Flight attendant. : - P
This is not at all surprising. Delta hires less than 1% of the people who apply. I certainly don't blame them for not picking me. I don't even blame them for turning me down in a form letter without ever actually talking to me. They just don't have the resources when you have so many applicants. This does make things difficult for me though.
Difficult because I don't have great direction about where to go from here. None of the positive changes I made even came up, because I didn't get that far. I can only wonder if I could have improved my resume, or answered the questions on their personality assessment better.
I created my resume with a lot of help from someone who does recruiting for a Fortune 500 company. It does highlight my technical experience. She has agreed to rework it with me to highlight customer service experience. The other thing I can do is add to it.
Adding experience as a flight attendant is one thing can do. I might have to get some experience at a smaller airline for that. A different job at Delta might be helpful too, but it wouldn't make sense to abandon my career in tech support for a job I don't want. I am keeping my eye out for tech support jobs at airlines.
The other things I can do are to become certified in safety related abilities like CPR, or learn Spanish. I have real problems with blood, but I think I'll try. Both are doable, and as before, they'd be positive changes even if I never end up becoming a flight attendant.
Monday, September 25, 2017
Thursday, September 21, 2017
Two ... or One?
I am currently taking an online retreat about Sacred Spaces and Sacred Moments. ( Yes, I, who has relatively recently been on a five-day self-directed silent retreat and on four three-day silent preached Jesuit retreats, am taking advantage of technology. ) The retreat is given, in the form of brief audio clips and short textual readings, by the Benedictine Monasteries of the Heart monastery. My time. My computer. My office. Silent or not, as I wish. You get the idea.
The retreat is in its second of four weeks. As I reflected on today's material, I was moved to write a poem with a brief introduction. I share them below:
The retreat is in its second of four weeks. As I reflected on today's material, I was moved to write a poem with a brief introduction. I share them below:
| If you would like to comment but don't care to use the comment field, send an email to wrjsojourner@gmail.com. |
Monday, September 11, 2017
This is Not "Me"
Someone I know once casually reminded everyone to make sure they recycle the paper she was handing us when we were done. I casually let her know that, although I'm always careful to recycle plastic, glass, and aluminum, I believe recycling paper is actually bad for the environment.
Now I've heard her talk about recycling quite a few times. She must really care about the environment. Right? I expected her to be grateful for a chance to learn more about being a good steward of the earth. Or maybe she would disagree, and provide her reasoning as to why she believed recycling paper was good for the environment. What I got was silent anger, then a quick subject change.
I was confused. I didn't know what to say. That's when another acquaintance of us both spoke up. "Really? How can that be?" he asked. I was so revealed. He had gifted me this chance to explain my reasoning, and she would realized that this mysterious anger was misplaced.
I briefly explained about the extra fossil fuels and chemicals spent on collecting and processing used paper as compared to fresh wood pulp. I also explained how wood pulp comes from tree farms, and used paper is biodegradable. I looked over at her and saw... more silent anger, somehow burning even hotter than before. Then another quick subject change.
This was about 10 years ago. Since then I've leaned that I'm the weird one. Almost every person I know takes ideas, and inserts them into their image of "me." This woman didn't care about the earth. She chose to include recycling in her self image, and was offended when I insulted her. Others chose political or sociological ideas. Then there is, of course, religion.
You are not your country. You are not your political party, feminism, recycling, or your religion. And I shouldn't have to be a jerk for questing an idea, any idea. People should be respected, not ideas. All ideas should be criticized. The more you love your idea, the more you should welcome its criticism. Be proud when your ideas stand up to scrutiny, and grateful to find out if it doesn't.
Thursday, September 7, 2017
Me, a Reading Buddy?
"I'm cooler than that."
I have a friend whom I've known for only a few years … but he has influenced my life. For instance, he is the "other friend" to whom
I referred previously who invited me to go on a 3-day silent retreat. I've done it annually since then.
When we visit, he consistently refers to one of his volunteer duties, of which he has several, as his "Reading Buddy" assignment. He reads, weekly, to a group of young students at a school near his home. "It is so great to be able to be a positive influence on their young lives," he says. "A lot of them come from homes without a father, from a home within which they get no male bonding, no male support; OK, no male love. To be a positive influence like that is life-giving — in both directions."
Of course, he says other things, periodically, never more than one or two at a time, as well. "You should try it." "You'd be a great reading buddy." "The kids would really look up to you." "You have such a teaching and caring way about you." "The kids would love your sense of humor." "Here, let me give you the name of the Reading Buddy coordinator … just in case you change your mind."
Believing I would not change my mind, but also believing that anything is possible, I added her information to my contact list. I added a note, "Reading buddy coordinator," too, for times I see her name and wonder, "Who is that?"
A while back, school was starting shortly and my friend had mentioned his Reading Buddy avocation to me and how wonderful it would be were I to try it. I'd again done my best to be clear without being rude that I don't think Reading Buddies is for me.
"You know, he's really after me to be a Reading Buddy," I said to my wife around that time.
She knows my friend almost not at all but I try to keep her up to date on the topics we discuss … so my relationship is not a complete mystery. "He's been a Reading Buddy for quite a while, hasn't he?" she acknowledged.
"Yes," I said, "he has. I'm not sure how long but it's been quite a while."
"What do you tell him when he suggests this to you?"
"I am clear," I said, "that I don't think it's for me. I never turn him down cold … I don't want to be rude and there is a small attraction there for me. I really don't want to acknowledge that attraction but I don't want to slam the door shut, either."
"Hmmm," she mused.
"I hate it when she 'Hmmm's like that." Deciding to risk it, I asked, "What's 'Hmmm' about?"
"Well, tell me. Tell me about the attraction that you don't want to acknowledge."
"Well, I like teaching. You know that … I'm a born 'let me show you how to do that' kind of guy. I think kids kind of look up to me, and I could both like doing it and be good at it. But … but it doesn't fit my self-image," I said, as a truth slowly made itself known. I heard myself add, "It's like I'm cooler than that."
"Ah, yes, your self-image." She repeated, "Cooler." The word was both loaded with affection and chillingly effective.
"Uh oh."
"I think you'd like to do that," she said easily; "it could well be very good for you."
If you've been paying attention, you know both that my wife is scary smart and that I've learned to pay attention to these sorts of pronouncements. Almost immediately I knew I'd be calling that coordinator; it was only a matter of time to come to grips with it.
I have a friend whom I've known for only a few years … but he has influenced my life. For instance, he is the "other friend" to whom
I referred previously who invited me to go on a 3-day silent retreat. I've done it annually since then.
When we visit, he consistently refers to one of his volunteer duties, of which he has several, as his "Reading Buddy" assignment. He reads, weekly, to a group of young students at a school near his home. "It is so great to be able to be a positive influence on their young lives," he says. "A lot of them come from homes without a father, from a home within which they get no male bonding, no male support; OK, no male love. To be a positive influence like that is life-giving — in both directions."
Of course, he says other things, periodically, never more than one or two at a time, as well. "You should try it." "You'd be a great reading buddy." "The kids would really look up to you." "You have such a teaching and caring way about you." "The kids would love your sense of humor." "Here, let me give you the name of the Reading Buddy coordinator … just in case you change your mind."
Believing I would not change my mind, but also believing that anything is possible, I added her information to my contact list. I added a note, "Reading buddy coordinator," too, for times I see her name and wonder, "Who is that?"
A while back, school was starting shortly and my friend had mentioned his Reading Buddy avocation to me and how wonderful it would be were I to try it. I'd again done my best to be clear without being rude that I don't think Reading Buddies is for me.
"You know, he's really after me to be a Reading Buddy," I said to my wife around that time.
She knows my friend almost not at all but I try to keep her up to date on the topics we discuss … so my relationship is not a complete mystery. "He's been a Reading Buddy for quite a while, hasn't he?" she acknowledged.
"Yes," I said, "he has. I'm not sure how long but it's been quite a while."
"What do you tell him when he suggests this to you?"
"I am clear," I said, "that I don't think it's for me. I never turn him down cold … I don't want to be rude and there is a small attraction there for me. I really don't want to acknowledge that attraction but I don't want to slam the door shut, either."
"Hmmm," she mused.
"I hate it when she 'Hmmm's like that." Deciding to risk it, I asked, "What's 'Hmmm' about?"
"Well, tell me. Tell me about the attraction that you don't want to acknowledge."
"Well, I like teaching. You know that … I'm a born 'let me show you how to do that' kind of guy. I think kids kind of look up to me, and I could both like doing it and be good at it. But … but it doesn't fit my self-image," I said, as a truth slowly made itself known. I heard myself add, "It's like I'm cooler than that."
"Ah, yes, your self-image." She repeated, "Cooler." The word was both loaded with affection and chillingly effective.
"Uh oh."
"I think you'd like to do that," she said easily; "it could well be very good for you."
If you've been paying attention, you know both that my wife is scary smart and that I've learned to pay attention to these sorts of pronouncements. Almost immediately I knew I'd be calling that coordinator; it was only a matter of time to come to grips with it.
| If you would like to comment but don't care to use the comment field, send an email to wrjsojourner@gmail.com. |
Monday, September 4, 2017
Grooming 102
** The following is a graphic depiction of laser hair removal **
Laser hair removal happened. I know it did because it was burned into my memory, and boy did it burn. Apparently it isn't unheard of, but is fairly unusual, to laugh hysterically when in pain. When it was done I expected to see a bloody mess, but it was just a little red.
The procedure was $100. I think I was there about 20 minutes. She told me it is significantly more painful than having a tattoo removed, which is significantly more painful than getting a tattoo. She also told me it will never be as painful as the first time.
The next day I had a sunburn on my neck. Then almost a week of little white pimples, and very dry skin. An ingrown hair will eventually trigger the "foreign body" response, as though there was something foreign under your skin. That's pretty much what happened to about half of my neck hairs, even though they weren't trapped. And many more were trapped, becoming ingrown hairs. I've never had so many at once. It was so frustrating having so many problem hairs, and not being able to pull them.
As I write this 13 days in, my neck finally looks as bad as normal. It's red here and there, but nothing major. And the hairs did finally start falling out. You can see some patches where only my white hairs remain. Those without pigment will not be affected by this.
This has been my experience, but I can't really say if it will be effective. This is a long term solution, and will take months to be sure I'll have long term results. I'll definitely check back in 6 months.
Laser hair removal happened. I know it did because it was burned into my memory, and boy did it burn. Apparently it isn't unheard of, but is fairly unusual, to laugh hysterically when in pain. When it was done I expected to see a bloody mess, but it was just a little red.
The procedure was $100. I think I was there about 20 minutes. She told me it is significantly more painful than having a tattoo removed, which is significantly more painful than getting a tattoo. She also told me it will never be as painful as the first time.
The next day I had a sunburn on my neck. Then almost a week of little white pimples, and very dry skin. An ingrown hair will eventually trigger the "foreign body" response, as though there was something foreign under your skin. That's pretty much what happened to about half of my neck hairs, even though they weren't trapped. And many more were trapped, becoming ingrown hairs. I've never had so many at once. It was so frustrating having so many problem hairs, and not being able to pull them.
As I write this 13 days in, my neck finally looks as bad as normal. It's red here and there, but nothing major. And the hairs did finally start falling out. You can see some patches where only my white hairs remain. Those without pigment will not be affected by this.
This has been my experience, but I can't really say if it will be effective. This is a long term solution, and will take months to be sure I'll have long term results. I'll definitely check back in 6 months.
Thursday, August 31, 2017
Meeting "my Cardiologist"
"Wow, I really like this guy."
"My cardiologist." I have not warmed up to that phrase though I like the man whom it depicts quite a lot. Ellie and I went to see him several weeks after my family doctor had suggested it because of some blood work and an echocardiogram showing some slight heart irregularities. Dr Sam
( name changed ) was both very pleasant and young enough to be my son.
While waiting for the appointment, I vacillated between wondering what awful news he was going to pull from the data and feeling confident all was well … sure my case was interesting, possibly worthy of further study, but the further study would be no more than returning in six months to a year to be tested again.
I also wondered how I'd handle a stress test, which my doctor said may be necessary. Would I be able to pass one or would I have a heart attack trying? ( Walking is something I was used to doing, albeit neither swiftly nor uphill. ) Though I did not have nightmares about this topic I did find myself thinking about it a lot, especially as I went to sleep.
After introductions all around … "Well," he said, "let's talk about your heart."
"Fair enough; I'm pretty sure that's why I'm here."
The long and short of it was that my case is unusual ( and if I ever don't want to be unusual it's when I'm in a doctor's office ). My EKG was only "pretty" normal; there was a hint that I had a heart attack some time ago. The echocardiogram suggested the same thing - but only when viewing from a specific angle. From all other angles, all was fine. The radiologist had concluded I did have the long-ago heart attack but my cardiologist
( there's that phrase again ) wasn't so sure given that it seemed to indicate that from only one viewing angle.
"My gut," he said, "tells me it's a false positive. … But I've been wrong before, and what I'd like to do is give you a low dose of linsinopril, which will strengthen your heart, and in four to six weeks give you a nuclear stress test. This will help us be sure."
"Heart medication? Me? Who are we kidding? No!" I thought. "I really don't want to take heart medication," I said.
"OK," he replied, "no medication and we'll do the stress test next week. How's that?"
"Wow, I really like this guy," coursed through my being. "OK, you're on; let's do that."
He explained the test, wanting me to understand it completely, and sent his nurse in to schedule it.
The test consisted of an injection of a nuclear trace material to get a good picture of the blood in my heart, resting while that had time to fully flow, taking the picture, the stress test itself, another injection, rest and two more pictures. The actual stress test consisted of walking on an inclined tread mill, then the tread mill was sped up and inclined some more, until my heart rate reached eight-five percent of its safe maximum, monitoring my blood pressure and heart rate all the time.
I felt I did well; no chest pain, breathing differently only enough to know I was working, and feeling some stress in my knees and legs. The test administrator thanked me and said I did well. All that was left, then, was to hear the results.
"My cardiologist." I have not warmed up to that phrase though I like the man whom it depicts quite a lot. Ellie and I went to see him several weeks after my family doctor had suggested it because of some blood work and an echocardiogram showing some slight heart irregularities. Dr Sam
( name changed ) was both very pleasant and young enough to be my son.
While waiting for the appointment, I vacillated between wondering what awful news he was going to pull from the data and feeling confident all was well … sure my case was interesting, possibly worthy of further study, but the further study would be no more than returning in six months to a year to be tested again.
I also wondered how I'd handle a stress test, which my doctor said may be necessary. Would I be able to pass one or would I have a heart attack trying? ( Walking is something I was used to doing, albeit neither swiftly nor uphill. ) Though I did not have nightmares about this topic I did find myself thinking about it a lot, especially as I went to sleep.
After introductions all around … "Well," he said, "let's talk about your heart."
"Fair enough; I'm pretty sure that's why I'm here."
The long and short of it was that my case is unusual ( and if I ever don't want to be unusual it's when I'm in a doctor's office ). My EKG was only "pretty" normal; there was a hint that I had a heart attack some time ago. The echocardiogram suggested the same thing - but only when viewing from a specific angle. From all other angles, all was fine. The radiologist had concluded I did have the long-ago heart attack but my cardiologist
( there's that phrase again ) wasn't so sure given that it seemed to indicate that from only one viewing angle.
"My gut," he said, "tells me it's a false positive. … But I've been wrong before, and what I'd like to do is give you a low dose of linsinopril, which will strengthen your heart, and in four to six weeks give you a nuclear stress test. This will help us be sure."
"Heart medication? Me? Who are we kidding? No!" I thought. "I really don't want to take heart medication," I said.
"OK," he replied, "no medication and we'll do the stress test next week. How's that?"
"Wow, I really like this guy," coursed through my being. "OK, you're on; let's do that."
He explained the test, wanting me to understand it completely, and sent his nurse in to schedule it.
The test consisted of an injection of a nuclear trace material to get a good picture of the blood in my heart, resting while that had time to fully flow, taking the picture, the stress test itself, another injection, rest and two more pictures. The actual stress test consisted of walking on an inclined tread mill, then the tread mill was sped up and inclined some more, until my heart rate reached eight-five percent of its safe maximum, monitoring my blood pressure and heart rate all the time.
I felt I did well; no chest pain, breathing differently only enough to know I was working, and feeling some stress in my knees and legs. The test administrator thanked me and said I did well. All that was left, then, was to hear the results.
| If you would like to comment but don't care to use the comment field, send an email to wrjsojourner@gmail.com. |
Monday, August 28, 2017
The Mint I've been Looking for
When I was about 10 my father took me to a surprisingly fancy dinner; surprising because it took place at the Renascence Festival. It was a 7 course meal, with my main dish, as a child, being a half a pheasant. The servers would have put the ladies at Hooters to shame. Desert was a scoop of shaved ice, with a lemon syrup poured over it, and perfect green leaves on top. I'll never forget those leaves.At the time I knew mint was a flavor, but didn't realize that flavor came from a plant. And apparently the plant tastes much better than the flavor. I grew up knowing I liked mint, and I really liked some mint. It took a long time to actually weed through the different factors before I came to the obvious conclusion: I like spearmint.
There are only two types of mint that humans commonly eat, peppermint, and spearmint. And it's rarely advertised that they use spearmint. It's always "mint," or "peppermint." Peppermint tea was easy to find, and I could find tea that included spearmint. I was this close to buying bulk spearmint online before I finally found it at a fancy grocery store.
It was sold as traditional medicine, without making any specific claims. It says you can have up to 3 cups a day, without saying why. But I don't care. I'm glad there's a market for it, whatever the reason. And I definitely got it right. This is the mint I've been looking for.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Just sitting together
My love and I
Talking quietly
Or maybe not
She leaves her body
Or I mine
The space between
Is nearly visible
I know her differently
We are not 1 but 2
Physically ... yes ... 2
Otherwise only 1