but it is so ear-ly.”

“I’m kind of tired. Still on East Coast time—you know. And I have to get up early for a breakfast tomorrow, so I’m just going back.”

“But you are so young! Come have a drink.”

“No, I really do have to get up early tomorrow.”

He sighed. “I will walk with you back to your hotel, then. Where are you staying?”

It turns out he was staying in the exact same hotel as me, right beside the conference center. I was terrified that he was going to try to walk me all the way to my door, but thankfully we were staying in different towers, so we parted ways at the entrance. Heaving a sigh of relief, I locked my door, turned out the lights, and fell asleep imaging how I would recount this story with maximum hilarity for my friends the following day.

The next morning, I woke up and checked my work email account, just to make sure no one had sent me anything urgent. There, in the sent box, was a message from Alex.

I am still working in my computer and I was thinking of you...It was a very pleasant dinner and I hope that you will have more time to discuss today evening about life, arts and more.

I deliberated on how to respond for the entire half hour it took me to get ready for the editorial board breakfast I was about to attend, and in the end I shut the lid of my computer without writing anything. I did have dinner plans, and going out for a drink after dinner (his second proposition in that email) was not a good idea, because it offered me no “out”—that is, no tactful way to say, “Sorry, gotta go.” I decided that if I saw him during the day (which was unlikely, considering that 40,000 people were attending this conference), I would just tell him that I had not checked my email.

The next morning, I wrote him a reply, apologizing for not seeing his email the day before and suggesting coffee between the end of the conference and the dinner I was scheduled to attend. When I checked my email later that morning, I had not received a reply, but just before noon, Alex showed up at our company booth.

“I leave today,” he told me, “So I am not free for drinks.” We shook hands, and he said that he would hopefully see me in New York.

But that was not the end. Over the next few days, I received two more emails, one of which I thought summarized the experience most appropriately:

I hope everything is fine for you. I don't know yet when I will come back in New York but I hope before next summer... My thoughts flashed back to the last time we met when I tried to chat you up! It was fun but not a real success....

There went my wistful hope that ours had been an innocent interaction. Upon recounting the incident to various friends, I was advised not to reply, and so I have not. I guess this means I’ll have to befriend someone else if I want a native tour guide in Paris, perhaps a Frenchwoman. . . .

On Going Back to School

While it’s only been two years since I graduated from college, I feel as though I have been out of school forever. I am so far removed from the tasks of studying and taking finals that I can barely summon sufficient empathy for my friends who tell me, “I can’t talk [to you on the phone] this week; I’m studying for exams.” Studying? Rather than talk to witty, entertaining me? Who does that?

When my day is over, it’s over. I walk out of the office at 4:30 p.m. and have the rest of my day to fill as I please. I can read a book. I can go for a swim. I can go grocery shopping. I can go to sleep.

This freedom has made me very possessive of my time. It’s a struggle for me to commit to mid-week events now, because what if, on that day, I don’t feel like doing that activity anymore? If I agree to go to a museum with a friend, and then suddenly have an urge to swim, I am stuck! Moreover, if I cannot even commit to single-day events, forget committing to something that requires my attendance every week, never mind multiple times a week. Like, say, a class.

However, I did recently attend an in-house workshop (run by my company), and the experience reignited my desire to be back in school. “Joy of learning” makes me sound like a grade school class suck-up, but that is really what I felt as I sat in the HTML II workshop yesterday. Trying to wrap my mind around new concepts, such as style sheet “grammar” and how to “tell” a form where to send its information, made my brain feel like it was wakening up and trying to stretch—that mixture of simultaneous pain and relief. The experience was also a harsh reminder that I haven’t taxed myself mentally in a long, long time, and that I am out of practice for this sort of concentrated learning.

The course lasted from 9a.m.-4:30p.m., and by 2:30, in spite of the hour lunch break, my mind was saturated. All I wanted to do was practice what I had learned and not listen to one more word that the teacher was saying. Which makes me wonder: how in the world did we sit through classes all day long for 12 years of our lives?! Have I grown antsier in my old age? Less patient, and less willing to sit still and listen for hours on end? Or have I somehow become less capable? For instance, I never fell asleep in school until I got to college. And the fact that I was falling asleep in college lectures makes no sense, because I liked what I was learning in college better!

Either way, the sensation of learning was really exciting and made me again vaguely consider whether I could go back to school. Perhaps I could earn some sort of degree slowly, one course at a time. Surely I could handle one course in addition to my job, couldn’t I? Plus, that would prove I am not entirely jealous of my own time, that I can commit to something that imposes on my schedule long-term. But then that, of course, begs the question: what do I study? Whatever I want? Something practical? My “plans for the future” are not at all practical, seeing as I am considering frolicking off to China to teach English or else trying out vegetable farming in some middle-of-nowhere place. Perhaps, then, I should wait until I have a clearer plan and purpose in mind?

In the meantime, I will have to live vicariously through my boyfriend, who is about to start teaching and going to school. Maybe he’ll let me help him study and figure out lesson plans. Then I'll get a preview of my China plan for a fraction of the work and none of the pressure!

Warm Fuzzies #10 : Carrot Cake

Today's warm fuzzies are brought to you by the carrot cake I made for my colleague, T__'s XLIVth birthday. Reviews are as follows:

That was just the moist...the most moistest.... I don't know if that's a word, but that cake was it. Can I have the recipe?

You should start your own business. Seriously.

Your cake is amazing! No like really, it's amazing. If there's any left at 4 o'clock, I'm coming back up. This time I have a bowl. You know, for my train ride home.

And my personal favorite...

OMG! Damn you can bake! Cake tastes professionally done. And carrot cake is not easy to make.