I want to talk about painting yourself into a corner.
I think many of us think about our lives as a series of choices. The problem as far as I see it is that we only think of them as choices during “momentous” occasions. The decision to go for your first kiss. The decision to go to college or ask someone to marry you. Think of a paint roller. You make a decision to paint a room, but not one flick of the wrist at a time at random points on the wall until it’s covered.
The next thing to my mind is the religious person. From childhood socialized to not only believe a certain doctrine, but intertwine their life and relationships relative to it. It starts with someone else painting for them, but eventually the brush is handed down and it’s your job to finish the wall. It’s not simply learning enough or being honest with yourself about not hearing god’s voice or getting your prayers answered, saying “duh,” and changing. You might feel guilty over a religious group you sponsor. You might alienate and piss off your family. You may be completely ignorant of the emotional depths that culture has really instilled in you, and the pain of its loss could always feel like a hole. It’s not merely annoying like walking through wet paint.
I like to think I can recognize when I’ve painted myself into a corner. I mostly think this because I have over 10 years of writing to reflect on. When I thought I was dramatically in love, the blogs about all I was learning with regard to love and religion started to follow, after the rabid irrational animal rants got their due. When I was complaining about school, a corner I was painted into, I discussed what I envisioned as far as business I wanted to conduct. When I cracked and couldn’t keep thinking in “regular people” terms about how relationships are supposed to be conducted, friendly or otherwise, I found new rollers, new colors, and new rooms.
I’m struck by weeks when I think there isn’t anything to talk about. I know it’s a lie. For whatever reason this week or maybe month the global atrocities just don’t sting like they’re supposed to. The fights or arguments I may get into I’m just not that invested in. All I can sort of do is stare. I can sit. I can feel the space around whatever, often literal, corner I’m sitting in. Because right now I’m painting myself into the corner brought on by attempting to be an entrepreneur.
These drug studies, while lucrative, are certainly not ideal. But soon I’ll be sitting on more money than I’ve ever held at one time, with every intention of seeking more. I’m “winning” the security that keeps me away from a minimum wage job or wasting my time on things I don’t care about. But I actively chased this reality by talking myself away from the litany of things people subject themselves to during the course of a “normal respectable life.” I just wonder if people are as happy with what they are stuck with.
That seems to be one of the defining differences to me too. I can always seek out a job I anticipate hating. Or several jobs, like almost every technician at this study center, and driving hours to make a pittance. Spend time bogged down in conversations about landscaping and when I buy groceries. I’m just reporting what I hear. I can be in on the paycheck to paycheck joke and mortgage or credit myself into a hole. I’m just saying it’s an option. Am I lost on the options if you picked those first? Because that’s what concerns me. That’s where people find cliche sentiments and ruts about how life is or what you can expect.
I’d just say to examine where you’re painting. Make sure that when you get your proverbial spinal tap, you’re coming out a little sore, but with your time to appreciate what it got you. If I had to suffer every week for a few hundred bucks and no time, no inspiration, and no capacity to see a way out, I’d fucking kill something. I don’t want you to feel like you want to kill things.
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