As I find myself writing, still deeply
rooted with the thought that I do not have real problems, I find that
I don’t give myself really any credit in having this disposition. I
didn’t have real problems when I was ridiculously broke, and I have
even less real problems now that I have the money to restart business
and live fairly comfortably for another year.
I’m intrigued by how often people get
angry at this prospect. I’m also intrigued by how often they get
angry that I expect things from people and my relationships.
Furthermore, their anger over and insistence upon telling me I’m in
denial is flatly amazing. It appears that many people simply don’t
want to be better and are insulted at the presumed insinuation. I
don’t know why.
Surely I’ve become “better” over
time. Whether it’s with a calmer reaction or more information, it’s
hard to argue that yelling and swinging solve things just as well. I
find when I read old blogs that if my actions don’t change the
meaning they take on grows under different lights. I’d say it’s
precisely this that has mitigated much of the heartache concerning
how and what to think of my friends. I’m still working on
translating that to the whole of humanity.
The denial charge I find most insidious. It’s sickeningly ironic. Even when I try to invent problems or bitch about a circumstance, they just don’t resonate as real. More so, they aren’t mine. I didn’t hijack a truck, pop a tire, and burn through $50 worth of gas. I had to alleviate the situation, but it wasn’t mine. I didn’t choose that, that happened to me; it happened in and around my world. I don’t deny I wasn’t having a terrible amount of fun in fixing it. I also know how it felt, and continues to feel, having resolved it; this extending on from the moment it was resolved. I still ate, hit the gym, and Kristen’s in my bed. It wasn’t a real problem.
The denial charge I find most insidious. It’s sickeningly ironic. Even when I try to invent problems or bitch about a circumstance, they just don’t resonate as real. More so, they aren’t mine. I didn’t hijack a truck, pop a tire, and burn through $50 worth of gas. I had to alleviate the situation, but it wasn’t mine. I didn’t choose that, that happened to me; it happened in and around my world. I don’t deny I wasn’t having a terrible amount of fun in fixing it. I also know how it felt, and continues to feel, having resolved it; this extending on from the moment it was resolved. I still ate, hit the gym, and Kristen’s in my bed. It wasn’t a real problem.
The “hot conversation” I got in
about what I expect from people and what I expect from myself as
“people” was the next most confusing. I won’t say it was
structured or had much of a point besides tipsy squabbling, but what
I remember most was a point about “well people don’t act that
way.” I think we initially got into it because I got the usual eye
roll and “pfft” noise about how an open relationship works. In
any event, it quickly derailed and I honestly have no real memory of
why.
All I took away was that I had been in
that conversation many times before; not because there was a
discernible topic by any means, but because I knew the second nothing
could be conceded or taken for what it meant, instead of what it
meant personally, it had nowhere to go from that onset. It’s
unfortunate, but it was easier to navigate when there was nothing to
lose. Surely voices didn’t have to rise, but who even knew such a
scenario was even to play out until it was upon us? It couldn’t be
“fixed” with anything but reflection. I read “tomato soup”
and all I got was worms.
But this speaks
to the nature of all my not real problems. My circumstances allow for
an endless stream of misfired conversation starters. But I didn’t
walk into someone’s house with derogatory comments and a
misunderstood position, my voice raised to a level of expectation met
only by the utmost polite and tranquil engagement this side of
Downton Abbey. I suppose as “best” I can, I simply try not to be
those kinds of problems. I create the problems I want. I’ll have
the same conversation time and again to my frustration for the last
sordid soul on Earth who actually came prepared to have it. I’ll
drop of something of relative value in a semi-sketchy situation and
take the damn car keys with me next time.
My “problem” comes in the form of what I’m willing to do, not what happens to me. Most of the time simply choosing fixes it just fine. A lot of my solutions come the same way except I didn’t die and give me money; that was my grandma. She helped create the conditions, influenced an environment so that I could keep not having real problems. Maybe once I get big enough or people read my voice in the English that it’s speaking they’ll start to figure out why they want me to have their anger and their problems. It’s not even that I don’t want them. I just can’t even accept them with the significance you need them to have. I can’t take and fix what’s not mine. You can shape someone’s world, but you can’t dictate their disposition.
My “problem” comes in the form of what I’m willing to do, not what happens to me. Most of the time simply choosing fixes it just fine. A lot of my solutions come the same way except I didn’t die and give me money; that was my grandma. She helped create the conditions, influenced an environment so that I could keep not having real problems. Maybe once I get big enough or people read my voice in the English that it’s speaking they’ll start to figure out why they want me to have their anger and their problems. It’s not even that I don’t want them. I just can’t even accept them with the significance you need them to have. I can’t take and fix what’s not mine. You can shape someone’s world, but you can’t dictate their disposition.
