I am officially declaring an end to the Existential Life Crisis. To be completely honest, I got bored with it several weeks ago. I'm tired of psychoanalyzing myself every twenty seconds and coming to the conclusion that I don't have a clue. Who cares? Life goes on, and I still probably won't have a clue when I'm eighty. So I'm not living the life of my dreams. It's my responsibility to make my own opportunities! I'm tired of feeling like I'm missing some kind of instruction manual to life, and I'm ready to just write my own. I still have my moments of terror, the "what-ifs" welling up over every coherent thought in my brain. But really, who doesn't? It's time to get over it.
Also, upon re-reading my blog as of late, I've noticed that postings with the ELC label are actually more accurately described as my overall thoughts on life. I haven't actually written anything truly ELC-worthy in a while.
As such, I am debuting a new label! (Ready? All together now! Oooooh! Aaaaaaah!) From this day forth, all Philosophical Discussions Of Life In General will feature the label "Deep thoughts."
Oh, and I promise I'll write something that's actually interesting later today. I know you were worried.
Crickets
Showing posts with label Existential Life Crisis. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Existential Life Crisis. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Fish in the sea
Last night my friend Brian said something to me in passing. He said, "Such-and-such guy sounded like a lot of work." At the time, the statement seemed inconsequential. Granted, at the time, I was also drunk. However, as the night wore on and I sobered up, I began to think about this more. I began to wonder about this really rather "nail on the head" assessment of my entire dating history. Events of this morning have driven the point home even more.
I date men who are a lot of work. (Okay, let's be completely honest. I am attracted to people, even as friends, who are a lot of work. You know it's true, and many of you have called me on it. Ahem.) I don't know why this is. I'm actually a fairly low-maintenance person. And no, I'm not saying that relationships should be easy. Far from it. I fully expect to put in a lot of work when I eventually find my partner for life. I just hope he'll want to put in an equal amount. And I definitely want our lives together to be good far more frequently than they are bad.
Maybe I'm expecting too much. Maybe the notion that there is someone out there who'll meet me halfway is niave. Previous generations didn't have to deal with the double-edged sword that is globalization of dating. The dating pool is so huge now, it's like an endless supply of new and exciting people to meet. If one person possesses a trait that annoys you, then HEY!--the next might not have that particular quirk. On the other side of things, however, I guess part of the reason my last relationship dragged on well after it was over is that we both felt like we'd just hit a "rough patch," and we needed to just power through it. My parents have had rough times and good ones, and following their model of staying together through thick and thin seemed paramount.
So the question really is this: How much work is the right amount? And how do you know when your relationship (or dating-interest, or whatever the hell people call each other these days) is more about the work than how you feel about each other? And how do you find the happy medium between the instant gratification of starting something new and hanging on to something that's not right, simply because of loyalty?
And before you read too much into this and wonder exactly who I'm talking about, who is this person that's causing me to question this, let me go ahead and give you the answer:
The person is myself.
I date men who are a lot of work. (Okay, let's be completely honest. I am attracted to people, even as friends, who are a lot of work. You know it's true, and many of you have called me on it. Ahem.) I don't know why this is. I'm actually a fairly low-maintenance person. And no, I'm not saying that relationships should be easy. Far from it. I fully expect to put in a lot of work when I eventually find my partner for life. I just hope he'll want to put in an equal amount. And I definitely want our lives together to be good far more frequently than they are bad.
Maybe I'm expecting too much. Maybe the notion that there is someone out there who'll meet me halfway is niave. Previous generations didn't have to deal with the double-edged sword that is globalization of dating. The dating pool is so huge now, it's like an endless supply of new and exciting people to meet. If one person possesses a trait that annoys you, then HEY!--the next might not have that particular quirk. On the other side of things, however, I guess part of the reason my last relationship dragged on well after it was over is that we both felt like we'd just hit a "rough patch," and we needed to just power through it. My parents have had rough times and good ones, and following their model of staying together through thick and thin seemed paramount.
So the question really is this: How much work is the right amount? And how do you know when your relationship (or dating-interest, or whatever the hell people call each other these days) is more about the work than how you feel about each other? And how do you find the happy medium between the instant gratification of starting something new and hanging on to something that's not right, simply because of loyalty?
And before you read too much into this and wonder exactly who I'm talking about, who is this person that's causing me to question this, let me go ahead and give you the answer:
The person is myself.
Friday, November 03, 2006
Back to basics
Tonight is a big night. I'll be performing in my first orchestra concert in almost a year! Reflecting on that fact really takes my breath away. Until about a year ago, it wasn't uncommon for me to play 3-5 performances of some kind each week. These days, a red-letter week involves me even picking up the flute that many times. No wonder I've been feeling so disconnected from myself! This week has been busier than hell, but also really thrilling. As I wrote about yesterday, Wednesday's concert really put me in a good place. Monday night, at our rehearsal for tonight's concert, it was an absolute pleasure to sit and count my rests and just absorb the rehearsal atmosphere.
I'm not going to lie to you, I'm actually pretty nervous for tonight. My sound is simply not what it should be at the moment, and I'm a little bummed about that. But I'm also a realist, and I know that the best possible way to recover from my slump in practicing is to perform. Performing really is the lifeblood of my personality. Tonight will be the first time I've donned my all-black concert attire in quite a while, and I'm actually looking forward to it! I'm trying to remember how much I really love the pre-concert adrenaline that some call nerves and I call excitement. I really can't wait to get out on stage and do what I love most in the world.
On a slightly different note, however, tonight will be the third time this week that I've driven to Berkeley straight from work and stayed until nearly 11pm. And boy, is that overrated!
But back to good stuff. Going to rehearsals and concerts this week is making me think seriously about starting some type of regular performing opportunity. I mean, obviously I'm taking professional auditions, but there's no substitute for getting out on stage. I'm thinking of maybe forming some kind of chamber ensemble locally. The problem is that I'm not sure how many of my fellow "young professionals" would be willing to perform for free, at least initially. Things to think about...
At any rate, that's what I have buzzing around in my head today. Updates tonight, I'm sure.
I'm not going to lie to you, I'm actually pretty nervous for tonight. My sound is simply not what it should be at the moment, and I'm a little bummed about that. But I'm also a realist, and I know that the best possible way to recover from my slump in practicing is to perform. Performing really is the lifeblood of my personality. Tonight will be the first time I've donned my all-black concert attire in quite a while, and I'm actually looking forward to it! I'm trying to remember how much I really love the pre-concert adrenaline that some call nerves and I call excitement. I really can't wait to get out on stage and do what I love most in the world.
On a slightly different note, however, tonight will be the third time this week that I've driven to Berkeley straight from work and stayed until nearly 11pm. And boy, is that overrated!
But back to good stuff. Going to rehearsals and concerts this week is making me think seriously about starting some type of regular performing opportunity. I mean, obviously I'm taking professional auditions, but there's no substitute for getting out on stage. I'm thinking of maybe forming some kind of chamber ensemble locally. The problem is that I'm not sure how many of my fellow "young professionals" would be willing to perform for free, at least initially. Things to think about...
At any rate, that's what I have buzzing around in my head today. Updates tonight, I'm sure.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
The long haul
Tomorrow night is the Chairman's Council Dinner for SFB. I've been working late every night in preparation. There's really not much else to do, just remember everything I need for the event. As Jill said tonight, the past three days I've truly felt as though I'm "working for the man." Granted, in my case "the man" happens to be a non-profit arts organization, making my corporate slavery something of a noble cause. Despite the "good cause" part of all of this, my spirit today feels drained. I miss playing. I miss the feeling of sitting in an orchestra. I miss doing something at which I feel not only competent, but nearly-exceptional. I miss falling in love with my profession every day. Sitting in my office, I feel isolated from real life, from the heartbeats of real people. Although teaching elementary school last year felt a bit like my energy was being sucked out of me, I miss the interaction with my kids and their parents. I miss hugs every day from six-year-olds.
Realistically, I know this is the Existential Life Crisis talking. I know that no one is who they want to be in their mid-twenties. How can we be? We are torn by the sudden juxtaposition of who we dream of becoming and who we have to be to pay the rent. For the first times in our lives, we are forced to face the possibility that our identities are not tied to our jobs. For my entire life, if asked who I was, I would reply "I am a flutist." Today, I don't know the answer to that question. Who am I? I am a generally happy person. I am a loving person. I hope that when I die, people will say I was a good person. I hope that when I am old, I can look back and say I loved as fully as possible. I hope I can say I made someone's life better.
I'm not intending to be depressing today. I'm not sad, simply contemplative. Part of it is working late for the past three days. Part of it might possibly be the two glasses of wine I drank after I got home tonight. Most of it, I'm convinced, is the fact that I'm turning 26 in a few weeks, and I'm feeling farther from knowing who I am than ever. When does this end? When will I wake up and feel secure in my own skin? When will I believe that I'm enough as I am? And does this happen to everyone?
Realistically, I know this is the Existential Life Crisis talking. I know that no one is who they want to be in their mid-twenties. How can we be? We are torn by the sudden juxtaposition of who we dream of becoming and who we have to be to pay the rent. For the first times in our lives, we are forced to face the possibility that our identities are not tied to our jobs. For my entire life, if asked who I was, I would reply "I am a flutist." Today, I don't know the answer to that question. Who am I? I am a generally happy person. I am a loving person. I hope that when I die, people will say I was a good person. I hope that when I am old, I can look back and say I loved as fully as possible. I hope I can say I made someone's life better.
I'm not intending to be depressing today. I'm not sad, simply contemplative. Part of it is working late for the past three days. Part of it might possibly be the two glasses of wine I drank after I got home tonight. Most of it, I'm convinced, is the fact that I'm turning 26 in a few weeks, and I'm feeling farther from knowing who I am than ever. When does this end? When will I wake up and feel secure in my own skin? When will I believe that I'm enough as I am? And does this happen to everyone?
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Somebody's In-between Girl
First order of business for the day:
Congratulations to Will for the job offer! I am SO proud of you, and I am really excited to hear about your new pet insurance. Watch out, world!
Now back to our regularly scheduled programming.
The Existential Life Crisis has been roaring in full force for the past few days. I have never been an indecisive person. True, I don't trust my gut as much as I should, but I've generally run into my mistakes at full speed, realizing only months later the sheer stupidity of my actions. Recently, however, I feel paralyzed by the simplest of choices. Should I cancel my gym membership or keep it? Should I move into a cheaper apartment when my sister moves out? What do I want out of the wonderful world of dating? Am I doing the right thing by keeping a "day job," rather than playing full-time? Has the last year-plus of my life been one gigantic mistake? What color should I paint my toenails? Okay, so not so much on the last one, but the others are true. I feel like most of us are going through this right now. What is it about age 25 that seems to prompt this identity crisis? And why does it seem unique to our generation?
When my father turned 30, he had a major ELC. He quit his job as a high school band director, went home, and told my mom over plates of spaghetti that he was going to become an insurance salesman. He could work from home and make way more money in way less time. The only problem was this: My dad hates selling stuff. He'd sit in the basement for hours every day, staring at the phone. One day my mom got him to 'fess up that he hadn't made a single phone call. They moved to Blacksburg and entered graduate school a few months later. That decision led directly to my dad getting his current job (as, yes, a band director again), so I suppose the ELC had eventual positive ramifications. At least, I hope that's the lesson to be learned here.
The mid-twenties are, by their nature, an age of instability for most of us. Getting out of the fishbowl of school forces us out of every comfort zone we've ever known. We suddenly have to find ways of making friends without the convenience of sharing a major interest with everyone we see daily. Rather than being surrounded be people within a five-year age range, suddenly we're stuck with the label "adult." It's a word I tiptoe around like a colicky baby that's finally asleep; if I disturb it, I'll suddenly be forced to face reality and deal with my own discomfort. While the hurricane that has been plowing down my personal life for the past year seems to be subsiding (Please, not the eye of the storm. I've had enough.), I still feel my boat rocking, threatening to capsize at any minute.
I definitely used waaaaaay too many metaphors in that last paragraph, didn't I?
When I was a kid, I hated shopping. I still refuse to go clothing shopping with my mom. Why? Because, according to her, I am permanently "in between sizes." Clearly, we are all overly sensitive to our mothers' criticism of our bodies, but her analysis always makes me feel that there is something fundamentally wrong with me. And right now, I feel like my life is in between sizes. I'm not sure if this is just some kind of adolescent stage, where my life needs to grow into its feet (if that makes any sense), or if I just have to learn how to alter the world around me the way I alter my clothes.
I feel like this is my most convoluted post ever. I'm not really expecting any responses from the greater world, but does anyone else feel this way? Are there any good answers out there?
Congratulations to Will for the job offer! I am SO proud of you, and I am really excited to hear about your new pet insurance. Watch out, world!
Now back to our regularly scheduled programming.
The Existential Life Crisis has been roaring in full force for the past few days. I have never been an indecisive person. True, I don't trust my gut as much as I should, but I've generally run into my mistakes at full speed, realizing only months later the sheer stupidity of my actions. Recently, however, I feel paralyzed by the simplest of choices. Should I cancel my gym membership or keep it? Should I move into a cheaper apartment when my sister moves out? What do I want out of the wonderful world of dating? Am I doing the right thing by keeping a "day job," rather than playing full-time? Has the last year-plus of my life been one gigantic mistake? What color should I paint my toenails? Okay, so not so much on the last one, but the others are true. I feel like most of us are going through this right now. What is it about age 25 that seems to prompt this identity crisis? And why does it seem unique to our generation?
When my father turned 30, he had a major ELC. He quit his job as a high school band director, went home, and told my mom over plates of spaghetti that he was going to become an insurance salesman. He could work from home and make way more money in way less time. The only problem was this: My dad hates selling stuff. He'd sit in the basement for hours every day, staring at the phone. One day my mom got him to 'fess up that he hadn't made a single phone call. They moved to Blacksburg and entered graduate school a few months later. That decision led directly to my dad getting his current job (as, yes, a band director again), so I suppose the ELC had eventual positive ramifications. At least, I hope that's the lesson to be learned here.
The mid-twenties are, by their nature, an age of instability for most of us. Getting out of the fishbowl of school forces us out of every comfort zone we've ever known. We suddenly have to find ways of making friends without the convenience of sharing a major interest with everyone we see daily. Rather than being surrounded be people within a five-year age range, suddenly we're stuck with the label "adult." It's a word I tiptoe around like a colicky baby that's finally asleep; if I disturb it, I'll suddenly be forced to face reality and deal with my own discomfort. While the hurricane that has been plowing down my personal life for the past year seems to be subsiding (Please, not the eye of the storm. I've had enough.), I still feel my boat rocking, threatening to capsize at any minute.
I definitely used waaaaaay too many metaphors in that last paragraph, didn't I?
When I was a kid, I hated shopping. I still refuse to go clothing shopping with my mom. Why? Because, according to her, I am permanently "in between sizes." Clearly, we are all overly sensitive to our mothers' criticism of our bodies, but her analysis always makes me feel that there is something fundamentally wrong with me. And right now, I feel like my life is in between sizes. I'm not sure if this is just some kind of adolescent stage, where my life needs to grow into its feet (if that makes any sense), or if I just have to learn how to alter the world around me the way I alter my clothes.
I feel like this is my most convoluted post ever. I'm not really expecting any responses from the greater world, but does anyone else feel this way? Are there any good answers out there?
Monday, October 16, 2006
If I were in that place
I seem to be surrounded by people planning their lives with The One. I am thrilled for all of you in that position, and I offer you my most heartfelt congratulations. Recently, someone asked me what I was looking for in a relationship. My answer, that I merely want to enjoy being a girl again, surprised even myself. I am, admittedly, not in any kind of place right now where I'm looking to "fall in love." Not that I'd be opposed to being swept off my feet, but I don't currently feel that anxiety over whether or not I'll meet The One. It's odd to realize that about myself. I've been a hopeless romantic since I was a kid. I've read all the Jane Austen novels about 20 times apiece. But right now I am content to enjoy the company of a new friend, and to observe the world as a whole soul, rather than half of a unit. The notion of a soul mate appeals to me only in the way that trading lives with a celebrity appeals; Sure, there's a degree of novelty there, but nothing I'm pining after. Perhaps the nonstop drama of the past year-plus has gotten to me, but I'm suddenly feeling like there's a calm approaching, and I long for it. While many of my peers seem to be opening the chapter of creating a home and a family, I am content to cease the seemingly endless transition that hit me shortly after my 24th birthday.
That being said, have you heard Sting's new version of Fields of Gold? Because seriously, even in my less-than-romantic state of mind, that song could knock me back on my Jane Austen ass.
Yeah, that's all I have to say tonight. Deep thoughts.
That being said, have you heard Sting's new version of Fields of Gold? Because seriously, even in my less-than-romantic state of mind, that song could knock me back on my Jane Austen ass.
Yeah, that's all I have to say tonight. Deep thoughts.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Instructions
I think we should each come with a manual. I believe a booklet of helpful hints would seriously reduce awkward situations, embarrassment, and sometimes even major trauma. So, in an effort to encourage this habit, I am submitting phase one of the Abbersnail Model 2006 Manual:
1. I am nice. I am not thinking mean things about you and simply pretending to be nice. I am just nice. End of story.
2. Along those lines, I am having a good time. I really do enjoy casual conversation with strangers. My dad and my granddad passed that "gift" on to me.
3. I laugh a lot. Loudly. If you can't handle that, we might as well stop right now.
4. I am a relatively niave person. I frequently don't pick up on sexual jokes on the first try. Many of my friends find it endearing, but you may not. That's fine with me, because it annoys me that I miss them, too.
5. If you suggest an athletic activity for an early-on get-together, I will not be excited. I am a truly horrifying athlete, and I don't really want you to like me less just because I suck at sports. And games. All games and sports, really. After we've established that we really are friends, then you can ask me to mortify myself in the name of sports.
6. I'm a good friend. I'll make you soup when you're sick, I'll call you and tell you a funny story the moment it occurs. If you've had a terrible day, I'll do something completely ridiculous to attempt to brighten it.
7. I like to notice details about the world. I don't rush through things. I also don't rush into things.
8. Despite many, many years of dance training, I fall down a lot. Please see number five.
9. Whatever I say, please take it at face value. I don't play the game of hidden meanings.
10. I detest lying. I love good storytelling.
11. I am truly, seriously, genuinely low-maintenance. Unless there's a really good reason, I will not get upset if you don't call/email/show up in a timely fashion. I appreciate punctual people, but I don't demand them.
12. I almost NEVER get mad.
13. Gifts make me feel awkward. I'd have to be incredibly comfortable with you to feel okay about receiving a gift. Unless it is a mix CD, in which case I'd be completely gobsmacked. In a good way.
14. My main source of humor is me. Your main source of humor should not be me. I can deal with teasing, but...(See 15)
15. I am sensitive. Please be nice. Please reflect on numbers one, four, six, and nine.
16. If we are walking anywhere and there is a dog, I will have to "say hello." It's a compulsion, I can't control it. Sorry.
17. PLEASE do not make fun of my walk. It is the thing about which I am the most self-conscious. I know it's unique, I've tried to change it, and it makes me feel like I'm in high school when you make fun of it.
18. I will celebrate your birthday every year. I will bake you a cake from scratch and make your favorite dinner.
19. I will not continue as your friend (or otherwise) if you are mean to the waiter. A nice person is not mean to the waiter.
20. I love it when boys open the door for me. This does not make me anti-feminist, it makes me Southern.
21. Soft t-shirts are something of an obsession. Soft anything, to be perfectly honest. If ever we end up in a clothing store, I will touch everything. As such, I will do my utmost to never make you go shopping with me.
22. I know I'm short. Starting a conversation with, "Wow, you're short," is not a way to impress me with your powers of observation.
23. I feel out-of-place in trendy bars. I'm very happy to grab a beer, sit at a picnic table, and talk about whatever. Or, frankly, sit in silence and just enjoy the sun/stars/music/whatever.
24. I'm a big fan of privacy. Occasionally, I like to unplug from the world and go into hiding. Please don't take it personally. It's a major flaw of my character, and I'm working on it. Feel free to call me on it, but please, be kind.
25. I do not like horror movies. They scare the ever loving crap out of me. I will dream about them until the end of my life. Do yourself a favor and accept that RIGHT NOW.
26. I have a really crazy imagination. I'll frequently imagine a scenario that I wished had gone differently, and set about correcting it in my mind. Sometimes I start carrying on conversations out loud, when they should just be happening in my head. Whoops.
27. I love cooking for others. Everyone says that, but any of my college/grad school friends will tell you that it's really true.
28. I have a southern accent sometimes. It comes and goes, but if you think it makes me sound dumb, we should move on right now.
29. By the same token, I don't like being treated like I'm dumb. I do stupid crap sometimes. I'll be the first to laugh about it when I do stupid crap. But please don't treat me like I'm a moron.
30. Most of my friends are guys. I have been told frequently that I'm a "guy's girl." I really feel like many items on this list are a direct result of most of my friends being guys.
31. Once we're friends, I'll go to the end of the earth to make your life better.
32. I know this list makes me sound like I have an over-inflated sense of self-importance. But really, what's a blog for?
33. Um, hi. That was a joke.
1. I am nice. I am not thinking mean things about you and simply pretending to be nice. I am just nice. End of story.
2. Along those lines, I am having a good time. I really do enjoy casual conversation with strangers. My dad and my granddad passed that "gift" on to me.
3. I laugh a lot. Loudly. If you can't handle that, we might as well stop right now.
4. I am a relatively niave person. I frequently don't pick up on sexual jokes on the first try. Many of my friends find it endearing, but you may not. That's fine with me, because it annoys me that I miss them, too.
5. If you suggest an athletic activity for an early-on get-together, I will not be excited. I am a truly horrifying athlete, and I don't really want you to like me less just because I suck at sports. And games. All games and sports, really. After we've established that we really are friends, then you can ask me to mortify myself in the name of sports.
6. I'm a good friend. I'll make you soup when you're sick, I'll call you and tell you a funny story the moment it occurs. If you've had a terrible day, I'll do something completely ridiculous to attempt to brighten it.
7. I like to notice details about the world. I don't rush through things. I also don't rush into things.
8. Despite many, many years of dance training, I fall down a lot. Please see number five.
9. Whatever I say, please take it at face value. I don't play the game of hidden meanings.
10. I detest lying. I love good storytelling.
11. I am truly, seriously, genuinely low-maintenance. Unless there's a really good reason, I will not get upset if you don't call/email/show up in a timely fashion. I appreciate punctual people, but I don't demand them.
12. I almost NEVER get mad.
13. Gifts make me feel awkward. I'd have to be incredibly comfortable with you to feel okay about receiving a gift. Unless it is a mix CD, in which case I'd be completely gobsmacked. In a good way.
14. My main source of humor is me. Your main source of humor should not be me. I can deal with teasing, but...(See 15)
15. I am sensitive. Please be nice. Please reflect on numbers one, four, six, and nine.
16. If we are walking anywhere and there is a dog, I will have to "say hello." It's a compulsion, I can't control it. Sorry.
17. PLEASE do not make fun of my walk. It is the thing about which I am the most self-conscious. I know it's unique, I've tried to change it, and it makes me feel like I'm in high school when you make fun of it.
18. I will celebrate your birthday every year. I will bake you a cake from scratch and make your favorite dinner.
19. I will not continue as your friend (or otherwise) if you are mean to the waiter. A nice person is not mean to the waiter.
20. I love it when boys open the door for me. This does not make me anti-feminist, it makes me Southern.
21. Soft t-shirts are something of an obsession. Soft anything, to be perfectly honest. If ever we end up in a clothing store, I will touch everything. As such, I will do my utmost to never make you go shopping with me.
22. I know I'm short. Starting a conversation with, "Wow, you're short," is not a way to impress me with your powers of observation.
23. I feel out-of-place in trendy bars. I'm very happy to grab a beer, sit at a picnic table, and talk about whatever. Or, frankly, sit in silence and just enjoy the sun/stars/music/whatever.
24. I'm a big fan of privacy. Occasionally, I like to unplug from the world and go into hiding. Please don't take it personally. It's a major flaw of my character, and I'm working on it. Feel free to call me on it, but please, be kind.
25. I do not like horror movies. They scare the ever loving crap out of me. I will dream about them until the end of my life. Do yourself a favor and accept that RIGHT NOW.
26. I have a really crazy imagination. I'll frequently imagine a scenario that I wished had gone differently, and set about correcting it in my mind. Sometimes I start carrying on conversations out loud, when they should just be happening in my head. Whoops.
27. I love cooking for others. Everyone says that, but any of my college/grad school friends will tell you that it's really true.
28. I have a southern accent sometimes. It comes and goes, but if you think it makes me sound dumb, we should move on right now.
29. By the same token, I don't like being treated like I'm dumb. I do stupid crap sometimes. I'll be the first to laugh about it when I do stupid crap. But please don't treat me like I'm a moron.
30. Most of my friends are guys. I have been told frequently that I'm a "guy's girl." I really feel like many items on this list are a direct result of most of my friends being guys.
31. Once we're friends, I'll go to the end of the earth to make your life better.
32. I know this list makes me sound like I have an over-inflated sense of self-importance. But really, what's a blog for?
33. Um, hi. That was a joke.
Friday, September 29, 2006
In which our heroine learns a valuable lesson
Sometimes your closest friends make the worst friends. I suppose there's something about the nature of closeness that opens the door for hurt feelings and bruised egos. I am the WORST at this. I'm not sure if it's my sense of humor (frequently self-deprecating), my sensitivity level (high), or my tendency to take everything way too personally, but I usually find that the most hurtful things are said by friends. All of the above personality traits also partner with an inability to let things go, so I tend to pick at these memories like a scab (ew). I'm starting to wonder, however, if my desire to remain friends with everyone I've ever met is counterproductive. While blog surfing recently, I read someone very wise, who said that five years ago she stopped holding onto friends she'd been keeping just so she'd have more people at her wedding (You said it better, and when I remember who you were I'll link you). This concept rocked my world a little bit, and I've been rolling it around in my head for several weeks. I really have a hard time imagining "breaking up" with destructive friends. Avoidance is my M.O., and I am very effective at disappearing off the face of the earth when I don't want to deal with something. I'm also great at sweeping things under the proverbial rug, festering inside while smiling at someone and giving them a cookie. Or a glass of wine. Whatever. You know what I mean.
So I'm sending out this question to the universe (or at least to you): When the line is crossed, when all that is keeping a friendship together is shared history, do you walk away?
So I'm sending out this question to the universe (or at least to you): When the line is crossed, when all that is keeping a friendship together is shared history, do you walk away?
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Practice time
After taking the summer off from serious practice, I'm in the throes of "remembering how to play the flute." It's insanely frustrating to start playing again after a significant break, knowing how you're SUPPOSED to sound and being completely incapable of recreating what is normal. At the risk of making an inappropriate comparison, I think it's like a mild version of learning how to walk again after a catastrophic accident. Most of you probably think I'm nuts to say that. I simply mean that, for those of us who play for many hours a day, our body is completely tied to our musicianship. And our musicianship is at the very core of who we are, to our sense of value. Is this a healthy mindset? Not at all, but it is a basic reality of being any kind of "artist."
Despite that rather depressing description of my recent practice time, I am writing from a place of inspiration and motivation. The Ballet, where I work, has given me a practice space! I think that this is primarily due to the fact that I was coming in early and practicing in my office and very possibly irritating the living hell out of everyone. Regardless of their reasoning, they have given me the most awesome practice space of my life. I have a key to the archive room, meaning that I'm practicing in a room in the attic full of dusty boxes. The upside is that there are windows on both sides of this room. Windows that look down into the rehearsal studios.
Today, while practicing my scales, I stood to the side of one window, studying the reflections of the dancers in their full-wall mirror. These are seriously some of the finest ballet dancers in the world. These people have been studying their craft as long as I've been studying mine. Granted, many of them have reached the highest levels of artistry, while I am only beginning to understand who I am in my discipline. I feel honored to be able to "spy" on them. Watching their joy of rehearsing and the discipline they exhibit day after day keeps me walking up to the attic, plugging away to recover what I've been neglecting.
Despite that rather depressing description of my recent practice time, I am writing from a place of inspiration and motivation. The Ballet, where I work, has given me a practice space! I think that this is primarily due to the fact that I was coming in early and practicing in my office and very possibly irritating the living hell out of everyone. Regardless of their reasoning, they have given me the most awesome practice space of my life. I have a key to the archive room, meaning that I'm practicing in a room in the attic full of dusty boxes. The upside is that there are windows on both sides of this room. Windows that look down into the rehearsal studios.
Today, while practicing my scales, I stood to the side of one window, studying the reflections of the dancers in their full-wall mirror. These are seriously some of the finest ballet dancers in the world. These people have been studying their craft as long as I've been studying mine. Granted, many of them have reached the highest levels of artistry, while I am only beginning to understand who I am in my discipline. I feel honored to be able to "spy" on them. Watching their joy of rehearsing and the discipline they exhibit day after day keeps me walking up to the attic, plugging away to recover what I've been neglecting.
Monday, August 21, 2006
Every new beginning
So those of you who've been reading this blog may have noticed, but I've been in a really poopy mood lately. After a variety of moderately traumatizing run-ins with a wide assortment of friends and former friends, I've come to one conclusion:
It is time to get with the program and chill the hell out.
Yes, it is sad to let go of the past. But hey, there's a reason it is in the past. Call me niave, but I have to believe that there is more to life than pining over what might have been. The time has come (okay, so it came about a month ago) when being pissed off at the world has run its course. Beginning right now I am finished being angry and hurt and scared and all that bullshit that comes with the always awkward experience that is breaking up.
To quote a dangerously "emo" pop song (and no, I'm not sure which one it is, but I've definitely heard it...), I'm standing on the edge of everything I've never been before.
It is time to get with the program and chill the hell out.
Yes, it is sad to let go of the past. But hey, there's a reason it is in the past. Call me niave, but I have to believe that there is more to life than pining over what might have been. The time has come (okay, so it came about a month ago) when being pissed off at the world has run its course. Beginning right now I am finished being angry and hurt and scared and all that bullshit that comes with the always awkward experience that is breaking up.
To quote a dangerously "emo" pop song (and no, I'm not sure which one it is, but I've definitely heard it...), I'm standing on the edge of everything I've never been before.
Friday, August 11, 2006
Cleaning House
Yesterday evening, J and I came to what may be the first mature decision of our relationship: we decided to walk away from each other and let bygones be bygones. No more phonecalls, no more "hanging out," nothing. Admittedly, I'm having a hard time forgiving him for all the crap of the past six-plus years. It is extremely difficult for me to let stuff go, and I know that having some distance will help that. I'm sad to be letting go of something that I invested so much of myself into, but I'm also surprised by how natural it feels. Partly, I think, this is because I've been letting go slowly for a long time. Mostly, though, I feel a major sense of relief that it is done for good. We don't have to keep emotionally pommeling each other until the dawn of time. We're finished.
While I feel really calm about this right now, I know that there are things I am not looking forward to. Post-breakup, we never went through the division of stuff. We're going to do that now, and that part really sucks. I'm not even a little bit excited about the moment at some point on the horizon when I will run into him with his (future) new girlfriend. The big one, though, is that I am cutting my "best friend" out of my life. I put that in quotes, because lately we haven't been any kind of friends, let alone the BFF variety. It's just weird, letting go of someone who knows ALL of my stories, gets all of my favorite jokes, knows every food I like and dislike. The list is endless, really. But I suppose part of the fun of starting something new is rediscovering yourself.
While I feel really calm about this right now, I know that there are things I am not looking forward to. Post-breakup, we never went through the division of stuff. We're going to do that now, and that part really sucks. I'm not even a little bit excited about the moment at some point on the horizon when I will run into him with his (future) new girlfriend. The big one, though, is that I am cutting my "best friend" out of my life. I put that in quotes, because lately we haven't been any kind of friends, let alone the BFF variety. It's just weird, letting go of someone who knows ALL of my stories, gets all of my favorite jokes, knows every food I like and dislike. The list is endless, really. But I suppose part of the fun of starting something new is rediscovering yourself.
Saturday, August 05, 2006
Guilty
Why is it, exactly, that I feel guilty for my own limitations of patience? When I look at myself logically, I recognize that I generally exhibit nearly infinite amounts of patience. Yet, there's a big part of me that feels guilty each and every time that I lose my patience.
Case in point: my ex-boyfriend.
This is a man who, by infinite accounts, I owe nothing. This is a man who owes me nearly 1800 bucks. This is a man who has managed to make me feel small in every conceivable way. Despite all this, when we agree to meet this evening to discuss repayment of this debt, this man stands me up. Even though I have purchased, and prepared, steak and an assortment of grilled vegetables. Even though there is wine. Even though he has begged and pleaded for this meeting for a looooooong time.
He called me two hours after he was supposed to show up. He was on the phone, and couldn't tell the person he'd call them back in 30 seconds in order to call me and cancel. No, instead he chose to call me well after the steak had been sitting on the grill for far too long, and my patience was worn to the approximate width of tissue paper.
Even still, I feel guilty for my apparent inability to "let it go." J spent the past six years pushing my boundaries beyond what I've ever considered my comfort zone to be, and insisted that I was too "uptight," too stressed out. He actually had the nerve recently to tell me that I was happy to be depressed about my life. Newsflash: When you are looking for a job and facing THOUSANDS of dollars in student-loan debt, when you've been in a dead-end relationship for six and a half years with no hope of a future, when your "partner" owes you nearly two-grand, the stress just happens.
Maybe I'm crazy. Feel free to tell me if you think I'm crazy. I just think the road to patience turned to gravel about two years back.
Case in point: my ex-boyfriend.
This is a man who, by infinite accounts, I owe nothing. This is a man who owes me nearly 1800 bucks. This is a man who has managed to make me feel small in every conceivable way. Despite all this, when we agree to meet this evening to discuss repayment of this debt, this man stands me up. Even though I have purchased, and prepared, steak and an assortment of grilled vegetables. Even though there is wine. Even though he has begged and pleaded for this meeting for a looooooong time.
He called me two hours after he was supposed to show up. He was on the phone, and couldn't tell the person he'd call them back in 30 seconds in order to call me and cancel. No, instead he chose to call me well after the steak had been sitting on the grill for far too long, and my patience was worn to the approximate width of tissue paper.
Even still, I feel guilty for my apparent inability to "let it go." J spent the past six years pushing my boundaries beyond what I've ever considered my comfort zone to be, and insisted that I was too "uptight," too stressed out. He actually had the nerve recently to tell me that I was happy to be depressed about my life. Newsflash: When you are looking for a job and facing THOUSANDS of dollars in student-loan debt, when you've been in a dead-end relationship for six and a half years with no hope of a future, when your "partner" owes you nearly two-grand, the stress just happens.
Maybe I'm crazy. Feel free to tell me if you think I'm crazy. I just think the road to patience turned to gravel about two years back.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
The Fear of Victory, the Thrill of Defeat
I've been thinking a lot about fear lately. Once upon a time I felt like I could take over the world. I was almost self-righteous in my confidence. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I would surpass everyone's expectations and fulfill all of my dreams within a very strict time frame. Suddenly, about a year ago, I felt like I hit a wall. I questioned everything, from my own limitations to my intentions. I allowed the doubt of others to permeate my concrete skin, to seep into my sense of self.
What I've found the most interesting, however, has been my discovery that many of my friends hit the same wall at the same time. I am starting to believe that it is the disease of our generation: this quarter-life crisis that suddenly hits us like a ton of bricks at age 25. At an age when we are supposed to be beginning our lives as adults, we are struck by a need for excitement and a simultaneous need for stability. Are we members of a generation that doesn't know what it wants?
A lot of the answer might lie in the differences between our parents and ourselves. My parents married straight out of college, at age 22. They had me when they were 25 and moved to the town where they still reside at age 29. They bought their first home at 23 and have lived in only about 5 homes since I was born. They claim to have only ever slept with each other. Most of me recognizes that their world was nothing like the world we live in. College degrees were still prized as something slightly unusual, careers were chosen at a young age and built over a lifetime. The person you chose as your life partner was someone you'd met in college, or soon after. Celebrity obsession hadn't yet caused us to demand incredible wealth and uniqueness of ourselves and our lives.
I look at my parents and envy them their value of family ties, their long-standing goals. I envy them their ability to create stability in a world that terrifies me on a daily basis. I wish I had their ability to take satisfaction in the small victories of life. I just don't know if I'm ready to surrender my dreams of an ideal life for the sake of security. Maybe this is the curse of our generation. Personally, I hope the feeling of dissatisfaction that seems to be plaguing us now will ultimately inspire us to achieve the unachievable, to tear back the veil of apathy that our forebears seem to continually accuse us of and create a world that is more brilliant for us all.
What I've found the most interesting, however, has been my discovery that many of my friends hit the same wall at the same time. I am starting to believe that it is the disease of our generation: this quarter-life crisis that suddenly hits us like a ton of bricks at age 25. At an age when we are supposed to be beginning our lives as adults, we are struck by a need for excitement and a simultaneous need for stability. Are we members of a generation that doesn't know what it wants?
A lot of the answer might lie in the differences between our parents and ourselves. My parents married straight out of college, at age 22. They had me when they were 25 and moved to the town where they still reside at age 29. They bought their first home at 23 and have lived in only about 5 homes since I was born. They claim to have only ever slept with each other. Most of me recognizes that their world was nothing like the world we live in. College degrees were still prized as something slightly unusual, careers were chosen at a young age and built over a lifetime. The person you chose as your life partner was someone you'd met in college, or soon after. Celebrity obsession hadn't yet caused us to demand incredible wealth and uniqueness of ourselves and our lives.
I look at my parents and envy them their value of family ties, their long-standing goals. I envy them their ability to create stability in a world that terrifies me on a daily basis. I wish I had their ability to take satisfaction in the small victories of life. I just don't know if I'm ready to surrender my dreams of an ideal life for the sake of security. Maybe this is the curse of our generation. Personally, I hope the feeling of dissatisfaction that seems to be plaguing us now will ultimately inspire us to achieve the unachievable, to tear back the veil of apathy that our forebears seem to continually accuse us of and create a world that is more brilliant for us all.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
Ripping off the bandaid
Letting go of people has always been a problem for me. Sure, I don't call my friends as often as I should, but I keep them forever. I'm an avid collector of photographs and a frequent Googler. Whenever I drink too much, I pore over my photo album, smiling at your faces over the years. The same people make appearances throughout the albums. The Blog is just one more way to keep my friends close to me.
But today I watched a relationship die. I kept staring at it like a bad car wreck on the highway, unable to peel my eyes away. I was hoping against hope that I'd look closer and see that it was an optical illusion. Even now, sitting here, I'm fighting with myself. Do I extract this person from my life? And if I do, will it be like amputating a limb? Will I forever feel the loss, like an unreachable itch?
In my head, I know what I will ultimately do. Intellectually, I know that my life will be better without this constant drama. I know that I won't die of the ache that will invariably follow. I know that part of being an adult for me means letting go of the extra negative baggage I tend to lug around for years.
In the end, there isn't really a downside to this. It's just one more way in which this year is forcing me out of my comfort zone and into the shape of the person I want to become.
But today I watched a relationship die. I kept staring at it like a bad car wreck on the highway, unable to peel my eyes away. I was hoping against hope that I'd look closer and see that it was an optical illusion. Even now, sitting here, I'm fighting with myself. Do I extract this person from my life? And if I do, will it be like amputating a limb? Will I forever feel the loss, like an unreachable itch?
In my head, I know what I will ultimately do. Intellectually, I know that my life will be better without this constant drama. I know that I won't die of the ache that will invariably follow. I know that part of being an adult for me means letting go of the extra negative baggage I tend to lug around for years.
In the end, there isn't really a downside to this. It's just one more way in which this year is forcing me out of my comfort zone and into the shape of the person I want to become.
Friday, May 12, 2006
Back to the Future
In two days I am completing my final school requirement. It's hard to comprehend being truly finished with school. I've been in school since I hit the age of four, and I'm currently half-past 25. I went straight through, doing my Bachelors, Masters, and post-graduate degrees, all in a field in which a degree is essentially worthless. As I am in the performing arts, the notion that a degree opens up the world of career options is basically void. As I stare into encroaching freedom, the F-word lingers in the corners of my conscience: FUTURE.
We've all hit this point, I'm sure. Part of being of our generation is accepting that we are not our parents. I'm sure all generations face this crisis at some point, but I think our parents were really forced to become adults around the age of 21 or 22. My parents married at 22, had me at 25, and moved into their forever home at 29 or 30. I am 25, and I don't have a clue what I want to do. I have no certain future in the career in which I've invested an incredible amount of time and money. I thought I'd met the person I wanted to spend my life with, but that proved to be some of my poorest judgement in history. The only thing I can commit to is my two cats, and that still freaks me out occasionally. I don't even know for sure if I'll still be living in San Francisco in a few months.
The good news about all this "freedom" (or, as I think of it, freefalling through time, space, and all of human existence) is that it forces one to be inordinately creative. I have discovered that going to four grocery "stands" instead of one supermarket saves me approximately $40 a week, even if it takes my entire Saturday. I've also learned that working seven days a week is not impossible. And I've had the epitome that designer jeans become strangely affordable when one has a new credit card. I know that this suspension of reality will not last all that long. I know that in a few weeks, months, or years I will wake up, shocked with my lack of "real" assets. I will be irritated by my debt, my status as a rentor, and my series of inconsequential jobs and relationships as I pursue my dreams. I can only hope that one day, after the initial shock has faded, I can look back on who I am now with a sense of humor and appreciate this adventure that we citizens of this generation call our mid-twenties.
We've all hit this point, I'm sure. Part of being of our generation is accepting that we are not our parents. I'm sure all generations face this crisis at some point, but I think our parents were really forced to become adults around the age of 21 or 22. My parents married at 22, had me at 25, and moved into their forever home at 29 or 30. I am 25, and I don't have a clue what I want to do. I have no certain future in the career in which I've invested an incredible amount of time and money. I thought I'd met the person I wanted to spend my life with, but that proved to be some of my poorest judgement in history. The only thing I can commit to is my two cats, and that still freaks me out occasionally. I don't even know for sure if I'll still be living in San Francisco in a few months.
The good news about all this "freedom" (or, as I think of it, freefalling through time, space, and all of human existence) is that it forces one to be inordinately creative. I have discovered that going to four grocery "stands" instead of one supermarket saves me approximately $40 a week, even if it takes my entire Saturday. I've also learned that working seven days a week is not impossible. And I've had the epitome that designer jeans become strangely affordable when one has a new credit card. I know that this suspension of reality will not last all that long. I know that in a few weeks, months, or years I will wake up, shocked with my lack of "real" assets. I will be irritated by my debt, my status as a rentor, and my series of inconsequential jobs and relationships as I pursue my dreams. I can only hope that one day, after the initial shock has faded, I can look back on who I am now with a sense of humor and appreciate this adventure that we citizens of this generation call our mid-twenties.
Monday, March 27, 2006
All my exes live in... well...
I have patented the art of poor taste in men. Seriously. I know every woman says this, rolling her eyes as she ticks off the number of lousy boyfriends she's had. But I believe anyone who knows me could attest to my extraordinary ability to date inappropriate men.
I think the biggest nightmare of my unromantic history was the astrophysicist I briefly dated. Now, when I say "briefly" I mean we went out twice, and neither time did he pay. Then, on the second night, when I was beginning to wonder if these had been dates or just "hanging out," he kissed me. It was a bit like being kissed by a woodpecker. He kept jamming his face up against mine, faster than I knew the human head could move. And when I tried to say something, he kept kissing me so hard and so fast that he actually began kissing my teeth. Only then did he stop, step back, and say "You know, you really need more work on this. Use less teeth." Yeah. But the worst part was that after all this, when I stopped answering his Instant Messages (because apparently calling a girl is so old-fashioned), he FREAKED OUT and starting writing me emails that were essentially Tolstoy novels, without the lovely prose and interesting characters and all that.
Today, however, I received a totally unsolicited email from an ex from about seven years ago. He wanted my insight into his recent breakup. Now, if I had been in contact with him at ANY point in the past several years, maybe I'd feel that this was relevant. But no. Which leads me to wonder: why do we continue to seek the approval of those with whom we've broken up in the past? I know this is a newly coined cliche, but isn't it called a break-up because its broken?
The Ex wanted to know why I thought his relationship had failed. Why, he wondered, didn't she love him? Why couldn't he commit? Why was he, at age 27, still feeling as though he had all the time in the world to date? And was it possible to find that person with whom he could be incandescently happy until the end of time?
To be honest, there was only one thing I could think: I feel strongly that men who use the word "incandescent" when referring to relationships should just quit while they're ahead.
I think the biggest nightmare of my unromantic history was the astrophysicist I briefly dated. Now, when I say "briefly" I mean we went out twice, and neither time did he pay. Then, on the second night, when I was beginning to wonder if these had been dates or just "hanging out," he kissed me. It was a bit like being kissed by a woodpecker. He kept jamming his face up against mine, faster than I knew the human head could move. And when I tried to say something, he kept kissing me so hard and so fast that he actually began kissing my teeth. Only then did he stop, step back, and say "You know, you really need more work on this. Use less teeth." Yeah. But the worst part was that after all this, when I stopped answering his Instant Messages (because apparently calling a girl is so old-fashioned), he FREAKED OUT and starting writing me emails that were essentially Tolstoy novels, without the lovely prose and interesting characters and all that.
Today, however, I received a totally unsolicited email from an ex from about seven years ago. He wanted my insight into his recent breakup. Now, if I had been in contact with him at ANY point in the past several years, maybe I'd feel that this was relevant. But no. Which leads me to wonder: why do we continue to seek the approval of those with whom we've broken up in the past? I know this is a newly coined cliche, but isn't it called a break-up because its broken?
The Ex wanted to know why I thought his relationship had failed. Why, he wondered, didn't she love him? Why couldn't he commit? Why was he, at age 27, still feeling as though he had all the time in the world to date? And was it possible to find that person with whom he could be incandescently happy until the end of time?
To be honest, there was only one thing I could think: I feel strongly that men who use the word "incandescent" when referring to relationships should just quit while they're ahead.
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