Recently in self-improvement Category

To clear up an apparently common misconception regarding my recent post on drinking...

I was:

- NOT complaining about people who ask me if I want a drink
- NOT bitching about ... well.. anything
- NOT upset with... anyone
- NOT saying I would never drink

Obviously the subject has come up a lot in my past. And that day, I just felt like I wanted to write something about it. It wasn't a backlash to any singular or combined incident(s). Call it passively educational.

Barring premature death -- probably from pissing off an angry woman -- I will drink, eventually. Until that time, I'll go back to keeping the neurotic parts of this in my own head.

People behave rather ridiculously if you say you aren't drinking. They don't care if you aren't eating, or you aren't dancing. But if you don't have a drink, there must be something interesting happening. And if you've never had a drink, the information will travel. It will be spoken in tones normally reserved for discussing your friend fucking the new girl in the bathroom while his fiance danced 20 feet away. You're cute, and naive, and "probably better off". And once the message has spread, coming up at every social gathering, to inform those people who hadn't heard yet, you will never be offered a drink again. You will forever be the quick, quiet, friendly joke when drinking comes up.

The only thing that will make it more ridiculous is to try and explain that you're not "not drinking", but that you've just never had a drink. People look at it as one of those bullshit, convenient excuses to justify something with no logical explanation.

Why haven't I had a drink?

The big shadow looming over all is of course, my father. A lifelong alcoholic, despite not having had a drink in probably 20 years. But growing up in the family of an alcoholic means spending your formative years hearing that nothing good ever comes from drinking. Drinking means fighting, and yelling, and coming home late at night to go immediately to bed. Drinking is years of self-help and rebuilding your life, and breaking up your family, and...

Of course you grow up, and you realize most things you learned growing up were questionable at best. Alcohol, like most everything in life, is not inherently evil. Addiction is the heart breaker, making people do things despite knowing they're wrong. And the wonders of modern medicine came along just in time to tell me that addiction -- especially alcoholism -- could very well be genetic. Was your father a drunk? Watch out. You could be too. And educated, reasonable debate never had a strong toehold in my family. Don't do drugs... they're all evil and will destroy your life... worse than anything else. Sex education consisted of never closing your door when you had a girl in your room. (Lucky for my mother I was never gay). And whatever you do... don't drink. One drink and you could become an alcoholic.

I don't believe that anymore, of course. It is a "belief", though, because it's never been tested. So I can't provide logical arguments to support it. Just practical experience through many friends and acquaintances, and knowledge of my own mind.

(And don't get me wrong, I don't blame my family for anything. What happened when I was a child was long ago; and you simply can't live in the past. That's as bad an addiction as any drug. And now, I am an adult, and have no one to blame but myself for any choice I make.)

Momentum can make it pretty hard to drink, as well, after a while. Don't drink when you're a teenager? Rare, but sure to be fixed in college. Don't drink in college? Weird, but then someone has to drive us out for burgers at 3 AM after the keg is tapped out. Don't drink in your 20s? Is something wrong... are you a recovering alcoholic? Don't drink in your 30s? Wow... didn't Steve Carell make a movie about you? It keeps becoming a grander, more momentous thing with each passing moment. If it's not now an elixir of the gods, turning me instantly into Buddy Love, then everyone involved will be surely let down.

Maybe I exaggerate a bit. Just a bit.

Probably the biggest remaining issue, that still trips me up is simple neuroses. It's really no secret that I think too much... worry too much. I am forever trying to keep myself from saying or doing something stupid, even while knowing full well that every great thing in my life has come from moments of ignorance or stupidity. While nowhere near as closed off as some people believe, I am forever trying to maintain personal control, like my friends are squirrels who may scamper off at the first loud noise. And the idea of drinking is like purposely ripping a hole in that dam. What stupid thing will I do or say that will ruin everything?

Of course that's stupid. I said it was a neurosis. But like seemingly everything in life, it's easier said than done to actually 'fix' it.

The next time you ask someone why they don't drink, (*ahem* "haven't had a drink"), think about this. And ask yourself would you rather hear all that in the middle of a party, or maybe that joke they make is just a little less likely to kill the mood.

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?

I read a definition of success recently that I really like:

Success is when opportunity meets readiness

I think the original quote is about Hollywood, but it's pretty universal, in my opinion. And it's been very true about my own life. Every major thing that's happened to me involved a specific event that occurred unexpectedly, but while I was fortunately ready to exploit it. It could also be considered a practical definition of fate: when the right moment comes along, you're ready to seize it.

I think where it falls apart for some people is the last bit. They know that finding the right moment is vital, but they seem to expect it to carry them off like a wave, when it happens. But the reality is you have to be able to recognize the moment, react in time, and run with it.

I am now taking applications for a new filthy assistant to accompany me to the Adams Morgan Street Festival on Sunday. Tonto is currently off in the far north doing strange things with his horses, and won't be back in time. There will be loud music, crazy people, and bad food. Cheap crap will be sold at immense prices from behind a card table in the middle of the street. Can you think of a better way to finish a day with sore feet that smell like charcoal smoke?

I finally broke down today and uncrated the last of my items from NY. My sculpture made it through unscathed, thanks no doubt to the many hours of newspaper-scrunching, done by my mother and I.

I love getting stuff in the mail. So it's not that I am simply lazy, that I avoided unpacking. I have many involved reasons for being too lazy to unpack. My apartment generally exists just slightly to the losing side of homeostasis. Everything has its place, so long as I go through once or twice a month and repair collapsing shelves and unbury the chairs from piles of jackets. But this means bringing in 3 large boxes of childhood memories and college detritus can completely throw off the balance.

My closet is a little scary on a good day. Bring in an additional 22 years of memories, and we have a problem, Houston. God I didn't wanna have to clean out my closet. I just got it to the point were it was so full, things couldn't fall over anymore. What more could I want?!

I would say it is pretty much impossible to clean out your apartment in order to find space for all your childhood tchatchkes, without getting philosophical about the implications. Making yourself whole... a unified vision of yourself... coming to terms with your past and present... crap like that. I'm really trying to avoid it, though. As far as I can tell, I don't have a whole lot of unresolved childhood issues. I'd like to keep it that way. Fuck... just using the term "childhood issues" makes me cringe.

I'll tell ya, what did make me ponderous is the sheer amount of stuff I had in storage "just in case" and for "future use at some unknown time". You know... boxes, and picture frames and crutches and... Good god. I have this vision of myself living a very clean, uncomplicated life. I want to be that person in the story who has exactly what they need, and nothing more. Somehow, I don't think that involves hoarding "maybe" stuff. A little more stable than just Bohemian... but not quite "comfortable".

Gawd, this place looks like hell. And I've already taken the larger stuff to the trash room. At least Pixel is happy. There's nothing better to her than a pile of garbage to sleep on.

Anyone want some crutches?

Note to my friends:

"You're all completely fucking nuts; and should be rounded up and shipped to Guam where you can spend years working in their fish cannery." More and more I can understand the urge to break off all human contact, live in a log cabin in east nowhere, and send mail-bombs to annoying people.

If you're my friend, I don't care how much you know. I will in fact point, make fun, and ridicule you if you don't stop trying to impress me. Discussions? Great. But nothing kills a good talk faster than stating an undeniable fact and refusing to consider outside comment. Keep in mind that of all the things that humanity has ever known in the entire time it has existed.... almost every one of them have been proven wrong.

I'm not sure why, but more and more, I'm having problems with 'professional appreciators', (to steal a phrase from High Fidelity). Not, you know, actual interpersonal conflicts or fisticuffs. But they're grating on my fucking nerves.

I'm guessing it has something to do with having started my own business last year. I tried explaining something similar earlier tonight... and failed miserably. But once you take that huge dive off a cliff, and do something that average, comfortable people don't do... it's either addictive or horizon-expanding. (Not that those two things don't usually go together.) The final act of "doing" that thing is what sets you apart. Everyone and their janitor has plans. But most people don't "do" it. Being a procrastinator most of my life gives the act a certain special feeling. But now that I'm on the far side of that hurdle, I'm seeing how much is accomplished even nowadays due to sheer force of will.

I'm feeling this need, more and more, to go into my life, and see why I'm doing things. See what is working and what isn't. To throw out the useless, and bring in something good. But oh god, does it seem like a lot of work. Especially when nothing involved is tangible, and most of it would be hard to quantify.

Oy, I am so tired. But I don't want it to be tomorrow. And if I go to sleep, it will be tomorrow that much faster. I am probably going to be slammed with work tomorrow, and have it carry through most of the week. This... I could do without.

These thoughts have been neither coherent nor comprehensive. They are just the healthier expressions of dark, little, festering thoughts that have been sitting on my chest lately.

Someone bought me a scale for Christmas. I dunno if this was supposed to be a hint. But if so, it backfired.

I was surprised 6 months ago to find out I hadn't changed weight since college. And when I was given the scale last month, I immediately checked again, and even in full clothing, I was in my college range.

This morning, I locked the doors, barred the windows, drew the shades, cover the picture of Jesus, unplugged the TV, activated the white noise generator, and weighed myself in the buff, to get a true measure of my weight.

178.5 lbs.*

so nyah!

(*When you you stand 6'3", this weight is not as bad as it sounds, thank you. Last time I checked, the ideal weight charts at that height gave a range of 175 through 195 lbs.)

Congratulate me... for I am once again a poor slob. (Normally I make a comfortable living as a slob). But tonight I mailed off my last payment on my student loans.

I may be broke, but at least I'm out of the red.