It's back.
I do a pretty good job of fighting it off on most days. But it's here with me. Takes the shine off the world. Pulls me just below the surface so I can't breathe. Someday I will win, it whispers in its ugly gravel voice. Maybe true. But not tonight.
Saturday, June 28, 2014
Friday, June 27, 2014
First contract?
Getting a contract is a little like dating. Actually, its a LOT like dating. I go out on these vanilla, nice-nice first dates with beta-males. Men who have no actual potential to excite, stimulate, or understand me. Sjors may have decided to compromise, but I don't seem to have that capability any more (It left me somewhere between the ocean in Cape Verde, the "I can see you, Asshole" to Mac on FB, and the "Fuck you" to my old organization when they tried to shove me into traffic). I smile, try to think of ways to keep myself entertained and to leave them feeling positive about themselves, and then I walk away with no intention of ever meeting again. I can't become something I'm not. And I'm unwilling to compromise my core self for someone else's expectation. Better to be alone than to be with someone who isn't your match.
So, imagine my surprise when a company wants to bring my own business in for consulting. (Not the Evil Corporation. This is a company that makes something valuable.) These men know what my company offers, they know its strengths and its weaknesses, and they're going to actually build a consulting contract. No shit. I'm a bit dubious until I've cashed the check, but it looks like it might take. It feels good. Like finding a lover who does a decent job in the bedroom and whom you actually respect and like.
So, imagine my surprise when a company wants to bring my own business in for consulting. (Not the Evil Corporation. This is a company that makes something valuable.) These men know what my company offers, they know its strengths and its weaknesses, and they're going to actually build a consulting contract. No shit. I'm a bit dubious until I've cashed the check, but it looks like it might take. It feels good. Like finding a lover who does a decent job in the bedroom and whom you actually respect and like.
Tuesday, June 24, 2014
That which I have feared
It has been a tremendously busy time. The conference in France was a success and has spawned a number of opportunities that I'm trying hard to balance and track. The contracts in international law enforcement and the DoD actually have a shot at going through. And it looks like I might have corporate clients, as well. The business might genuinely catch fire any time now. In a good "blaze of glory" sort of way - not "ball of flame". These are encouraging things. I feel proud of my work. I'm glad that I didn't compromise when things were ugly last year - when I was most afraid. This self-knowledge is so important to me. I know that I will not surrender my fundamental pieces.
The financial insecurity is frightening now. I would be lying if I said that it wasn't. When I refused to trade my values for a paycheck, I knew I would have to live off my savings as I started this company. Things are getting tighter. The money is running out. But I refuse to make "safe" decisions out of fear. Fear based decisions are always the wrong decisions.
I can't live in fear. Its anathema to me. It was fear that prevented me from speaking out for myself, or stepping in to help Sjors earlier when something might have been done to release him. I resonated with the mantra of fear that dominated Sjors' life. I was afraid for Sjors. I was afraid for me. I was afraid of all that I had lost in my relationship with Hans. I was afraid of losing Sjors. I was afraid of some faceless enemy that threatened Sjors. I was afraid of breaking apart a family. I was afraid that Sjors wouldn't make the hard decisions. Because I was afraid, I compromised everything that mattered. And I lost it all anyway. Worse, I lost myself.
It was only in May 2012 when I first wrote to Mac that I began to face that fear, to turn it back on the people who had made me afraid. To fight.
Anger was a powerful curative for me. I'd been drowning in such terrible darkness for so long and I couldn't find a way out. The anger helped me kick to the surface. Slowly, gradually, with every angry rejection of their lies, I regained myself. Even as I feared for my safety and my life, this was a much less powerful sensation than the knowledge that I would lose my soul and myself if I did not act. A year later, in the train station in Amsterdam, when Sjors asked me to compromise, when he tried to frighten me into silence again; when he implied that my actions had been bad for him and he begged me to stop; when he told me that he did not love me because the person he loved would not have acted as I had; I could not be motivated by fear again. It wasn't an option for me. I had fought to stay alive, and such a compromise would have brought me beneath the waves again.
One month later (this time last year), I was in Cameroon. I was working to build a team. I was vomiting, my body and soul trying to reject poison. After our meeting at Amsterdam Centraal and seeing Sjors again, hearing the practiced rhetoric fed to him by MIVD and catching only the faintest echoes of the man I loved in the dark visage and hard voice, I began to realize how complicit he had been in the hell that MIVD put me through. He had chosen to compromise his core values, his fundamental truths. He had sacrificed himself and me and our future together.
I think he pretended that he did this for noble reasons. He had two small sons who were beginning to sense the network of lies on which he'd built their house; the loveless marriage and the cover-life for his covert actions. His plan (he told me in Rheim) was to become a better liar: to create a better illusion for his sons, rather than free them all from the lies. I was the inconvenient reminder that he could be an honest man and a fully realized person. Just as being with Sjors had been sunlight for me, being with me had shone into his life. But the truth was that he was afraid. And he sacrificed everything that mattered on the altar of that fear. Job said, "That which I have greatly feared is come upon me." How many of your fears came true anyways, Sjors? Was it worth it?
When I met Sjors, when I fell in love with him, I saw a man who was trying to be good and courageous. I feel so sad that Sjors is not that person.
There's a television show I've been watching lately. Like every other popular culture item, I'm far behind the times. "House of Cards" with Kevin Spacey and Robin Wright. The actor who plays Adam, Robin Wright's lover, bears an uncanny resemblance to Sjors...albeit an older, less fit Sjors. But the shape of his nose, the hollows of his eyes, and the way his face crinkles when he smiles are startling reminders. I find myself watching the show so that I can see him. Those echoes of the man I knew. When he kisses Robin, I remember the way that Sjors kissed me. Not with the poignant immediacy that the memories used to hold, but the gentle opening of a door in my mind.
I hold Sjors accountable for his actions. But I also hold MIVD accountable for the fear that they brought to us both. To MIVD: If you thought that slandering me would quiet my voice and limit your exposure, you were mistaken. That which you have greatly feared will come upon you. I have not forgotten. Do not mistake patience for forgetfulness.
The financial insecurity is frightening now. I would be lying if I said that it wasn't. When I refused to trade my values for a paycheck, I knew I would have to live off my savings as I started this company. Things are getting tighter. The money is running out. But I refuse to make "safe" decisions out of fear. Fear based decisions are always the wrong decisions.
I can't live in fear. Its anathema to me. It was fear that prevented me from speaking out for myself, or stepping in to help Sjors earlier when something might have been done to release him. I resonated with the mantra of fear that dominated Sjors' life. I was afraid for Sjors. I was afraid for me. I was afraid of all that I had lost in my relationship with Hans. I was afraid of losing Sjors. I was afraid of some faceless enemy that threatened Sjors. I was afraid of breaking apart a family. I was afraid that Sjors wouldn't make the hard decisions. Because I was afraid, I compromised everything that mattered. And I lost it all anyway. Worse, I lost myself.
It was only in May 2012 when I first wrote to Mac that I began to face that fear, to turn it back on the people who had made me afraid. To fight.
Anger was a powerful curative for me. I'd been drowning in such terrible darkness for so long and I couldn't find a way out. The anger helped me kick to the surface. Slowly, gradually, with every angry rejection of their lies, I regained myself. Even as I feared for my safety and my life, this was a much less powerful sensation than the knowledge that I would lose my soul and myself if I did not act. A year later, in the train station in Amsterdam, when Sjors asked me to compromise, when he tried to frighten me into silence again; when he implied that my actions had been bad for him and he begged me to stop; when he told me that he did not love me because the person he loved would not have acted as I had; I could not be motivated by fear again. It wasn't an option for me. I had fought to stay alive, and such a compromise would have brought me beneath the waves again.
One month later (this time last year), I was in Cameroon. I was working to build a team. I was vomiting, my body and soul trying to reject poison. After our meeting at Amsterdam Centraal and seeing Sjors again, hearing the practiced rhetoric fed to him by MIVD and catching only the faintest echoes of the man I loved in the dark visage and hard voice, I began to realize how complicit he had been in the hell that MIVD put me through. He had chosen to compromise his core values, his fundamental truths. He had sacrificed himself and me and our future together.
I think he pretended that he did this for noble reasons. He had two small sons who were beginning to sense the network of lies on which he'd built their house; the loveless marriage and the cover-life for his covert actions. His plan (he told me in Rheim) was to become a better liar: to create a better illusion for his sons, rather than free them all from the lies. I was the inconvenient reminder that he could be an honest man and a fully realized person. Just as being with Sjors had been sunlight for me, being with me had shone into his life. But the truth was that he was afraid. And he sacrificed everything that mattered on the altar of that fear. Job said, "That which I have greatly feared is come upon me." How many of your fears came true anyways, Sjors? Was it worth it?
When I met Sjors, when I fell in love with him, I saw a man who was trying to be good and courageous. I feel so sad that Sjors is not that person.
There's a television show I've been watching lately. Like every other popular culture item, I'm far behind the times. "House of Cards" with Kevin Spacey and Robin Wright. The actor who plays Adam, Robin Wright's lover, bears an uncanny resemblance to Sjors...albeit an older, less fit Sjors. But the shape of his nose, the hollows of his eyes, and the way his face crinkles when he smiles are startling reminders. I find myself watching the show so that I can see him. Those echoes of the man I knew. When he kisses Robin, I remember the way that Sjors kissed me. Not with the poignant immediacy that the memories used to hold, but the gentle opening of a door in my mind.
I hold Sjors accountable for his actions. But I also hold MIVD accountable for the fear that they brought to us both. To MIVD: If you thought that slandering me would quiet my voice and limit your exposure, you were mistaken. That which you have greatly feared will come upon you. I have not forgotten. Do not mistake patience for forgetfulness.
Friday, June 20, 2014
Post for a friend
I wouldn't write tonight - but Marie is sleeping so I can't call, and this is how she checks on me. Keeps an eye on the measure of fight in me and the potential for joy.
The meeting with the Evil Corporation (EC) went well today. As well as it could have. The thought that my pristine, clear-conscienced business might sign an agreement to collaborate with the EC makes me shudder a bit. Glad for the courage from my recent adventures in France where our true value was made clear; confirmation that we're headed in the right way. Reminding myself that, in spite of the grilling and constant questions about our work and past performance, they need us more than we need the EC.
Entrenched white males whose life success metrics include big paychecks, generous bonuses, large shiny conference tables, and a big company name to rest against, are a bit threatened by our scrappy outfit. But god help us if we ever become so cumbersome an animal as that dinosaur. It was almost a joy to feel the contrast in that conference room, the fact that we are not beholden to these types of people. We shed the skin of those things long ago and we wriggle around in the sunshine, deciding to serve the mission and not the money.
They wanted to know about us. About our work. About our model. They challenged our claims, and posited scenarios where our models might not work. But our models were built in the field. They hold up under scrutiny - and they work.
They wanted us. But we scared them. We were operational. We were driven. We were women. Eve wore a short, tight sailor striped skirt that threatened to show her panties (and, later, enjoying coffee at a low chair in Starbucks, did) and she seemed to be enjoying the meeting quite as much as if they were trying to tempt us into a relaxing pedicure (the G-rated analogy). She gave them her naval pedigree and "S", a former special forces operative, brightened, leaned in, and gave her his complete attention. She told him, "Dr. H and I were trying to solve the problems in the mission - and, since nobody ever stopped us, we ran amok."
Yes. That is what we did. We ran amok. We continue to run amok. And since we work for ourselves, nobody stops us.
This concept frightened these men. What, exactly, they're frightened of - I don't know. Perhaps its that deep male fear that inspired the invention of chastity belts and witch trials.
M, who had brought us in, was was frustrated by the men whose fear seemed to trump their wisdom. "Most people who come in are all hat, no cattle," he told us later on the phone. "You have the expertise we want to build."
The meeting with the Evil Corporation (EC) went well today. As well as it could have. The thought that my pristine, clear-conscienced business might sign an agreement to collaborate with the EC makes me shudder a bit. Glad for the courage from my recent adventures in France where our true value was made clear; confirmation that we're headed in the right way. Reminding myself that, in spite of the grilling and constant questions about our work and past performance, they need us more than we need the EC.
Entrenched white males whose life success metrics include big paychecks, generous bonuses, large shiny conference tables, and a big company name to rest against, are a bit threatened by our scrappy outfit. But god help us if we ever become so cumbersome an animal as that dinosaur. It was almost a joy to feel the contrast in that conference room, the fact that we are not beholden to these types of people. We shed the skin of those things long ago and we wriggle around in the sunshine, deciding to serve the mission and not the money.
They wanted to know about us. About our work. About our model. They challenged our claims, and posited scenarios where our models might not work. But our models were built in the field. They hold up under scrutiny - and they work.
They wanted us. But we scared them. We were operational. We were driven. We were women. Eve wore a short, tight sailor striped skirt that threatened to show her panties (and, later, enjoying coffee at a low chair in Starbucks, did) and she seemed to be enjoying the meeting quite as much as if they were trying to tempt us into a relaxing pedicure (the G-rated analogy). She gave them her naval pedigree and "S", a former special forces operative, brightened, leaned in, and gave her his complete attention. She told him, "Dr. H and I were trying to solve the problems in the mission - and, since nobody ever stopped us, we ran amok."
Yes. That is what we did. We ran amok. We continue to run amok. And since we work for ourselves, nobody stops us.
This concept frightened these men. What, exactly, they're frightened of - I don't know. Perhaps its that deep male fear that inspired the invention of chastity belts and witch trials.
M, who had brought us in, was was frustrated by the men whose fear seemed to trump their wisdom. "Most people who come in are all hat, no cattle," he told us later on the phone. "You have the expertise we want to build."
 |
| April 2009. Who would have suspected what this would turn into? |
Sunday, June 8, 2014
Paris. Sans Ghosts.
I visited Sacre Coeur today.
The sun was bright and beautiful. There is a merry-go-round in Montmartre as you approach the Basilica. On the lawn, on the steep hill, people sat and sprawled, eating baguettes, and smiling.
I called Corinne as I climbed up the stairs. It was the first time we've spoken since I left the States. I wanted to tell her in the good news. I wanted to tell her about my work in Lyon where the spark I've carried burst into a flame.
I meant to visit this place years ago, when Sjors asked me to come to Rheim. It was the last time he treated me like a human because it became too inconvenient for him after that. I'd been worried about my personal state of mind, so I decided to make the trip about more than him. I decided to meet Sjors in Rheim, and then spend the following night in Paris. I booked a hotel near Sacre Coeur. But, when we were together in Rheim, Sjors told me that he might return the following day. So I waited in Rheim, throughout a hellish day. But he never came. I paid for the hotel in Paris. And a shit-hole hotel in Rheim at the same time. And so Paris waited again.
I've been with Sjors in Paris, at Christmas time. So I was worried at the ghosts might follow me here. They are persistent after all.
But I am not haunted.
Today, I knelt in the cathedral, and thanked God for my release. I didn't think the pain would ever stop. But it was quiet. There is a calm here. I do not fight today.
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