Recently in intangibles Category
I feel better. I deposited a couple big checks today. And given that it's also the first of the month, which is when I normally pay myself, I took the opportunity to pay off my credit card, which is the only real debt I have. For years I had kept the balance down to nothing, by paying it off every month. (And relatedly, never getting an increase in my credit limit). But early last year, I got hit with a series of expenses, such as needing to replace my old laptop earlier than expected. And while it never even reached $4,000 at it's worst, it still bugged me knowing that it was there.
But now it's gone.
I took that picture above while I was just walking home yesterday. I've been here so long I very easily forget how much there is to this place. Almost any kind of travel refreshes my vision of the city. And I try occasionally to take pictures of that 'bigness', because I know enough people who don't see it every day.
Most of the trouble I cause in my world comes from an inability to stop myself from talking. At least 95% of those instances revolve around me being agitated to one extreme or another about something. And while I well know I should keep my mouth shut when I'm worked-up, I'm not always successful. I could argue that most of the agitation is caused by someone else making inappropriate comments in a similarly excited state. But being occasionally unable to ignore such provocations--as you would expect from any rational person--isn't something to be proud of.
I seem to be able to better handle it in business than my personal life. But then you won't survive long in business if you take it personally, for various reasons, (mental health, upset clients, lack of objectivity, blah blah blah). And I've found that even when a client does go off the deep and attempt to take me with them, if I just keep quiet and wait a day or two, cooler thoughts will prevail without any intervention from me.
But friends and family have signed some waiver. They've probably seen me behaving like a jackass at some point, and still decided to continue talking to me. So my guard is down, my filters are off. While there's still plenty of things I shouldn't say, I usually don't see them coming until they're on the way out of my mouth. In extreme cases I've cut off any meaningful conversations with certain people, in order to avoid conflict. But I don't like that, and it's not friendship, to me.
I don't have an acceptable excuse. I don't have a solution. I'm still working on it.
Failure is being without resource or hope. You have nothing and nowhere. You're not only homeless, but literally on the streets, with nowhere to go, and no one to turn to. And you have no idea what to do to make it better.
To me, that was always the ultimate worst outcome of failure. (Sure, you can argue death would be worse, but if I died, I don't think I'd care any more about the failure aspect. And I'm looking for real suffering, here.)
But...
Look at street people. Talk to them. Or, try to anyway. Most of the real, hardcore street people are not there because of a single bad turn of events in their life. Losing your job and getting kicked out of your apartment does not directly equate to peeing yourself and sleeping under a bridge for 15 years. I'm not trying to make any judgment call about these people except to say that they've usually got larger issues than a rough patch in life.
So barring extraordinary circumstances, no matter how bad the average, healthy person fails, they're never likely to hit that perceived rock bottom.
The whole point of this is then to ask: if I simply cannot fail like I always worried, then what's stop me from trying... anything? What have you always dreamed of doing, but you feared the worst? Well if the worst isn't a possibility, then what's stopping you?
Sitting in a bar in one of those moments where I have absolutely nothing to say to the person across from me, a thought popped into my head.
Through much of college and the early years of my life in DC -- including and especially my last job -- I dealt so much with dysfunctional, damaged people. People who needed more than they could return. People you constantly had to be there for, totally sacrificing yourself. People who had to hear that certain something from you or they would just break down.
Those are very tiring people. In fact, I've become less tolerant of them. I'm not very proud of that. It wasn't intentional, but I just 'saved' one too many people, one too many times. And suddenly, while I would do my best to be supportive in any given moment, afterwards I was hard-pressed to follow through. From vast experience, I was an expert at knowing what such a person needed to feel stable, but it just wasn't in me any more to try and save someone.
But life changes. I generally work alone, now. And the scope of friends I come into regular contact with has greatly increased. Either by divine intervention, luck, or just inevitable odds, I seem to be surrounded by 'healthier' people, who don't constantly 'need'. And I'm not really sure how to handle it any more. When did I forget how to just sit back and talk with someone; someone who didn't need to hear all the right words?
I don't want to be constantly supportive at the cost of my own life. It's fucking exhausting. And in my head I have constant ideas, and desires, and plans. But ... I don't know any more how to talk about them to... a normal person.
So I get off the metro around 3 AM, and start walking up the street to my apartment. Not for the first time, but for the strongest in a while, I ask myself, "wow... what the fuck are you doing walking through downtown in a major city at 3 AM? you're a redneck from nowhere. they look at you funny here."
But then... I don't really care how they look at me. Just wish more of the cute ones would touch me.
I've had serious urges to go back to my home town or some small place and live. Aside from the whole "things to do vs. isolation" argument*, I wonder why I'm where I am. Certainly on my last trip home, it occurred to me that while DC may be infinitely more complex and dangerous, it's the devil I know. Confronted with a questionably dangerous situation in my home town, I was lost as to how to react. While I'm by no means "citified", I haven't lived in a truly small town since 1993. I think in my hometown, it's more of that whole lord-of-the-flies, go-with-your-gut, redneck, survival-of-the-fittest thing. And I have no illusions as to where I stand under those conditions. Whereas most things in a city, even the bad things, usually involve a whole line of decisions. And when you over-think things as much as I do...
Ideally, I want to reside somewhere under "live and let live" conditions. But it doesn't seem like those kind of places exist any more.
*New thought for me: Do you think maybe people marry younger in small towns simply because they're bored? Or put less offensively... because to move on to the "next set of stuff" you do in small towns means being part of a family?
I went on my first bike ride of the year, today. This of course means I'll be walking bowlegged tomorrow. But in the meantime, it felt good. Afterwards. When I'd had a chance to drink something. And breathe. Though the ride did actually go better than the last one I remember. May have had something to do with finally breaking out the WD-40. But I'm going to pretend its all about this tower of masculine fitness that i call my body.
I'm trying to decide something, though. Every time I ride down on the mall, the ride west always seems at least twice as hard as the ride east. And the change is so sudden that I can't believe it's always from taking the east route first. I think the southern path has more loose gravel and stone. It's terrible for traction.
So I sat down by the tidal basin and read for a while. No more cherry blossoms. And hence, no more tourists. Really was nice out there though. Watched a storm pass over Fairfax and head south. This heavy cloud ringed in orange, with stretched, cottony strands connecting it to the ground.
Likewise, I didn't feel like cooking last night, so I picked up a sub at Potbelly and ate it in Lafayette Park behind the White House. This park is, as they say, spitting distance from the actual building of the White House. It's kind of nice. They generally keep the homeless people out of it. And there's enough tree cover to block out the street noise. Of course, any time you hear about someone jumping the fence, or stabbing someone outside the white house, or pulling a gun, this is where they do it. But, you know, psychos can have taste, too.
But I'm sitting there eating and reading and looking around. And I have a thought that still frequently comes to me. It's really hard to believe that I'm sitting and eating, a stone's throw from, depending on how you look at it, the single most potent seat of power in the entire world. It's hard to believe you can get so close. It's hard to believe that it's me who's sitting there, so far away from the little redneck town in eastern nowhere, where I never had friends much less hope. It's hard to believe that simple building over there can raise up men to another planet, or kill so many people right here at home.
Then some birds started squawking and having birdy sex on the grass in front of me.
Thought:
A couple weeks back now, it was a minor news story because, depending on how you write your numbers, the time and the date were about to spell out 01:02:03 04/05/06. I've been lazy about writing this down, so I'm sure no one cares any more. But I have two responses to all the things I read about this phenomenon:
1. People said "this will never happen again". More optimistic people pointed out, "this will happen in another 1,000 years". I think you should all go and demand your money back from your school teachers. Unless I'm totally off my rocker, this set of numbers will happen in just another 100 years. And every consecutive 100 years, until we change the way we tell time.
2. Everyone and their mother's poodle was saying that at the precise moment, they would stop and hold their breath, or look up in the sky, or cheer, or… . Why? Yeah... this is a cute novelty. But why does a coincidental label cause you to declare this a special day, worthy of effort and commemoration? What kind of sad life do you have when you don't aim for that kind of special-ness every day?
Another thought:
Why has patriotism become a thing of war and conflict? Why is the word only brought up in connection with fighting soldiers and those in context with them?
Final thought:
About 3 weeks ago, I walked down my street thinking, that although it was bright and sunny, it was still undeniably winter. The sun was still harsh, and the air still smelled of... nothing. A week and a half later, and spring was here. The air is fresh, and the light is a bit more hazy. The tree in front of my windows has started to bud. When the leaves scorch under the sun to a dark, forest green, summer will be here again.
Went to see Walk the Line tonight, with Shannon, Ash, et co. Joaquin Phoenix really did an amazing job of mimicking Johnny Cash, right down to the smallest nuance.
Random fact: Once of the songs used in the movie, Dark was the Night, by Blind Willie Johnson, was one of the recordings included on the Voyager spacecraft.
Some of the story line was kind of getting to me though. Not literally, so much as relatively, in how it compares to my own life. Most of the time, lately, there's been something just on the edge of perception that's bugged me. Left me feeling slightly queasy. It makes it hard to work; hard to concentrate. I can still pound out the non-creative work with no trouble. But I can't focus on the important stuff. And I haven't done any personal artwork in a while.
The artwork, I can just find some time and do. And once I "do", I'll feel considerably better. The rest of it is a combination of things. Some of it is not doing the bigger things I know I should do, especially related to my business. The day-to-day is a hard thing to see past. And some of my problems are caused by several ruts I find myself in. And for both situations, the best way for me to react is a cold turkey change. I have to break my daily routines, and live with what's best instead of what's most comfortable. Comfort does nothing for me, but accomplishment gives me... 'warm fuzzies,' as that shrink said back when I was... 2... 3?
The only problem is that all those thoughts come in the middle of a movie out in the suburbs. And when I say "a sudden drastic change", I mean sudden. While the movie was great, and there was no way I would walk out on it, every fiber of my being was telling me to get back home and change something.
Wow... I'm being... like... meaningful, and shit.
God I could go for some chocolate.
There are really times that I hate the world. Being mugged on my doorstep. Having some punk-ass fool threaten me when I go to the mailbox. Have people try to slam the door in my face while shopping, and then laugh. I hate the idea that I have to be on guard against other people's pointless maliciousness; on a regular basis. The act, or threat, itself is not the problem, so much as the inability to do anything productive about it during or afterwards. It's powerlessness. Not in the sense of weakness, but in the sense that there is no action you can or could take that would make a good outcome. And I don't handle frustration particularly well.
I've talked much shit, in person and in this journal, about the strength necessary to work for yourself. The ability to even conceive of something so outside the social norm. The necessity of having the skills and contacts to implement any such idea. The intestinal fortitude necessary to deal with the overwhelming incompetence and bureaucracy you're bound to face. The natural assumption---and admittedly most often result---of a successful attempt at controlling your whole life instead of just 16 hours of it, is a wonderful sense of accomplishment and self-worth. Like you've broken out and are now master of your destiny. But few good things don't have a darker side to them. In what passes for one of my more sullen moments recently, I thought about what that control actually meant. My greatest fear since going out on my own has been failure, resulting in ending up living on the street. It's not a fear I can simply ignore. The street very literally looms large in my life, just outside my giant bay windows. I cannot walk more than a block anywhere in this city without being pan-handled to by someone supposedly living on the street, with thoughts of "There but for the grace of some desperate clients…". It's a simple enough fear on it's own; really not just limited really to people who work for them-self. But I think the limited---very limited--- success I have had so far (knock wood) makes it all the more vibrant. I've proven that I can control my own life successfully. But the street is still out there. Not everyone who ends up there fell on hard times. Some people went there with conscious effort. The temptation is ALWAYS there not to do the more unpleasant tasks. Not to deal with the difficult people. Not to make the awkward calls. While I, and most people that would be considered mentally healthy, choose to live a cleaner, more peaceful lifestyle, complete control really means complete control. There's no safety net... no business or social requirements that keep me off the street, anymore.
"Beware the dark side, Luke"
Morbid and ridiculous, I know. So I often pull myself away from the window with a bit too much force, and look at my apartment. And I think about how much crap I have. Things unnecessary to every day life. And if I ever did end up out of here, how much would I regret that DVD, or those new jeans, or… Certainly inspires some serious cleaning and purging binges. And makes me cringe every time I get a frivolous, meaningless gift.
I have no doubt I am seriously fucked up. But then... would I be better off worrying about mortgage payments and what Allison thinks of me?
Of course, when I look at my cat, nothing in the world can keep me from smiling.
*Editor's Note: No... I wasn't particularly depressed when I wrote this. I had intended to write many things that night, which had been building up over the holidays. But when finger was put to keyboard, that's all that came out.
