Anatomy of a Move - pt. 2

Part II - Originally Penned on 2/21/2024

So there I was, Summer of 2021. I had lived in the new place with my ex-boyfriends, one-time best friend, for a year. I was officially bankrupt, recovered from two surgeries, work was at a continued standstill because we weren’t allowed to open, wages cut, and living with my dreamgirl dog that I had rescued in 2017.

A note or two about the dog. I rescued this dog after my cat had run away. In 2017 I was living with the boyfriend of far too many years (BOFTMY). We had both stated over those years, repeatedly, that we wanted a dog. It was never allowed in any of the apartments we had lived in. When called, I can be quite a charming human, so I charmed the pants off my landlords, and they granted me permission to get the dog. When we got her, she was 9 months old, a puppy. A puppy of German Shepherd, Cattle dog, Chow Chow, Boston Terrier, and Am Staff descent. The only reason I know this is because I tested her DNA very early on. This combo = energy. ENERGY!!!! OMG, she needed so much attention in the form of activity. We literally had to walk her every hour. But the boyfriend of far too many years and his son promised to be there to help with walks and runs and activity and the dog park and so on. And they were pretty good, I won’t deny it. But when it came down to brass tacks, I was the one who took her to all her vet appointments and paid all her bills and fed her and all the other responsible dog mom stuff. So, in the split, I kept the dog. I can’t imagine a life without this dog; To the point where … when I was trying to figure out where I would live if I had to leave the toxic boyfriend, I was forced to tell my mother, “I would rather live under a bridge in a cardboard box with my dog, than live without her in your house.” I meant it with love, because my mom was trying to be kind and offer me a place to stay, but she offered it upon the condition that the dog be left behind, and that’s a non-negotiable for me.  

So again, back to 2021 …

It’s me and this dog, and a whole lot of unsettledness. I had to stop going to the gym because of the pandemic. I had to stop roller skating because my dog struggles with it. Examples: if I leave her at home, she gets destructive and if I take her with me, she panics and becomes more of a hazard than a sidekick. I was no longer doing my dancing stuff because boyfriend of far too many years got that in the break up. So … to stay active and keep the dog a part of the equation, we started hiking … a lot. Eventually we had to back off that too, because this fur ball o’ mine started getting more and more tired. By no means is she old, but her energy level and desire to push her physical limits is not what it once was.

Work started back up at the end of 2021, and I’m just going to rip off the band aid here, holy shit was it terrible! I was so excited to be back to work. I couldn’t wait to get stuff done and to really hit the ground running when we got back. And when we got there, the rest of the world was ready for that too, only … they were piiiiisssssssed. You see, I run a concert venue, and concerts were kaput for a year and a half. A YEAR AND A HALF and we couldn’t put on shows. That was easily the hardest part to reconcile during the pandemic, and I’ll be honest with you, I’m not totally sure that I have reconciled it to this day. If you work on the venue side of concerts you know … that is not where the money lies. If you’re working full time at a venue, that, my friend, is a labor of love. You do it because you love it and you’re likely good at it. I am exceptional at my job. Tour managers of multi-million dollar acts have come to my objectively small venue and said, “You would be an asset anywhere you worked. You’re doing good work here.” And to be totally truthful, without a hint of arrogance, they’re right. There is nothing wrong with knowing that you do good work, and you can also do better work. So, you do. My job keeps me guessing, keeps me engaged, is hard and is basically tailor made for a person made up of my characteristics, I’m tough, but more than that I’m fair and I care a lot. You don’t find that combo all that often and you need all of those to do good live music venue business. A smart cookie with a sharp tongue who knows how to pick her battles. That’s me. Has it gotten me in hot water occasionally? Sure. But in 12 years maybe 3 times. Any employer would take those odds. Trust me, I employ people.

Being good at my job, was a core tenet of how I identified, it was a big part of my personality. People who didn’t even work at my venue, but in the surrounding area knew, “Jenn loves her job. And she’s good at it.” This was something I identified with so seamlessly that when the pandemic hit, I felt as though I was in a runaway train that had smacked into a 20 ft thick brick wall. I repeatedly told my toxic boyfriend whom I had just moved in with, “Please help me! Talk to me. I am not okay. Something is wrong with me, and I don’t know how to fix it.” His answer? “You don’t need help. You need to work out more and do hard drugs like me, you’ll be fine.” And with that sage like advice he would leave. Getting back to work, was like having the skies open and seeing the sunlight for the first time after having been in the storm of the century for 2 years. But when it happened, the audiences were so brutal, so unkind, and so ready for battle, that it was not fun. Aside from the crowds, there were so many new restrictions and guidelines we had to follow, it was like taking on a whole new role as health advisor. Allow me to assure you, I am no health advisor. LOL! I had to suddenly be tracking people’s health; taking their temperatures, checking vaccination cards, asking all kinds of health questions that simply aren’t reasonable for someone working at a concert venue to be asking. I had to navigate someone’s religious beliefs and make judgement calls about whether they could be allowed in legally. Not only must *I* do this, but I had to make my staff do it as well. There was nothing about it that was fair or reasonable. And oh boy did the audiences retaliate. I would be standing there in pencil skirts and button ups holding my phone to check guests statuses or offer them refunds and grown men would try to body check me and start physical altercations (one man did so with a baby in the stroller alongside him, while his female companion tried to hold him back) because they were so frustrated by the city ordinances and safety guidelines.

This ... made me question everything.

First, How was I so personally intermingled and identified with my job that when it was no longer there, I totally lost myself? And second, why? Is this really what my job was? Yelling at people in the cold and arguing with them about whether their forged vaccination card is valid? Who wants it? Why was I fighting for this?

And now, 2022 hits. This was the year I decided my life was going to turn around. This is also the year that I started working on something called the Shem HaMephorash. It turned out to be a 22-month long working in high magic. I’ll tell you what it means, but you need to remain open minded here. In short, as succinctly as possible; it’s the 72-fold name of God. Now before you go rolling your religiously enlightened, intellectually profound, gnostic, atheist, edgelord eyes at me, let me state right off the bat, I don’t believe in God the way one might traditionally believe in God. I certainly don’t believe in a dude who sits up in the clouds and keeps track of everybody’s behavior worldwide so he can decide whether they get to play in cloud playgrounds or if they are forever doomed to the fiery pits of hell where that cloven hoofed, horned red guy listens to a lot of loud music. I don’t believe in a God that would pit world religions against one another to duke it out in a gory bloodbath, declaring, “he with the toughest army wins!” But I also don’t bemoan anyone who does. I believe in God as in the All, Source, the Universe. We, us humans, we are all a part of God. God is in you and me and everyone and everything around us.

To be continued …

The Lamp of Shem