My job currently entails interviewing dozens of people each week for seasonal positions, and in the hundreds of interviews I've conducted I've learned a lot about myself and a lot about people in general. One of the most interesting things I've seen candidates do is respond to the information I present to them in ways that can only be interpreted as discomfort, disengagement, and even disagreement. Which is actually fine. I think there are many wonderful people out there for whom this is not the right job. The interesting thing that some of these interviewees do, however, is at the end of the conversation, make very emphatic statements about wanting to do the work. Some even go so far as to say they can't imagine anything they would rather be doing.

Trying to make sense of these passionate claims in light of conduct that clearly contradicts them is a fascinating study in human nature. It has started me thinking on the places in my own life where I believe I want a particular outcome, but my actions or my instincts belie such a claim. And I wonder in moments like this if it's a matter of lacking self-awareness -- do these candidates simply not see the discrepancy that is so obvious to me, and do I have such a disconnect within myself that allows my active will and the more subconscious elements of myself to be at odds in this way? -- or is there something else getting in the way here? Is it pride, perhaps, or fear, or a sense of obligation, the feeling that I should want a particular thing? And I wonder if I slowed myself down enough to look long and hard at these supposed objects of desire, would I be able to see with enough clarity and honesty to admit that I don't (in part at least) really want them? And would I be willing to start the work of bringing my conscious and instinctual responses to the interview of life into alignment?

Palm Sunday

I was a little skeptical of the palms at first. They seemed a strange gimmick, with potential for kitsch. But they turned out to be anything but. Simply put they were amazing. The robed attendants processed, carrying the large boughs aloft, and the less reserved of the Anglican congregation lifted their own smaller branches. And as the organ played and the people sang, I felt for the first time that I understood the wave offerings of old. I felt for the first time that Hosanna was more than a word in a song, it was the song of my heart. And I felt for the first time in a long time the joy of welcoming my King.

This One's for Charlynn

This morning I woke up at 7:30 after snoozing my alarm for nearly an hour. I finally rolled out of bed with just enough time to pull on clothes and pack my lunch before my ride to work arrived. I was pretty tired and kept nodding off on the drive up to Marin. Once at work though, I pretty quickly got into the swing of things. I had seven interviews scheduled, but only ended up conducting five of them since two candidates needed to reschedule. They were actually all decent interviews, and I found myself really enjoying the conversations I got to have. After work, I got dropped off at home and was intending to go the gym and then catch up on some work projects I brought home with me but got derailed by a phone call from my brother and a TiVo'd episode of House. I re-heated some leftovers from yesterday, sat on the couch with my food, and enjoyed a fairly indulgent evening in front of the television, first on my own and later with my roommates. Now I'm writing this post. And that was pretty much my day.

So here's the deal: Charlynn told me the other day how much she dislikes blogs that are about inane day-to-day details rather than the blogger's thoughts. And I thought, wow, what a perfect way to knock out an easy post.

But here's the other thing: as much as this kind of post is not what I think this blogging exercise is about for me, I have to admit that today was a very pedestrian day and that I enjoyed it for that very reason. Nothing spectacular happened; I had no great epiphanies. In fact, I somewhat purposefully let myself veg out in front of the TV most of the evening and ate more than I should considering I didn't work out. Sometimes it's nice to check out for a night and not have to analyze and over-analyze and find some sort of deep meaning in everything. Sometimes I need to live in my life without thinking about it too much. Sometimes my brain (and heart and soul) needs a mini-vacation. And this act is blog-worthy, I think, although probably not as interesting to some of you. Sorry, Charly. :)

Speechless

I woke up this morning without much of a voice. I've been fighting off a cold the past several days, and I guess it finally caught up with me. I stayed home as I was pretty much useless at work -- hard to conduct telephone interviews in a whisper -- and spent most of the day in silence. It's been a long time since I was that quiet, and it was an interesting experience. So much of the past year and a half has been about me finding my voice, and overall I've made a lot of progress in that quest. But I think that sometimes I've gone overboard; sometimes I talk too much and too loudly.

I read Amy Tan's The Bonesetter's Daughter recently and there is some really lovely interplay in the narrative between the literal and figurative processes of speaking and being speechless. The book was a lot deeper than I expected, and I found myself identifying with the story in a lot of ways. I wonder sometimes if for me it will also take something tremendously momentous, or if it will simply take the better part of my lifetime for me to grow fully into my own voice. I suppose it's all tied up in figuring out what it is that I have to say as well. I've gotten very good at asking the questions. I am not so good at expressing the answers I think I've found. The words I need are ever and always more elusive.

Perhaps the missing step here is listening more, which is why the silence today was nice.

Selective Memory

I was struck today by the way my memory operates.

I spend hours of each workday engaged in intense conversations on fairly serious topics, and I devote a tremendous amount of mental energy to listening intently to these interactions and processing the subtle nuances as well as the overall impression they leave me with. Lately my days have also been interspersed with snippets of conversation of an entirely different nature: playful, lighthearted, and frankly, entirely frivolous. At the end of the day if you ask me to recount how my serious conversations went, I find my mind is at best blurry, if not outright blank in this regard. All of that focus apparently leaves little lasting imprint. I can, however, at the end of the day, and sometimes even several days later, recount the silliness I have engaged in with uncanny detail.

I don't really have any profound insight into why this is, although I will admit that it worries me a little. I do find it interesting, and I wonder what it all means. If I knew, would I even remember?