This One's Light

Today the sun lingered at 5:00pm.

This is the first sign of reaching safety from the clutches of seasonal depression. What makes it sweeter is: I recently read a few of my old blogs, one of them being the "Dark" one. It was awful. I'm glad I wrote it, don't get me wrong. I just mean the feeling was awful - upon the first sentence, I was transported to the malaise that once was. (And in my favorite bar!) I am once again in said bar. It wasn't pitch-black when I pulled up. It wasn't nightmarishly freezing when I went out for a smoke after my first negroni. There's still a little snow on the ground, but not enough to separate me from this good feeling. Spring is coming. 

I just told one of my beautiful friends about my current woes (briefly) and ended it by saying: "I'm just waiting for Spring, man." I know this is what my entire last blog was about, but I am excited. And you didn't pay to be here. So here's s'more. 

To be completely truthful: even my most detrimental woes are not currently eating away at me enough to spoil the good that I have. I simply am anxious to feel even better. 

Tonight: Cake and Alabama Shakes replaced Bing Crosby and Nat King Cole. The bar staff dance and laugh and bob their heads along here and there. (Jack White Radio, I'm told. Brilliant.) I have been kicking writing's ass all week (through some jobby issues) and here I am again. Still killing the game the way I want. A blog here, a few scenes there, perhaps a journal entry if I'm feeling so inclined... Not to mention I just nabbed a few things (at good prices, naturally) for my and my best friend's home. 

Last night, I recalled past dark times. Times when I felt so separated from myself, from my choices, from my life. Times when I felt as though I would never truly be living. I took in the scene around me: Best friend, snuggled up in their toasty bed with their cat, rent and bills paid, the whole apartment filthy with houseplants... I went to bed smiling last night. It doesn't get much better than this. 

But wouldn't it be lovely if it got even better? 

Dreaming of Spring

 I am going to escape for a moment.

To say "I could really go for Spring" would be an understatement. This winter has been unbelievably mild (thank God), and even so I find myself anxious for the warmer seasons. I honestly wish that there was some kind of government support system that would allow us all to stay home from work during the entire winter season. Can you imagine it? Your days would be filled with the coziest of home routines and teas and well-prepared lunches. Every room in your home would have never looked better. You could learn so much. And conserve so much energy. And zip through books and plan your days according to you all winter! Plus, this would make the winter sweeter by comparison and possibly even make it something to look forward to. 

But this is not the way things are for us, so the very best I can suggest is popping a wild amount of vitamin D and getting used to your brain collapsing for a few months. 

I am eager for the warmer days my friends and I can spend on the porch. For those mornings you wake up to birds chirping. To warm, glowing skin. To farmer's markets. To body-freeing attire. to late nights at a favorite outdoor restaurant. To wonderfully sweaty hours spent in my perfect bedroom, sitting like a monkey at my writing desk. 

The feeling of renewal. When everything seems just a bit less heavy.

My best friend (and roommate) recently asked me how I would feel about moving with them, should an incredible job opportunity arise for either of us. I considered it and said: I have done it before without my friends and not regretted it, so I should think that I would truly enjoy doing so with my best friend. 

I bring this up because I would also like to daydream about the possibility of relocating to somewhere warmer with my them. What an adventure to have! To trek the neighborhood, converse in new cafes and check out the coolest bars on the scene with your best friend. It would be like an extended vacation without all the tourist traps and expensive plane tickets. And (at least) one of us would be getting paid. 

Without a doubt I love my town; it is always where I ultimately end up, after all. But every winter, I would be lying if I said I didn't at least daydream about another place. 

Power Outage

 If you take away the actual work from your office / place of work, it's actually kind of fun.

Any time I have ever been at work where there has been some sort of faultless SNAFU (i.e. the power goes out, phone lines are down, internet's not working...), I get this cozy giddy feeling. Suddenly the weight has been lifted from our collective shoulders. Suddenly it's okay if you don't get that project finished. It's not only okay - it's expected. Who could be expected to accomplish anything - the phone lines are down.

Work suddenly becomes a familiar setting filled with familiar faces (and in some cases a fridge, Keurig and vending machine). It becomes a bit of a sleepover. And if you don't agree: You'll still get your breaks, you'll still get to eat lunch and if luck is on your side in the slightest; you may even get to go home early. Have you ever known words so sweet? My boss telling me to "go home early" is right up there with a romantic partner telling me "I love you". (And about as likely, AM I RIGHT??) And I must hold on to the dream of a no-fault-failure of some kind because COVID has single-handedly killed the dream of a stay-home-from-work-snow day. (Now you get paid the same as you did back in the day when you didn't have to work! With the added fun of shotty internet connection and screaming children!)

I love work when there is an "unfortunate event" like this. Because it's not like life won't eventually return to normal. It's not like anyone is put in harm's way because of it (I have never worked at a place where they save lives). And it's absolutely no one's fault. So nobody can get mad at anyone. We are - at least momentarily - on a very similar / the same wavelength. No man left out. Except the store manager, maybe. But even they may be feigning frustration to better guise their childlike excitement. (Just one more reason to love not being in charge of everything. God bless those of you who do.)

Confession: I bring the same items to work every day in hopes that there will be a day like this. So that if I am not given the option to go home, I am at least able to take full advantage of the time.

In my pack:

1.    laptop & cord (for a long, glorious day of blogging)

2.    current story notebook (should inspiration hit)

3.    phone & cord (for a long, glorious day of educational podcasts)

4.    current book

5.    Sudoku puzzles

6.    snacks (obviously)

I am nearly convinced this is all I would need for such a day. More than I would need, really. Because when it comes down to it, there are nearly no jobs (if any) where you will be hard-pressed to find paper and a writing utensil. I've purchased such things from the supermarket/retail place I've worked at, grabbed scrap paper and a colored pencil at an art studio... I've even grabbed a crappy, brown paper towel and a cheap pen at an old serving gig. There is always something. (Also: if I ever am in a jam without my pack in my current job: I could snag a piece of printer paper and write on it the way I did during "Bring-Your-Daughter-to-Work-Day".)

I will say that out of all of the aforementioned items: the book will get you into the most trouble. People have "gotten caught" with their phones out during a Friday rush - nary a shaken fist. The laptop's intention can be easily camouflaged, depending on what job you've got, so no problem there. But the minute I crack the spine on my latest Shirley Jackson novel; there's hell to pay. 

I have never been so insulted in my life.

I'm kidding. I know it wasn't personal, and I truly wasn't insulted, but I did feel terribly confused. 

Once I had a job where I could get my tasks done and - if it wasn't busy - turn to my blog. It was heaven. I couldn't believe my luck. And then I would read a blog to my boss every now and again and have lovely conversations about the human psyche. It was perfection. My good times there did, eventually, have to come to an end; it was a job that did not necessitate a 40-hour work-week. (And at a certain point I succumbed to the reality of rent.)

There are good times (and struggles) to be had at every job. But regardless of where I am, I think I'll keep crossing my fingers for the occasional power-outage.

Being a "Good Kid"

 Here's a thought I haven't had in a while;

    When you are the "good one" in the group, 
    You are more than likely held to an exponentially higher standard than those around you.

The "good one" gets away with nothing and is judged for everything. They are very typically never freed from a watchful eye, one way or another. It's never good enough. Any of the other kids in the metaphorical group will steal beers from their dad's fridge, stay out past midnight, snort chopped up pills from their Aunt Franny's cabinet while baby-sitting the neighbor's kid... unless the cops get involved: nothing gets done. This is expected behavior.

Meanwhile the one who's sacrificing childhood memories for a clean record gets verbally beaten to death by the teacher down the hall when they sneeze during French class.

The moment you raise the bar, you raise others' expectations of you.

This is something I have been exposed to for nearly my entire life. Started as the kid who avoided trouble (horrible for one's social life, by the way), grew into the one in the group who "wasn't sure what Mom would think about that" (once my sister took pity on me and surrounded me with people who were older and infinitely cooler than me) only to make my final transformation as the hard-working (and at times truly the least-fit-for-the-job) corporate back-breaker. 

I have since slowed my roll a bit at the workplace. I still try my best every day and push myself; I've just been a bit better about applying my favorite word (balance). 

...But I still don't want to cause trouble. (What would Mom think??)

Now! I haven't had this thought in so long. So why now? 

I have recently been accused of having a few less-than-sweet attributes. No big shocker there; I am more than aware of my imperfection. This is not what I have come to ponder on. 

I tried to talk to a different person (let's call them "Beverly") about these downfalls of mine and Beverly took very little time to hesitate. Her fangs were out, her weapons were drawn and she pounced. 

It felt as though she had been waiting her entire lifetime for such an opportunity (which is strange, considering Bev has not known me her entire life). Here I was thinking I was just having a conversation with a friend and BAM! Hello, nasty. 

Now, it has to be said; I am no longer mad at / conflicted about Beverly / her actions (thank you, processing server in my brain). However, at the time I was completely insulted and taken aback. I have not (at least in the last ten years) spoken so viciously to a friend. Again; it is not that I am perplexed as to how Beverly could ever think I am less than perfect. I am upset at the intention. Or perhaps lack thereof. Why does it seem so impossible to be considered? I know I am not as in-touch with my emotions as I could be / as others (mostly others that I hold dearly) are. Does this attribute of mine shoot off a Bat-Signal to those around me to metaphorically put their dukes up? (Thank God I am not a big strong-looking beastie or I may have been un-metaphorically boxed.) 

Is it that these people think I can take it (possibly because I am part robot)? Is it something un-clockable / coincidental? Is it that the Beverlies of the world are all-too eager to witness my stumbles - and as such - do not consider my feelings at all? Because they are far too consumed by the excitement of it all: "MY DAY HAS FINALLY COME." There are more polite ways of telling someone how much they suck, you know. I have been on both sides of that conversation; it can be done.

Meanwhile, I never meant / mean to "rub things in faces". I get genuinely excited about things. I love good conversation (especially with friends). And I don't mean to exclude anyone, but I truly cannot explain how incredible it is to finally feel as though I am able. My mind has fucked me up sideways (mostly in the earlier years). It has made me feel as though I was destined to be miserable, lonely and entirely exiled from victory (large or small). And don't cry for me, Argentina; this is not a futile attempt to make anyone feel sorry for me. I am aware of what an incredibly safe and privileged life I have led. I am also aware that I should take my own advice that I have given friends: 

"just because it could be worse, doesn't mean you're not allow to have feelings about it" / "don't let others' experiences cheapen your own". 

Also: I genuinely get excited about others' victories, as well. I do not downplay (an awful thing to do). 

So if I've been cheering on those around me and not rubbing my own triumphs in anyone's face, it's really quite irritating that there are Beverlies in the world, allowing themselves to physically be near me while quietly praying for my downfall. 

It is so unreal. I am convinced that there are people out there that (at least subconsciously) get so insulted by others' successes. Their little victories. Those people who are never really happy for you. Mostly a bunch of "why-not-me" drowning in a sea of envy. (A jealou-sea, if you will.) And when you mix an insecure, jealous individual with a triumphant "good kid"? It is a recipe for disaster. 

This is not to downplay all of the hurdles one must jump when one is deemed the "trouble-maker", it's just that I wanted to write about what I knew. I can only imagine how exhilarating it is causing mischief and - honestly - I still get the adolescent drive to do so from time to time. I would always dream of being "cool" enough. Of being the one who had friends. Who did fun stuff. However I also can only imagine how incredibly tough / seemingly impossible it would be to "outrun" that past to start anew. 

This is also not an attempt to spread hate and/or divide. My intention to separate parties in this entry is simply an attempt at making my thoughts a bit easier to digest. I love conversation and writing, but that doesn't mean I am necessarily good at either. I often find that if I can give specific examples to the person I am trying to communicate with, it is easier for my rambling thought to be understood. 

I have said it before and I will say it again: there are no good guys or bad guys. Just people. As I age I find it more and more possible to find the reason(s) for others' actions. In doing so, I have been able to better-control my temper (again - still not perfect there, but not as bad as it once was). I have also been able to see that sometimes peoples' actions are not fully in their own control. Sometimes we humans only do things because it is inherently human to do so. And how do you get mad at that?

I still get mad sometimes (not perfect, for the seventy-fifth time). But knowing that Beverly was likely acting out of insecurity / inherent human reaction certainly helps the mad evaporate into curiosity and, at worst, irritation.

Emotion: a 2021 moment

 I had an emotion about something and finally talked to my bartender about it.

Said "bartender" is not simply that - he is my "big brother" and means the world to me. 

The immediate take-away is: I felt loads better. I get it now! I finally understand why it is people take to their local pub when times get tough. I have had more practice on the other side of the bar before this, I assure you, and never really considered the possibility of being on the other end. 

Alas, I have become the white-collar honkey who, after spending a week in the office, found my feet naturally led me to the nearest bar to solidify my place in the sweet siren's song that only Friday night can bring. My responsibilities will wake me tomorrow (Saturday mornings are for bank-runs and last-minute-postage), but for now? I am free. 

There is no greater feeling to be felt by a white collar-er than 5:01pm on a Friday.

At any rate, this emotion I had - as well as the talk with "big brother" - lead me to the conclusion that: I am not terribly emotional.

*queue my roommate/best friend in a fit of hysterics*

Those who are truly closest to me know full-well that I am more analytical than emotional. If such a comparison can be made. This is not to say I am without my emotional outbreaks - I still have a temper about certain things. Hell, I teared up at a Disney movie.

Humans are - inherently - emotional, so (to quote David Byrne): "How did I get here?"

When I was younger (did you feel that eye-roll? I did), I was a sociopathic, sardonic, cynical little shit. I kept to myself and let everyone around me go about their days and feel their things as I silently judged. 

I had such a temper then! I am nearly certain (sincerely hope) that you would not recognize me. Getting in a fit about my sister "taking my shirt". About looking "this way". About "having to do a certain chore". I had it easy, people. And I was selfish. And then I grew and then I decided that I was gross. 

So I worked on myself!

I was lucky enough to have a decent relationship with an incredible teacher (high school) who (in passing) asked me: "Are you self-actualized?"

I had no idea what he meant/told him so/he explained it to me/I've never been the same since.

No one is ever "the same since", why do we say that?

At any rate, since then I have been absolutely taken by the prospect of self-growth. Of Psychology. Of the human brain and its reactions to its environment. I have been actively working on myself ever since.

Fast-forward through my mother calling me a "mush" to the moment when a very important boss (friend who I worked for) called me an "Empath" (see prior blog). 

Turns out: The more I learned, the more I understood. The more I understood, the more empathic I became. The more empathic I became; the more patient and understanding I became with people as a human race. 

Here's the thing about patience and understanding: It makes you react less, consider more and - as an end result - be less "emotional".

To be "emotional" is to be "reactive". If one is reactive, one is most likely not considering. To consider is to be patient. Are we following my ridiculous prose?

Bottom line: I feel as though I have come nearly full-circle: from an un-feeling, judging punk-kid to a growing, feeling, emotional teen to a patient and understand and nearly un-feeling adult. I am very typically understanding / considerate to a point that most people have a problem with. People think I am being cold or dishonest (which is their right and hey - maybe I am! Who knows??) when in reality I think I am being measured and careful and considerate.