take more risks

My connection to the grapevine is strong at work. My company is going to start doing “voluntary furloughs” in the next pay period. Except, management has no idea what “furlough” actually means.

What they mean is: You defer your salary per a written agreement until the “current financial difficulties” have passed and you keep working full time. Now, as much as I enjoy the tasks that I do at work and I like the people I work with, my relationship with my employer is basically transactional: I need something (money) and they need something (the skills I have + the time of the practitioner of those skills).

So why does it feel so scary, the idea that the only reasonable response to this unreasonable request (seriously, is Visa going to “defer” charging me interest because I’m deferring salary?) is “You don’t pay me; I don’t work.” ?

I sent a story off to an open call for submissions for an anthology. I haven’t submitted anything for publication consideration in over 10 years. While it was scary, and I know my chances of getting in are slim, sending the story off made me feel more powerful than I’ve felt in a long, long time.

This goal made it to the list I’ve drawn up for 2009: take more risks. As I’ve said before, the key to this is breaking down “risk” into smaller pieces.

Risk can be: saying what I want.

Risk can be: doing what I please with my time not what I think is expected of me.

Risk can be: opening myself up to others’ opinions.

I guess, if it feels risky then for me, regardless of what society says or what my inculcated training tells me, then it is a risk.

So…my first risk of 2009: editing up an old short story to submit for consideration in an anthology. I wrote the story at a time in my life that was particularly full of upheaval. It brings back painful memories, but it’s a good story and right for this publication.

Even if I never submit it just doing the editing, scraping the scab off those memories, is a risk because I didn’t like that person very much, not in thought or behavior or action, and I am afraid I still am that person underneath.

I need to reexamine this goal, to refine what risk is and what it means to me. Others’ yardsticks are clearly not working.

This is not a revelation; it’s something I started this goal knowing, but I forget. It’s hard not to in a society that prizes certain activities or traits, hell even deems them “really living” as compared to everything else that actually makes up daily life.

Maybe I need to go back to step -1: define what I consider to be a risk for me.

Was chatting with my friend David after a long time apart. He, like me, writes a bit. He was asking about NaNoWriMo and I told him I was thinking of taking a class instead but what to take – something computer program-ish (good for work, good for the ramping up job hunt) or something creative (good for me and the soul). He said taking the writing class; I stare at a computer all day. I’m hesitant. He asks why and I tell him: Fear. My writing muscles are all flabby. The workshop people take themselves so seriously (only 16 students in a class; here is the syllabus, blah, blah, blah). You’ll be fine he said.

So I’m taking the writing class. We’ll have to produce two short stories in 10 weeks. I’m scared but I’m doing it anyway.

I had my annual review at the beginning of November, my first at my new-ish job, and all agreed that my rating was excellent.

And then my salary increase letter came through: less than a 2% raise for excellent performance.

After I got over the shock I wrote my boss a note stating why I didn’t think the amount offered was an accurate reflection of my performance assessment, nor was my current salary an accurate reflection of my value to the organization or what the position is worth on the open market.

Today my boss called and offered me 4%. Still not a lot but it covers cost of living, which I think is the bare minimum you should offer people, plus a slight raise. He also recognized that the job I’m doing isn’t the job I originally took; it is much more.

Took a risk and it paid off. That’s a first.

I find myself recently back touch with someone who I thought could be a friend but with whom I had a rocky start (misunderstandings and lack of context will do that).

It is a risk for me to become friends with her because she is also connected to the friend whom I spent so much effort letting go of this year. My normal pattern: to be polite when we cross paths but to not engage this person because doing so potentially opens the door to someone I don’t want back in my life.

Instead I am proceeding with caution, aware that I am entitled to my boundaries and that they are two different people.

I can’t really write about the risk I took here but let’s just say that 1) I was true to my principles, 2) it involved a shredder, and 3) I justify my actions as (mostly) passive resistance to a system that is broken beyond repair.

I’m glad I took this risk. I’m comfortable with it, in fact, for it was a considered risk (the consequences of “being caught” are quite low while the rule itself is enforced mostly with fear of consequence) and one I told myself I would take if the opportunity arose.

Yes, I’m taking out the adverbs and getting my book ready to submit to a publisher. I’m terrified. What if they say no? Does that mean I’m a bad writer? Part of me says it does and I shouldn’t risk hearing that. Part of me says that’s crap and knows I write well. Neither part is much comfort.

I compiled a list of agents today to send query letters to for my first book. My hindbrain keeps screaming at me “What if they reject you! Doesn’t that mean you aren’t a writer? How can you risk that?” This time, I will ignore that voice that says stay safe and comfortable. I will.