Someone told me this the other day

"You will never be happy if you continue to search for a reason for you not be happy." A nameless, wiser (but older) friend said this to me other day. I was blathering on to her about what was not happening in my life and why I was dissatisfied about this and that. At the same time, I was complaining about the inconvenience of newfound responsibilities that were being entrusted to me, which, in turn, could bring additional security into my life (employment wise) that I've been lacking sorely for a long time.

I was shocked when she said those words. Sometimes, I'm so good at telling myself what I want to hear that I, in turn, lose perspective of what is truth and what is my perception of the truth. I buffer myself with excuses and complaints that impede on me being proactive with what I want in life. And I find reasons not to be satisfied with things, but at the same time don't put the effort forth to fix them.

Face it. Ultimately it comes down to two choices. Be happy with your situation or change it. When it comes down to it, those are the two options you have. Stand still or move.

And she's right. I am not happy with my life. Nor should I be. I don't live to a fraction of my talent or my potential, and beyond that, I hardly stay afloat in matters which determine the quality of my life. These are things that need to change. These are things I need to push through. My goal this year was to put myself really in a position where I could begin to pursue writing as serious venture. I genuinely failed at that this year. I think that's been reflected in my failure to accomplish anything significant in my writing.

It's easy to write about changing. It's easy to talk about changing. It's even easy to take the first step. What is daunting is seeing your aspiration and your goal far horizon and realizing that even with the ten steps that you've taken, that tiny spec hasn't gotten any bigger. It's easy to lose count of how many steps you've taken. It's easy to back track your progress and want to walk back to something safe and familiar. It's easy to just quit.

I remember when I first started running. I would run this huge loop around Purdue University. I would use the university buildings as markers. I remember looking the first couple of times that I ran the route I did. I remember how small one building looked in the distance. And I remember just gritting through the pain, putting one foot ahead of the other. No matter how many steps I took it seemed like the building that was still as small as when I start. I had to stop running that day because I had not built up the endurance to finish the circuit. But when I looked back at from where I started, it looked so small in the distance that I had covered. I hadn't realized that even in my failure to finish the circuit, how far I had still traveled.

I believe that in life, who we are is not defined by our successes, but by our failures. Success and change are results of work done brought forth by a failure to act or failure to commit or failure to change. It's hard to me to admit but this year was a bit failure to me. At the same time, I've grown and matured in my struggle. I've more steps forward than I have back. I have more reasons to smile and be happy then to lament about my life.

I guess in the end, it is one just bitch about everything and it's another thing to want something more of yourself but be happy with everything you already have. I have to be reminded of that sometimes.

Moments of adulthood part II

Dammit.

The previous post wasn't supposed to be called 'Moments of adulthood." That was the title of a planned post that I am subsequently writing now.

I'm not sure, by any measure or means, that I would ever be called 'mature.' When I was younger, I arrogantly perceived myself to be mature for my age. (Of course at the tender age of eighteen, I also held many other perceptions, or rather misperceptions that as I grew older, I found to be grotesquely naive. *insert embarrassing generic sex story with innuendos of lack of sexual aptitude or stamina, in a self deprecating sense* made me realize the error of my ways) It was not till I was older that I realized that it was how I viewed the world (very, very uniquely(and by unique, I'm not necessarily saying it in the flattering sense)) that granted me to see certain truths that some would gleam as wisdom, but that didn't necessary equate to maturity. Wisdom is only useful if you follow it. I rarely follow it. (Which leads to a great segue into a metaphor to describe the difference between intelligence and wisdom as I've been told many of times. Intelligence is seeing the rain clouds and equating that to the possibility of showers. Wisdom is bringing the umbrella so you won't get rained on. I always think of bringing the umbrella along (hence I am wise) except then I realize that I was too cheap to buy an umbrella in the first place (hence, I am screwed)). I know many friends of mine (that s at the end of the word friend means plural, the definition of plural being more than one. Yes, I have friends) that are much further along on their respective life paths than I am, and if progress down your own life path is the defining factor in maturity, I am not mature. Doing the running man apparently isn't the greatest way to travel down any path, life or some other metaphor.

So now that I've quite definitively established that I am not mature, I have still noticed that unbeknownst by me, I have magically ascended, or rather descended to a new plateau of my life. Although I'm sure that there have been tell tale signs of this that I lacked the observational skills to pick up on, it was one day in a grocery store in which I came to this stunning revelation. It was as if I had transcended to a new level of understanding. It was during the midweek. I had come off of another meaningless day at my meaningless job. (Now before people go off on this tangent to comfort me that my job has meaning, let me reassure you, it doesn't. The world would keep on spinning if I had never stepped foot in my company that I work for, and it will continue to spin regardless if my employment there remains or is terminated. When I call my job meaningless, it's not because I don't appreciate my employment.(I quite enjoy getting paid, thank you very much) It's not even because I don't work hard at my job (when I have to). It's that in the grand scheme of things, my job really has little influence on the people around me. And that is how I judge meaning. I don't touch people with my job. I don't change people with my job. And that's why it's my job, and not my career. My career, as stalled as it is at this point, is still (and frankly always will be) writing. Even though I do not get paid for it (yet) and I possibly never will, it's something ingrained in me that I won't just give up even if I stop writing. And I don't think I would ever stop writing. I might put it aside for a time, but even as I do that I continue to observe the world around me and think of ways to relay what I see with my eyes, which frankly can be pretty disturbing and awkwardly funny at time. I guess my point is don't waste sympathy or empathy or pity on someone that doesn't want or need it. My job is meaningless. But right now it pays the bills. And I find meaning in what it pays the bills for. This.)

I had no food in my refrigerator, so I drove to the local grocery store right by my house. The grocery store has quite an extensive prepared food section in which I knew I would have a selection of choices to eat from. So I arrived at the grocery store, parked my car, walked through the biting wind to the welcoming, well lit warmth and promise of food that the electronic woosh of the opening sliding door of my grocery store offered. I picked up my little blue basket and cradled it like a fashionista holding her new, trendy clutch and headed over to the prepared food section. And there I was assaulted with choices. For twenty minutes, I paced up and down the aisle eyeing prepared meals of all sorts and varieties, hermetically sealed in transparent plastic tops and behind glass windows. From time to time, I would pick a package up and hold it indecisively for a moment, only to place the package back where I found it. What to eat used to be a simple decision for me when I was a kid. The choice was easy, eat what you want and eat what tastes best. This, of course, equated to a diet of hamburgers and fried chicken when I had the opportunity. But now it seems I feel buyer's regret every time I find myself driving away from a McDonald's drive through or I have a basket of fried chicken in front of me. I even feel it too; when I don't eat reasonably (a very relative term when I use it) well, I start to get heart burn, my energy levels are erratic, and my stomach doesn't seem to function correctly for the next couple of days. (It's like that with drinking as well. When I was younger, I would bounce back the very next morning and not feel a hangover at all. Now it's seems like my hangovers went from the morning after to the afternoon after to even two mornings after, till I feel like a normal person again.) So this is what goes through my mind as wander up and down the prepared food aisle and pick up item after item, only to place them back. After pacing for twenty minutes, I found myself carrying a rotisserie chicken and a caesar salad in my basket.

As I paced up and down again to reconsider my choices, I thought to myself as I looked at the salad which I didn't necessarily want to eat and the chicken that just seemed healthier than the alternatives, "Holy fuck. Did it just take me twenty minutes to pick up a chicken and salad?" At that moment, I looked around and saw people of comparable age to me, dressed more professionally (I, believe it or not, dress like a schlub), but with the same dazed and confused (and hungry) expression on their respective faces, similarly holding baskets of strategically picked vegetables and protein that were edible, although not necessarily enjoyable. And as I looked at my peers' expressions (the well, I'm hungry and this seems healthy and edible (not the this is what I've been craving all day look) look), I realized that I too had the same expression etched into my worn down, just got out of work (yet still devilishly handsome) face. I realized then that my days of McDonalds and Popeyes every chance I had were fading fast in the rear view mirror as I erratically swerved from lane to lane in my metaphorical car driving down my even larger metaphorical life path. I had gone from the age of this is what I want to an age of I should know better. (Should being the most important of the words of the last statement. Popeyes and McDonalds are still options, just not high on the list of options.)

I am one to believe that maturity and change are not events that happen quickly or over one action. When a person tell me that I've changed, that usually reflects a multitude of small, conscientious actions that I've took over a long period of time, not something I just decided to do over night. Subsequently, when I say I had an adult moment, I don't necessarily mean that I am a full blown adult. I don't think anyone who knows me well would ever accuse me of being an adult, except when it comes to clothing size and buying movie tickets (and porn and alcohol). But this moment kind of snuck up on me and caught me off guard, and as I stood in line at the cashier to check out my dinner, I realized that my inner child was again subdued in my life and something that used to be so easy and simple had now become a twenty minutes decision. And yes. The salad hardly filled me and the chicken was dry. Popeyes would have been so much better.