I can’t say precisely when it changed. All I know is that I can talk about myself now in terms I’m not sure existed when I was younger. Certain core ideas about myself remain true, but the approach became modified as my experience kept slamming hard into the reality. It might be described as life catching up to me. It might just be something more thoughtful people figured out before me.
I like to repeat stories. Sometimes a situation in your life feels so indicative of you at some point in time that you can relive it like you’re there again. I can still feel myself in my first job running up and down the aisles with a broom getting looks from customers and employees for two explicitly opposing reasons. I’m on the dancefloor or porch of my old house talking about everything with a dozen random strangers. I’m racing to get my homework for the day done before the bell for first period rings in grade school. I’m still fuming from a couple fights and cuddled up in some romantic nights.
The conversation about how to describe ourselves often comes with the word “discovery.” People wake up and explore their sexuality. People figure out it was the emotional insecurity and abuse from their parents the whole time! They discover a topic in school they previously had no interest in that became their career or “passion.” The examples above I never had to figure out. It wasn’t after a long contemplation or errant misstep that I figured out it can be invigorating to fight, surrounding myself with people who will dance and argue is the best, and making people annoyed at how quick and expertly I achieve my goals, even if it is just to clean a theater, speaks to something at the heart of my being.
Part of me will forever try to be something of a goody two shoes. I was a scared-straight kid. Better stated, even when I didn’t know I was doing something wrong, I could be beaten for getting it wrong. I was rewarded for good grades. I had no desire to smoke or drink. I didn’t steal. Of course, in kindergarden me and a couple friends pantsed a kid on the playground who still wore diapers, so I was certainly an out and out dick and bully as well, but we’ll leave the reasoning and psychoanalysis of 23 or so years ago to the professionals. But even that example, I’m not a person who delights in humiliation, and I’m not sure I truly was then either.
Don’t let me forget or talk past what changed. I guess I was bolstered by a genuine belief that as long as I kept getting the praise and doing things that excelled past others, my shit was made. For all the “kids were told they were special and got rewards they didn’t earn yada yada” so often thrown around, well, I did get the best grades. I did the next grades homework. I completed the work tasks faster and didn’t complain. I stayed out of trouble. I was putting on the loudest show of what you weren’t.
Something started creeping in. I kept getting the grades and cash, but the money started going towards things like gas instead of video games. I could still absolutely murder my job, but I found myself working for someone who didn’t appreciate it. I got to college reading almost a book a day for fun, and they told me I wasn’t allowed to take classes that I’d already read the required reading for the entire semester. By that point, most of my “friends” were associates or lackeys at best, so I didn’t yet have to deal with the identity crisis of incorporating others’ intentions or perspectives onto my being. My world was no less getting corrupted and punctured.
Eventually, the loudest message I was hearing wasn’t about how smart I was or what I could achieve. The thing I kept hearing until my heart had to stop fighting was that I absolutely didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if I was smarter. I didn’t matter if I could keep calm. I didn’t matter if I still had the energy to run and the better plan, I no longer deserved the recognition or praise. Now, there are always people around to be “encouraging,” but seeing through pleasantries isn’t particularly hard. An entire series could be devoted to how that message translates in attempting friendships and relationships, and certainly there are blogs to that effect, but alluding to them with this line will suffice for now.
So part of me really truly believes it. Part of me is Nietzsche on a bad day towards the end of his life. I went from kid who didn’t drink to person who “won” his shot club party with 32 or 34, where the only important thing that all involved remember is that I won. I went from sheepishly trying to take 2 suckers from the bank to at one point being unable to look around my room without pointing to something I stole. I thought I could be blissfully and magnificently gallant and in love with a crush from high school to turning into a right proper whore who’s said more words to his mailman than some of the people he’s hooked up with. That last one isn’t so much a negative as it’s there to sell the contrast.
Maybe the change is that I stopped believing in you. I still envision getting my party house back and having a movie screen living room. My heart still races at the prospect of putting on the kind of show from before as I see my dreams come true. When I can stave off how depressing it can be, I still barrel through books and articles looking for insight and details that can move the conversation. You came into the picture when I started partying. When all the, I guess fake, love and affection was passed around. You got fat or had too many kids. Your ideas sounded stale, your reasoning naive, and your goals very small and selfish. You got depressed. You got busy. You got tired. You embodied that thing I felt creeping, but instead of it mellowing you out, it became you.
What changed is I had to stop thinking it could just be me. I was solely responsible for my grades or pursuing a promotion or raise. We created a party setting movies are made of. Me and Hatsam killed ourselves getting exploited for the coffee shop. I felt the desire to subvert my goals and even perversions in service to what I thought my life could be with my ex. Every time I talk about the land I bought I’m insistent that people know they can and should be a part of it. I’m not gonna lie and say I even really feel it. I don’t actually know how to get you back.
It won’t just be about the money or having the ability to travel and escape this sinking ship. It’ll be about each shared day going forward. It’ll be whether or not you can put yourself next to people who felt as connected and alive to what was really them as I did. It’s not an “all hope is lost” sentiment, but the sadness kicks in when you so want for someone to be there that doesn’t want it for themselves. I’m on the playground, I’m in the theater, and I’m getting a little reckless. Where the bad jumbles with the good I still know how to speak to what’s at my core. It’s a place that remembers, but forgives, both myself and you. It’s a place that refuses to act as old as people younger than me try to. It’s a place that looks to receive and give recognition when it’s due. I stopped believing it was about some concrete goal as much as about a feeling. I want to give off a holistic impression that me and mine are doing it better. I’d love to go at the speed I’m most comfortable with.
