Whenever I'm asked to describe myself, I say I'm 'delicate'. I mean that both physically as well as emotionally. I know that my perfectionism and control issues stem from anxiety and low self worth. That's why I don't respond well to surprises or the unfamiliar. My reasoning is that if things must go wrong then I want to be there to be a witness and even apart of the fuck-ups, so I'll have the time to come to terms with them. When things don't go the way I expected, or I'm forced to face one of my fears, I get so anxious it triggers involuntary crying fits. Which in turn make me feel even more helpless and thus the cycle continues. I'm a pretty self-aware person.
That's why when I try to control an outcome, I do so while telling myself that I can only really control myself and my reaction to things, and that if things deviate from the plan it's not the end of the world as long as I reach my destination. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. I'm a work in progress.
Good thing I prepared myself for today, and the best thing out of this is that I enjoyed and am proud with how I handled myself. Really, I feel like a proud mama. Of myself. I know, that's weird, but heck, I just achieved another mile stone in my emotional development. Yay for me!
So this is how my day went - woke up to a sunny day, did some reading, ate some breakfast, went out to catch the bus to Jerusalem. All set in my plan to buy out the Fabriano Academia paper stock from an art supply shop. The bus ride over there wasn't terrible, I made good time, I got off right at the street corner, and I paid through the nose for my paper. I somehow successfully carried the paper (ok, it buckled under the weight and left creases a couple of times, but I could live with it) across the street to the printers to be cut to quarters. Out of breath and trembling I handed it over. That's when things went to shit.
After waiting 15 minutes the clerk sheepishly comes over with a measly, dirty-looking A4 paper that looks familiar and tells me they accidentally cut it the wrong size. All 50 plus sheets of paper.
This is why I'm proud of myself. First, I took deep breaths and didn't cry. My lip my have wobbled, I might have blushed, but I didn't tear up. Yay me! I told them that I can't do anything with this paper and they needed to pay me 700 ILS back, all the while racking my brain where I'm going to find this paper! Luckily the company's vice president was there and he was very professional. Of course he started a bit peeved, but then he saw I wasn't blowing a fuse (yet) and calmed down enough to try and solve this. I was pleasantly surprised they didn't try to make it my fault or strong arm me into taking the paper back (which is a sad statement to make about Israeli customer service, but that's the truth). He tried to offer me a replacement stock, but I insisted I needed my very specific paper stock, and I needed it now.
Half an hour later he told me I'll have the exact paper stock I bought cut to size and delivered to my door in 2 hours. I am now sitting at my apartment with a big stack of 200 and something sheets cut to size of my favorite Fabriano Academia, some of it worse for wear, but most of it in great condition. Probably better than how the paper I originally bought would have fared. I am very proud that the situation was rectified pleasantly, I kept control of my emotions, and I got what I went all the way to Jerusalem for. Things went horribly wrong, but it wasn't the end of the world, and in a matter of 3 hours it was like it never happened. I can say I even had a pleasant day, at the end:)
I don't often feel proud of myself. I like this feeling.
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(excerpt from my work blog, Woodland Papercuts)
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