Posts Tagged ‘passport photo’

No More Tears

June 5, 2018

What a freaking relief.

Yesterday, last night I should say, because technically yesterday was a vale of tears from morning until about 6:30p.m. when I had to pull it together to take care of my Sunday night commitment, was the first night since my landlady gave me notice that I did not cry myself to sleep.

And!

Oh.

So good.

This morning too, no tears!

I did a lot of work yesterday, and throughout the week when I think about it, to get through the fear.

A lot of self talk, a lot of letting the tears happen when they did.

Granted.

I did holler a couple of times, “stop, just stop.”

But.

For the most part, they just kept on coming.

Yesterday was by far the worst day of it.

Of course, it was pointed out to me later that I had actually time to stop and have the feelings, I have been a busy lady and not being able to do much sitting still when I did have the chance to the emotions just ran away with the house.

I cried a lot.

But.

I think it moved things along and by the time I met with my person up at Firewood Cafe I was almost cried out.

Almost.

I still cried for the first half hour or so and then I slowly started to get relief.

And perspective.

And that it was more than just the threat of losing my place, it was also the past few weeks of busy and go, go, go, graduate, and hang out with my mom, and get all my paperwork turned in so I am really done with school, and have an endoscopy, and maybe I have cancer, but probably not, but maybe, and having to terminate with a client and all sorts of stuff, it was all the things.

All the things needed to have a word with me and then did so in a grand sweeping emotional way.

I seriously thought a few times that I was hormonal, I never cry like this for this long, unless really depressed, but then I’d still be crying and that crying is a different kind then what I was doing.

The crying I was doing was all fear based.

Not so much sadness based.

Fear based and anger based.

I have had some angry moments, let me tell you.

But it got worked out and the more I talked, cried, muddled through, the easier it seemed to be until by the time I walked into the basement of Most Holy Redeemer to take care of my Sunday night gig I was almost wholly myself.

And then!

Oh.

My old friend from my early days in recovery came prancing into the room with another dear friend and it was so good to connect and reconnect and catch up.

She’s been living in London for the last seven years, New York before that, and it was her first time back to SF in ten years.

I mean.

It was good to see her.

And hear her.

And then go out and hang out afterwards with all the friends and people and go to La Meditereanee and have some good food and laugh and get perspective.

I also heard so much advocacy for me getting to be taken care of and that there is abundance and that I do deserve it.

I sometimes forget that.

All the time.

That I am allowed to embrace abundance.

So.

My attitude changed and I began to see this whole thing as an enormous gift.

Oh.

Like many gifts I have received I did not like the wrapping paper it came in, and I have wanted to give it back, but there it is, in my lap, begging to be opened, to be revealed.

More will be revealed.

There’s always more to learn.

I get to take this situation as an opportunity to grow and to manifest what I want in a living situation.

I also get to take this as a chance to let my voice be heard, to not be run over by the circumstances, to advocate for my rights.

I listened again to the voicemail of the woman from the SF Tenant’s Union who reached out to me the day prior to my going in to the drop in session and was assuaged again to hear that what is happening is not legal and I have loads of rights.

She reiterated a bunch of them and I found comfort in that.

I know my rights and I get to speak up for myself.

Not something I have always done.

Not something that I am great at.

But fuck, what an opportunity to learn.

So.

I’m going to get to learn about something new and in the process I will find a new place to live and it will be done with grace and dignity.

At least on my part.

My part is all I’m responsible for anyway.

Speaking of my part.

And taking responsibility.

I have filled out my BBS (Behavioral Board of Science) application for my AMFT#!

Yesterday I got passport photos taken so that I can turn in a recent photo to the BBS.

All I need to do now is get LiveScanned fingerprinting done.

I will be doing that on Wednesday.

The hope is to have it all taken care of and ready to send into the BBS by Saturday.

It was strongly suggested that I send it in registered mail and insure it and track it and make sure it gets signed for.

So a trip to the post office before my internship on Saturday.

It’s a really exciting thing.

Once the BBS gives me my AMFT# I will officially be able to take payment for my therapy sessions.

At which point I will be transitioning from my current internship to my private practice internship.

I am really excited.

It feels so nice to have positive, forward motion actions happening.

And though I do not know how long this hallway of uncertainty is in regards to where I live next.

I do believe.

With all my heart.

That is will be fucking fabulous.

Seriously.

Advertisements

Just Go!

May 23, 2012

Patience.

Patience.

Patience.

Sometimes the doing nothing is the important thing.  Today, I only took one little step forward, minute, truly.

I put my passport application in an envelope, stapled my new passport photo to the form, double checked the payment on the check,added in my old passport, sealed it up, addressed it to the State Deparment, weighed it, 3 oz, and put $1.30 in postage on the envelope.

It went out in the afternoon mail along with a paid invoice for t-shirts at the shop and a complete bicycle headed to Toronto, Canada.

There’s not a whole lot more for me to do today.

Aside from not obsess, not hunt craigslist Paris, and not worry.

I read an interesting blog last night about what you need to move to Paris.  I have the necessary requirements in spades–chutzpah, luck, tenacity.  Here is a link.  It is pretty mush about moving with out the money.

I can do that!

I have $1900 in savings so far.  The one way ticket is $577 on IceLandic Air (ah, Iceland, another place I have notions to visit, but one trip at a time) from SFO to Charles De Gaulle on October 15th.

I want to buy that ticket really, really, really badly.

However, for the time being, I am just going to sit back and wait for a little more information.

Barnaby is back in San Francisco tomorrow.  I want to pounce on him and pick his brain the minute he lands.  Probably not going to happen like that.  I imagine he’ll want to rest up from the travels back and forth.  I am keeping my fingers crossed for a Thursday after work meet up for tea.

Although, if he gets in tomorrow and is down for the discussion, I am all over it.

The article talked about having the tenacity to do something.  I have tenacity.  When I actually acknowledge myself and some of the things I have  done, I can say without any kind of smugness, I am tenacious for sure.

It gave some good tips and pointers about where to go and what to do.  The biggest thing, aside from getting work, is finding a place to stay.  That one I basically have.

Jesus, I don’t even know where Barnaby lives in Paris.

Who cares?

It’s Paris.  I’ll take the Metro.

I already have tickets.  Courtesy of Mrs. Shannon Smith-Bernardin, who brought back her unused carnets (tickets) for the Metro from her honeymoon.  I have a handful, enough to get around for a couple of days.

I was re-reading my entry in my journal from Paris, May 22nd, 2009 earlier, and I had a good chuckle over something I had entirely forgotten that I had done.

When I was there I fell into speaking French fairly quickly, a fact that I keep reminding myself of, the language will come back really fast, especially being immersed.  However, there was one time that I lost it, broke down and was hollering in English.

At a ticket agent.

Is it just subway systems everywhere that bring this behaviour out?  I have had words with BART operators before too.

I had gotten turned away at the turnstile was I was attempting to catch a train and I could not figure out why the machines would not take my tickets, I had just purchased them.

I brought them over to the woman behind the plastic screen and explained that I could not get through the gate.  She explained that I had purchased a pack of children’s Metro tickets, not the adult rider ticket.  I asked for a refund.  She said no, she could not do that.

I asked who could.

She told me I had to go to the Motparnasse station.  This was completely out of my way and I think I did not have anymore cash on me?  I can’t quite remember what the issue was, but I was suddenly irate, upset, and bewildered.  My French, which had gotten me carriage rides, dinners, cafe cremes, jewelry, museum passes, stickers, pain au chocolat, taxis, postage at the post office for my post cards, reservations, and countless other things, was suddenly no good.

I could not get a refund on the Metro.

I was livid.  And my French rapidly became loud, obnoxious American.

Not English, I was not English, I was not proper, I was bitchy, mean, snotty, loud–American.  All things I despised when ever I came across American tourists.

In fact, most of the time when I did cross an American’s path, I spoke French.  I was not, even with a camera at the ready, taken for American.  Brazilian, or maybe Spanish, perhaps from Portugal, but American, nope.

Until the Metro.

Then the ugly came out.

Soon, I will be an American in Paris again.  An American who has the tenacity and the stick to it’ness to be able to not just be an American, but to be an Expat.

What do you want to be when you grow up?

An expatriate.

Ha.

A polite ex-pat who speaks coolly, calmly, serenely going about her day-to-day life in Paris–writing in cafes being very much at the top of my list.

The one thing that the article also mentioned, was to hit the ground running.  I may take exception with this, the one thing I want to do when I get there is just sit for a minute.  An hour.  A day.  Preferably a week.  Just sit and write and sit and watch and get in some nice long walks.

I will be going over in October, when the tourist season has passed and the days will be shorter and the rain my come and it will be colder, but the leaves will be changing colors and the sky will have the silhouettes of gables and smokey chimney stacks.

I want to take a little time to just let myself be.

I also need to remember that nothing is happening yet.  I am still here, still in San Francisco.  I still need to focus on my self-care, recovery, and service to be done here.

Then, I can just go with impunity.

 


%d bloggers like this: