Ok, guys. I’m tired. Like…beyond the point where I should be blogging responsibly but, alas – here I am.
A few days ago I hinted on Facebook about having been given a free trial life coaching session. My friend Sabrina’s sister, Stacey Patillo, works and lives in the village of Chicago and does this for a living, of some sort. She was offering a free session as kind of an educational and training tool for her employer. That’s what her story was, anyway. A huge part of my huge gut tells me that she just wanted to listen to my petty problems to turn it into a funny bar story with her friends later. And then they laughed on and on, into the night.
Anyway, this was uncharted territory for me and I literally went along with it for the following reasons:
- It’s free.
- I really don’t have a lot going on in my life, right now.
- It didn’t cost me anything.
- My Friday nights usually go something like this… 8 p.m. – midnight: check phone, mumble about prices of various things, look up funny He-Man video “What’s Going On” (you are SO welcome), laugh a little, cry into beer, repeat.
- The session resulted in no monetary charges to me.
Valid reasons, you say? Duh, friends. Duh.
Actually, I was extremely gracious that she agreed to speak with me as I’ve been “unfocused” the past few months. No, I can’t do the air quotes while I type real quotes but if I could, I would. Unfocused as in I’m not really quite sure what avenue, career-wise, to pursue, wholeheartedly.
Upon speaking with her for a few moments, she asked if she could cuss at me, should it be warranted. I completely agreed and encouraged it. I don’t think I’ve ever received any guidance, advice, criticisms or cussing-outs without a few cuss words here and there. More cuss words also means the subject matter will probably be more relevant to my interests. Bonus points if you can cuss, offer me cheese and get me unlimited Contra lives. Then you have my undivided attention and I am fully engaged…probably with a girl boner (sorry, I can’t help it).
She told me what she would not do. She would not give me advice. (Well, shit.) She would not allow me to self-indulge and feed her lines of BS. (SUPER screwed.) Lastly, she would not allow me to refer to myself as The Great Cornholio.
I know, I KNOW…but I didn’t hang up.
She asked me some questions and feigned (very well, I may add) interest in my story of failing as an adult. She asked for some clarification and didn’t assume anything about me without asking if what she reckoned was about right. She was pretty much spot-on through the whole session. She was asking what I typically look for in a career or a job. After a bit of thought, she surmised the following:
- Potential/promise for growth and furthering of my education. Even though I’m already a doktor of reading stuff good.
- A feeling of contribution or “making a difference” as Hallmark would see it (overpriced pricks). I can make shit rhyme too, you know! SOMEONE PAY ME SIX HUMAN DOLLHAIRS FOR IT! BLARRRGH.
- Being respected/seen as an asset/preserving what few shreds of dignity remain of my black and desolate soul.
She told me, very bluntly, that she could hear my passion and spirit through the phone and that I need to essentially make potential employers hear what she was hearing. She told me a lot of good things about myself, friends, much to my mortal enemy’s (enemies’) chagrin. H8ers.
We made a plan of action, as it were, and established who would hold me accountable (*cough cough*). I’ve made good on that plan, thus far. Even if it wasn’t as good as a crystal ball or a palm reading (and yes, they’re obviously directly comparable…life coaching, I was told, is a form of necromancy. Look it up.), it gave me baby steps to take in the interim…before I have to decide what I want to be when I grow up…and outwards, it seems.
My largest take away was to try and quell my fear. I never saw myself as much of a fearful person (I get a kick out of running into flaming structures, for fuck’s sake) but after thinking about it, I saw that was largely what was holding me back…and, again, outwards, it seems…
When did this fear attach its parasitic proboscis to my courage organ (I’m assuming it’s my liver…that bastard should have given up on me YEARS ago)? Why am I so terrified of taking a small step in an unknown and almost-certain-to-be-incorrect direction? Beats the hell out of me but I’m doing my damndest to shake that bitch off…like the shivers from the early morning shot of questionable liquor you took so you didn’t have the DTs in a few hours…
My life coaching session kind of realigned my compass. No, not even that. It re-magnetized my compass. She didn’t give me any tools I didn’t have…she just helped me dig through the old, dusty, toothpick and Ponderosa mint littered workshop to find the tools I already possessed.
So, thank you, Stacey Patillo, of Chicago, Illinois, America, Earth, property of John Cena. I hope you know me well enough to see through the attempted sarcasm and humor here as it’s usually the closest thing to genuineness I can muster…so, yup. Exes and ohs, girl. Exes and ohs.