Tracks of Life

As of yesterday, I can admit that the thought of train tracks rarely crossed my mind, but a sudden urge to walk the trestles and tie rods recently overtook my thoughts. This urge hit during the cold winds of early March, and I bided time until warmer weather arrived.

Yesterday, restless from staying contained inside for a few days due to personal choice, my husband I, along with the dog, traveled to the outskirts of our town, where the tracks wind along the countryside.

Once part of the railroad system, the tracks were integral in shipping tools out of the factory here, crossing populated neighborhoods to get to the factory, which was in the heart of the borough.

Technology and times changed the delivery port, and the tracks were eventually removed from the downtown streets. The outer tracks remain as a framework of local history, meandering on the town's outskirts to a second factory.

Climbing the small hill to reach the tracks tells a story in itself: coal of assorted sizes, once cargo from the train over the decades, glitter along the well-worn path amid weeds, brush and broken glass. I wonder how many feet have trod before us, and what age those feet must have been.

In order to step on the rails, we scale small banks of loose, golf ball-sized rough cut quartz rock gravel. Using the rods as stepping stones, we begin walking, chatting about everything or nothing.

My husband, who has battled some personal demons during his life, is fittingly wearing a shirt that reads "Survivor." I am thinking of so many train track analogies comparable to his testimony that I am stopping frequently to take pictures of the track itself, and of him in particular.

The shirt is fitting for this trip.

Picture-less Frame

Platform. Brand. Social media. Writing. Video. Purpose.

All these form a picture-less frame made of my life experiences, skills, tendencies, and interests. This frame embraces the picture of the reason why I have breath in my lungs, why I rise in the mornings, the carol of my soul.

Communication Epiphany

Transporting readers to a destination.

Too much doubt has kept me from reaching towards a gift. Doubts of ownership that the gift belongs to me, that I have any right to use it, fear of wrongly using the gift, the laughter that will take place if I claim ownership (it's happened), the eye rolls, the exchanged glances--all of these I allow to usurp my gift and push it from me.

A few days ago, a thought settled into my mind and hasn't left yet. Perhaps it has taken root and begun to grow quickly.

Allow me to set the scene:

I was assigned to transport over 50 children ranging in age from third to twelfth grade to Battle of the Books, a reading competition (click here and here). As a school bus driver of the trip which was scheduled approximately 45 minutes northeast, I was mentally preparing the next day's trip of what to possibly expect on that particular route--the condition of the roads, weather, the excited-ness of the students, etc. when the thought quietly knocked on the door of my spirit.

My assignment was to transport readers to a destination.

Its deeper meaning ruminated within my spirit.

My assignment is to transport readers to a destination.

Isn't this what my gift does? Transports readers to a destination? Yes! Oh, yes! Let it be.




If you've read this, please feed my fish on the right side of this page.

Cee is for Conformity of a Caterpillar

The first Saturday of each month, a small group of devoted writers (some are published, others are soon-to-be) gather at our church, where we discuss a litany of subjects from marketing and publishing our writings, to the pros and cons of using social media as a platform. Most of this is new to many of us, while the more experienced writers in the group offer suggestions and mentoring.

This morning, I should have been in attendance, but I lingered in sleep longer than I ought to have, and when the appointed meeting time arrived, I heard the chime of a text from a friend, who was also attending the meeting. 

After a few back-and-forth messages, we turned to social media. The mentor of the group graciously provided the use of his laptop and Skype so I could "attend" the meeting. I couldn't help but feel during and afterwards, despite imposing upon the group, how important it is to have uniformity in social media. 

As much as I've prided myself on developing the "BytheCee" moniker, it only confuses the general public (and those I wish to connect with) when they're looking for Cindy Knier and find BytheCee instead, and vice versa. 

So today, I accepted the thought of conformity, switching my Twitter account and now my blog. It feels sort of revealing, in a way, that I am no longer hiding behind a vague name, lurking in the shadows of Cyber-ville, hoping to be kitschy enough to catch someone's interest. I am a butterfly, conformed. 

Cee is for Can (Begin Again)

"No." The answer solidly squashed a request that would later affect any future dreams.
The flame was snuffed at that point.
Poet Langston Hughes captured the essence of crushed dreams:

A Dream Deferred

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up 
like a raisin in the sun? 
Or fester like a sore-- 
And then run? 
Does it stink like rotten meat? 
Or crust and sugar over-- 
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags 
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?


Lord, help me to begin again, with the passion of a child, free from all the doubt that's gripped me and held me fast, the word "no" acting as a breeze to snuff out the fire inside. Use that wind to refresh me, revive me, and feed the flame that You alone placed there.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6p_UPlfM71k&list=FLIbPavKmd8kTaNU0RoxNmcg

I Can Begin Again Lyrics

Alone again in a crowded room 
Cornered by the questions in my mind 
It's so hard to understand 
How the life that I had planned 
Stole my joy and left me far behind 

Though all I have is lost it seems 
In the shadow of a dream that used to be 
I can look beyond the skies 
Deep into the Father's eyes 
And see that there is hope for one like me 

I can begin again 
With the passion of a child 
My heart has caught a vision 
Of a life that's still worthwhile 

I can reach out again 
Far beyond what I have done 
Like a dreamer who's awakened 
To a life that's yet to come 
For new beginnings are not just for the young 

I face the dawn of each brand new day 
Free from all the doubt that gripped my past 
For I've found in trusting Him 
That everyday life starts again 
As I look toward the things of life that last 

I can begin again 
With the passion of a child 
My heart has caught a vision 
Of a life that's still worthwhile 

I can reach out again 
Far beyond what I have done 
Like a dreamer who's awakened 
To a life that's yet to come 
For new beginnings are not just for the young 

New beginnings are not just for the young 
New beginnings are not just for the young 

Cee is for Canned

It's taken exactly 84 days for me to write about this topic--being fired. Discharged. Sacked. Axed. Let go (my employer's words). Ousted.

I've been searching since February 2013 for a new job which I wrote about in an earlier blog. After an initial group interview with said desired company in August, I became determined to work for this company. A second interview resembled speed dating; a smaller group of us were interviewed by the same amount of administrative personnel. I felt on top of my game, and excelled. I was hired! Training was to begin during the same week a previously scheduled vacation was to occur. I asked if the company would honor my vacation. They would not, so I reluctantly declined the job offer. 

After much prayer and confirmation from three different people, I contacted the company and asked if it were possible to allow me an opportunity to change my mind and accept the position after all. They said yes, and everything seemed...golden.

Since my very first day, I can only liken my experience working there as to one a contestant might feel on the reality show "Survivor." I observed my 14 co-workers skitter to form quick alliances on our first day of training. One of my co-workers just so happened to be friends with the trainer. By the end of the first day, our group reduced by two--one was ill and never showed, and the second handed her badge to a co-worker at lunch and didn't return to finish the remaining hours. Training lasted three weeks; an additional two more sloughed from the ranks. The rest of us "graduated" and took our places among the original staff members who mentored us.


It was tough.

I struggled to keep afloat and came home from one exceptionally stressful day where I'd been informed that time was drawing near for me--management needed to see improvements. After much forethought, I met with HR (on my scheduled day off) during the morning hours, expressing my struggles and promising to call later that day to confirm my decision to quit. I turned in my badge at that time, felt freed (notice how it's on the list of synonyms?), then changed my mind and reclaimed it.

I fought every day, making improvements and feeling satisfied with my performance. I felt, and still believe, I was making improvements. I need to mention at this time that our group trainer had a passive/aggressive/assertive manner about her which I perceived as constructive criticism. However, in at least two instances,co-workers approached me after very loud, public "instructional" talks she had given me. My co-workers asked me afterwards, wanting to know how I was feeling; one older gentleman said, "You have thicker skin than I do" and admitted he would have walked out had he been the recipient. That should have been an alarm to me, but I wanted to keep this job--this job which made me feel valued and worthwhile as an employee.

Funny how booted is conspicuously missing from the above synonyms. It's exactly how I felt--"booted off the island." I was called to the conference room 15 minutes after lunch break ended on Nov. 12, where I was "let go," management said. My supervisor retrieved my immediate personal effects (purse, cell) from my desk, while I told the assistant manager what else belonged to me at my desk and break room. I was not allowed to say goodbye to my companions, but was escorted by the AM to the door leading outside. My belongings were packed into a box while my cubicle co-workers watched in shocked silence. The box was then shipped UPS Ground.

I blame no one but myself for management's sudden decision to release me. I went home and immediately applied online for 40 jobs. Since that day in mid-November, I've struggled with feelings of value, worth, self-respect, guilt, feeling dumb--stupid, even. As potential employers called for interviews but never called back with employment offers, my esteem plummeted. I felt like the crust-end of the bread loaf that everyone pushes past in order to get to the perfect slice of bread. Getting fired sucks the joy from your life.

Reinvigorated by the holidays, I applied for yet another job, this one at my local high school as a library aide. Nearly a month passed before I received a call for an interview. Ten days later, the interview was...scattered. I was scattered. The two interviewers asked five questions. I spoke quickly, as if I'd consumed cocaine previous to the interview and tried to find the fact. My thoughts, usually organized, jumped from one topic to another. Thirty minutes later, I left, feeling unusually confident.

The next day, I was hired.

I don't understand why I had to go through that season. I missed going on vacation, only to be released nearly two months later. I was a different person while working there, showing more self-respect and genuine concern about the employees and company. I don't pretend to understand God's purpose behind it; I only know I was to accept the job offer and trust God. 

Cee is for...(Self)Confidence

The lack of self-confidence developed in my lifetime has been made apparent, and is something I am working on correcting (another "c" word!). A recent change in employment and its job description has challenged me to learn how to communicate effectively by listening actively and speaking confidently. These are good attributes, I think, in a world which is easily distracted by sound-bytes, headlines, and the chirp of technology gadgets which beckon for our attention.

Not someone who can easily ad-lib, one of the areas I struggle with is developing confident responses to questions and various scenarios which require instant decisions. I am learning and moving forward.