Magic

There are things I believe. Things I don't. And a lot of things I don't have the energy to determine whether or not I believe them.

I don't feel comfortable enough to articulate that I don't believe in God. I definitely don't have any certainty that I don't.

Tim's old boss, Witch Doctor Bob (a naturopath, actually) does things that can never be explained. A lot of his remedies don't work on me, because I don't believe in them.

Being so skeptical, though, doesn't account for me believing in Tim's magic. I can't explain it. I just do. To put it into words sounds ridiculous. Like how our bedroom had an off-putting vibe--I never wanted to spend time there--so I asked him to do some magic in there. Now I am drawn to spend time there.

He says a lot of what is called magic has to do with energy. At my old job in Alabama, I encountered a client who threw more venom at me than I'd ever experienced in my entire life. Just the sight of her would put me in major crisis mode, and every interaction with her would sap me of my strength. I put a lot of effort into deciding how I needed to handle her, and things I could say to attempt to take a stand against her taking such supreme advantage of me. Tim told me of a spell to try.

I was, of course, skeptical, but since I didn't have anything to lose by that point, I tried it. He told me to envision a shield in front of me, to spend time fully fleshing out what I imagined it to look like. Then when I went to work, think about holding it. The next day, I was ambushed in my office by this client. I didn't know she would be showing up at that particular time, so I didn't have a chance to think again about my shield.

But this time things were different. Instead of glaring across the desk at me, waves of hatred emanating from her body, she behaved more reasonably. Not like I was her favorite person in the world, but like she could finally tolerate my presence and perhaps respect that I could help her.

Of course, logically I thought something had happened on her end. Maybe she finally decided it took too much effort being so hateful. But I decided not to discount what I had done. My own magic. I think if I acknowledge it and believe in it, then it must have some power.

Putting it out there

Tim thinks I need to be specific about what I want out of a job, and put it out into the universe to let it simmer.

For the first time ever, I can be specific. I finally know exactly what I want to do. I guess this is why I went to grad school, but in some ways, knowing exactly what I want to do also blows. If I had a wider view, it would probably be easier to find a job. I could look at the job listings, usually around 25-50 each time I look, and actually find something that looks at least appealing enough to apply for. I wouldn't be crippled with anxiety, wondering what I can possibly do that won't make me feel like I'm wasting my time, or finding something that will at least position me well for what I can do eventually. Now that I know what I love, anything less than that really will feel like a waste of time.

So here goes, universe. Work your magic for me.

I want a job at a community mental health agency, doing family therapy with adolescents. I want the job to allow for some group work, perhaps with self-esteem or social skills training, maybe anger management. Maybe music therapy! Maybe dance! Anything creative that will spark the kids' interest. I want the job to have the room to grow into restorative justice and peace-making circles. I want to be able to some day write a grant for the purchase of a bunch of drums so that we can have drum circles.

I want the hours to be flexible, so I can start late and work late, and still maintain my shelter job. I want it to be maybe Tuesday through Saturday, so I can take my Sundays and Mondays to be with Tim.

And lastly, I'd like it to be within biking distance on warm days. I don't want a drainingly long commute. I won't mind doing home visits, I won't mind if I have to drive clients around in my car. I just don't want to have to drive for an hour or more in bad traffice to get to work.

That's it. This is exactly what I want. This is my job description of heaven.

Edited to say: I thought of something else. I'd love to also be able to run a movie series or book club for teens that had some therapeutic value to it. I am thinking of this as I proofread a library journal, and it seems like the young adult librarians are always doing cool things that I think could somehow be woven into a social worker's job, too.

I always thought I'd become a librarian, after spending years in the cult of ALA. If there was some way to combine the two--no, three, including the editing bits of my life that I miss--that would be the perfect job.

I suppose what it all really boils down to is that I want a job where I can be creative. I never realized what an asset that could be to therapy, and it's exciting to see that I can include that in my work. But I need a place that values it, and lets me run with all my wild ideas.