don't turn to someone else, cause they won't understand, i don't wanna hear you say, that you miss yesterday, if you don't like what you see, that means nothing to me.
-Fall Apart Again, Brandi Carlile
my dad was late to his own wedding because he and his fellow groomsmen were listening to Steve Martin's comedy album while getting ready. i guess this is why i'm often late to things and why i have a crush on Steve Martin.
in his book, Steve Martin writes about mastering the concept of tension and release. through experience and psychology courses, he learned that the greater you build the tension, the greater the comedic payoff when the punchline releases a joke. this drove his comedy career, cementing his place as a defining father of stand-up comedy, a growing and changing art.
tension and release is also identified in music. one of my favorite examples is Brandi Carlile's "Pride and Joy." it's absurdly evident in the live version, that you can see here. music's greatest catharsis is when a song's arrangement changes from tension to release. this is a song's pinnacle. often, the lyrics correspond accordingly, setting free all that you're emotions and the song built.
life's most clarifying moments yield from tension and release as well. often times, you have to create your own release, because circumstances are out of your control. as other people draw unexpected lines, or cross lines that you made clear, it may change how you color them in. these lines often get drawn into a question mark. these transitions, which tend to layer themselves with the little hells that life naturally drops on us, are trials in independence. it is undoubtedly painful to when you discover that the priorities of a relationship no longer match. maybe they were mismatched all along, but the revelation can leave you feeling like a fool. but, it can also cultivate independence.
you are your safest bet. sometimes these changes are simply reminders of that. you have to be able to sit still with yourself. you take back the alone time you were sacrificing; you make safe all those sanctuaries that you once thought sharing added value to. in the interest of self-respect, you have to follow through on the demands you made from the beginning, no matter how badly you want the other person to be able to have their cake and eat it, too. this is natural, because if someone had the power to hurt you, you probably care about them. if you set a threshold that someone else breaks, you're still left with a mess, but the relieving part is that you get to choose how you clean it up. when damage is done, don't expect someone else to try and heal you, nor do you owe it to them to try so hard to make things "right," or atleast what was your previous definition of right. all that's left is to learn. to be your own phoneix and rise by yourself from the fiery ash of a shared how-things-were.
i've never done well when i knew the people i cared about most were squirming. it interferes with my own happiness. but maybe new-found boundaries can allow you to create your own happiness free from others desires. when your mind is shifting with everything else, you have to look inward. you can never get away from who you are, even when you want to, so you might as well make sure you'll never let yourself down. others always will, and maybe that's not as depressing as it sounds. maybe it makes sure we will follow through on who we are.
there is a difference between being guarded and having a strong and healthy relationship with yourself. it's also the easiest relationship to sacrifice, because by definition it will always be there in some respect. you still have to water your seeds. you have to be your own object of least neglect. maintaining yourself will unlock doors nobody would ever open.
just try not to make others late to their own weddings.
-k.
-k.
Showing posts with label friendships. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friendships. Show all posts
Friday, September 2
Thursday, July 21
CM Punk vs. John Cena
i broke my mother's heart in fourth grade when i told her i felt invisible. in the Catholic School system in my hometown you switch from grammar to middle school in 4th grade and it buried me under a sea of popular kids and adjustment.
recently, i've been producing a comedy show, and have been fortunate enough to rally troops of fantastic friends.
i was expecting one of my friends to come with her boyfriend, and after checking in with her multiple times, she was a no show. i tried contacting her after several times to no avail, and to this day haven't heard back. it's odd when a friendship ends with no explanation and without an inkling as to why. it leaves you confused, and not far from the invisible fourth grader who didn't know how to navigate cliques and drama. luckily, i still don't know how to navigate drama. i never want to learn, because i don't want this petty force in my life.
normally, in scenarios like this, the unresponsiveness would plague me. i'd overcalculate conversations past and circumstances present, dissecting the mechanics of what when wrong, who is to blame for what, and why it all happened. i'd chase until i got an answer. i'd create something to spark a response. i'd have to satisfy the lingering answer to why this happened, which is hanging in her rhelm. i'd need closure, a concept that seems to be more phantom that real, and that you rarely have the opportunity to achieve.
or, you can let go. mental energy seems better spent on acceptance of what is. in many ways, life is a series of people entering and exiting your life. sometimes these exits are graceful, nearly seamless, with the exception of the fact that it's indeed a break in friendship, communication, reliability, and closeness. people are unique, and so of course is every relationship. when someone drops out of your life, the needs that you had for that relationship must shift, to another friend or within yourself.
though this particular exit was quiet, many can be violent. in fact the silent screams can be the loudest; the deliberate, passive aggressive games that people play because they are desperate to make you a pawn, and under their control. in either case, i've preferred not to let go. i've preferred to set aside trivial frustrations, or call to attention the unspoken ones so that these obstacles clear. i've preferred to repair the damaged, regardless of how skewed or onesided. there's no problem two adults can't fix. i've flirted with line of self sacrifice vs. self sacrificing, a blurry line that never seems to run straight. perhaps this is why i tend to have a very long fuse, but why the end of it is so ugly.
but, sometimes the fact that you can fix something doesn't necessarily mean that you should. if you're so hellbent on repairing the broken that you find yourself tucking skeletons in the closet and sweeping dirty laundry under the rug for the "greater good" of your friendship, you may find the story of your relationships to be that of once upon a mattress. you find anger tucked between mattresses, sometimes even on a bed of lies. sleeping well won't come easy in these conditions.
i would not quit. i would never give up. i would be John Cena.
for those of you who have something better to do than watch the WWE from 8-10 p.m. on Mondays or PPV Sundays, John Cena has been made the face of the WWE. he is disliked by many because he's not the best in the ring, and he has been made champion so many times due to stale writing (something i blame the writers for more than him). he's fantastic on the microphone, and could probably get me psyched to file a tax return.
his edge has been softened and taken to the PG status that true WWE fans loathe. he preaches hustle, loyalty, and respect, in the name of our service men and women in the military. he used to rap battle other rappers and take a stand. he used to be tough. he used to be a rebel--but i think the owner of the WWE feared that people would grow tired of a rebel. now he makes no attacks, but just vows that he will win. the personal attacks are done with in a comedic style, and the shit talking has gone soft. he tends to rise above the mindless, unjust, and unprovoked attacks others make on him, being the better man. he never comes across as a pushover, but he does come across as mature. what's the fun in that?
he will not quit. he will not submit. his shirt says he will never give up.
lately i'm CM Punk. CM Punk dubbed himself as the voice of the voiceless, after filming one of the best promos ever done. he said he was leaving the WWE with the championship, and last Sunday he did.
he called the Cena an asskisser. he calls out the firings of very talented wrestlers remain unjustified. he said he was tired of grasping at the owner's imaginary brass rings, and that the owner stunted the growth of the WWE by surrounding himself with gladhanding, non-sensical yes men (starring Jim Carrey). he said that he's the best on the mic, in the ring, and at commentary, and he's proven it with no reward. he was airing the dissatisfaction of the WWE universe. he didn't take any shit. not from his boss. not from Cena. not from the fans. he said exactly what was on his mind. he never faltered. he never doubt his abilities or his character. not an ounce of him was sugarcoated. he never dressed up his thought in pretty speeches. he didn't care if he ruffled feathers. he didn't whiteknuckle for a second, refusing to tip-toe the line between staying true and satisfying higher ups. he did what he knew would let him look back with no regrets, bending boundaries until they broke. and everyone respected him for it. i can't remember the last time a crowd cheered so loud as when he walked away with the WWE championship.
Cena shares many qualities with Punk--the unwavering faith in himself, pride, and ability to speak on behalf of WWE fans everywhere. but it's time for me to do so with the unbridled rawness that CM Punk does. my Cena days were a way of suspending self-respect. sometimes when you try so hard to preserve a relationship, the relationship runs out of genuity. it becomes everything that you were afraid it would in the first place. it hides under covers. it disguises in pleasantries. it becomes obligatory and forced. Cena and Punk are true to themselves (or their characters, as the case were), but one still comes out as the bad guy, and the other depicts "good." at the end of your rope, it's better to be bad and upfront, than the good guy who is always polite, because operating in the fake of a manner is the worst of all.
i'm a Punk.
-k.
recently, i've been producing a comedy show, and have been fortunate enough to rally troops of fantastic friends.
i was expecting one of my friends to come with her boyfriend, and after checking in with her multiple times, she was a no show. i tried contacting her after several times to no avail, and to this day haven't heard back. it's odd when a friendship ends with no explanation and without an inkling as to why. it leaves you confused, and not far from the invisible fourth grader who didn't know how to navigate cliques and drama. luckily, i still don't know how to navigate drama. i never want to learn, because i don't want this petty force in my life.
normally, in scenarios like this, the unresponsiveness would plague me. i'd overcalculate conversations past and circumstances present, dissecting the mechanics of what when wrong, who is to blame for what, and why it all happened. i'd chase until i got an answer. i'd create something to spark a response. i'd have to satisfy the lingering answer to why this happened, which is hanging in her rhelm. i'd need closure, a concept that seems to be more phantom that real, and that you rarely have the opportunity to achieve.
or, you can let go. mental energy seems better spent on acceptance of what is. in many ways, life is a series of people entering and exiting your life. sometimes these exits are graceful, nearly seamless, with the exception of the fact that it's indeed a break in friendship, communication, reliability, and closeness. people are unique, and so of course is every relationship. when someone drops out of your life, the needs that you had for that relationship must shift, to another friend or within yourself.
though this particular exit was quiet, many can be violent. in fact the silent screams can be the loudest; the deliberate, passive aggressive games that people play because they are desperate to make you a pawn, and under their control. in either case, i've preferred not to let go. i've preferred to set aside trivial frustrations, or call to attention the unspoken ones so that these obstacles clear. i've preferred to repair the damaged, regardless of how skewed or onesided. there's no problem two adults can't fix. i've flirted with line of self sacrifice vs. self sacrificing, a blurry line that never seems to run straight. perhaps this is why i tend to have a very long fuse, but why the end of it is so ugly.
but, sometimes the fact that you can fix something doesn't necessarily mean that you should. if you're so hellbent on repairing the broken that you find yourself tucking skeletons in the closet and sweeping dirty laundry under the rug for the "greater good" of your friendship, you may find the story of your relationships to be that of once upon a mattress. you find anger tucked between mattresses, sometimes even on a bed of lies. sleeping well won't come easy in these conditions.
i would not quit. i would never give up. i would be John Cena.
for those of you who have something better to do than watch the WWE from 8-10 p.m. on Mondays or PPV Sundays, John Cena has been made the face of the WWE. he is disliked by many because he's not the best in the ring, and he has been made champion so many times due to stale writing (something i blame the writers for more than him). he's fantastic on the microphone, and could probably get me psyched to file a tax return.
his edge has been softened and taken to the PG status that true WWE fans loathe. he preaches hustle, loyalty, and respect, in the name of our service men and women in the military. he used to rap battle other rappers and take a stand. he used to be tough. he used to be a rebel--but i think the owner of the WWE feared that people would grow tired of a rebel. now he makes no attacks, but just vows that he will win. the personal attacks are done with in a comedic style, and the shit talking has gone soft. he tends to rise above the mindless, unjust, and unprovoked attacks others make on him, being the better man. he never comes across as a pushover, but he does come across as mature. what's the fun in that?
he will not quit. he will not submit. his shirt says he will never give up.
lately i'm CM Punk. CM Punk dubbed himself as the voice of the voiceless, after filming one of the best promos ever done. he said he was leaving the WWE with the championship, and last Sunday he did.
he called the Cena an asskisser. he calls out the firings of very talented wrestlers remain unjustified. he said he was tired of grasping at the owner's imaginary brass rings, and that the owner stunted the growth of the WWE by surrounding himself with gladhanding, non-sensical yes men (starring Jim Carrey). he said that he's the best on the mic, in the ring, and at commentary, and he's proven it with no reward. he was airing the dissatisfaction of the WWE universe. he didn't take any shit. not from his boss. not from Cena. not from the fans. he said exactly what was on his mind. he never faltered. he never doubt his abilities or his character. not an ounce of him was sugarcoated. he never dressed up his thought in pretty speeches. he didn't care if he ruffled feathers. he didn't whiteknuckle for a second, refusing to tip-toe the line between staying true and satisfying higher ups. he did what he knew would let him look back with no regrets, bending boundaries until they broke. and everyone respected him for it. i can't remember the last time a crowd cheered so loud as when he walked away with the WWE championship.
Cena shares many qualities with Punk--the unwavering faith in himself, pride, and ability to speak on behalf of WWE fans everywhere. but it's time for me to do so with the unbridled rawness that CM Punk does. my Cena days were a way of suspending self-respect. sometimes when you try so hard to preserve a relationship, the relationship runs out of genuity. it becomes everything that you were afraid it would in the first place. it hides under covers. it disguises in pleasantries. it becomes obligatory and forced. Cena and Punk are true to themselves (or their characters, as the case were), but one still comes out as the bad guy, and the other depicts "good." at the end of your rope, it's better to be bad and upfront, than the good guy who is always polite, because operating in the fake of a manner is the worst of all.
i'm a Punk.
-k.
Saturday, February 27
instinct vs. logic
ever just jump so far off the deep end that you don't know if you can swim back? ever been scared that you are okay with jumping in cannonball style into a directionless sea of uncertainty? ever been unable to tell whether or not you are courageous for being so honest or pathetic for being that helpless?
fool me once, shame on you
fool me twice, shame on me
what about the third time?
and every time?
who do we blame?
does it matter who we blame?
blame doesn't matter if you are knowingly going to fight the same battle.
shouldn't we be trying to determine whether or not we are utterly masochistic or beautifully devoted? if you believe in something enough, it won't always come true. so when the door doesn't fully shut us out, why don't we shut it ourselves? why don't we lock it? why don't we barricade it?
logically we know we should.
we know we should opt for the healthier Situation (and it's abs).
we know we should move on.
we know we are better than pathetic.
we know we are better than helpless.
we know we are better than shameless (except for Garth Brooks).
we know we are better than playing games.
we know we are than anything that isn't straightforward, honest, and simple.
we know we are better than creating our own complications.
we know we are better than playing the fool.
we know we are better than "always on my mind."
we know we are better than everything feeling like a sign.
we know we are better than everything being a reminder.
we know we are better than the pain.
we know we are better than feeling like you invested so much, what's a little more?
we know we are better than listening to Janice Joplin's 'Piece of My Heart.' ever.
but unless you feel that way, you can "know" until the cows come home, which sometimes they do in Binghamton. you can "know" until you are blue in the face. but sometimes our instincts lead us away from our logic. they can lead us down a selfless and selfsacrificing road that may turn out to be a huge waste of time and/or money. they can make you question your selfrespect, but oddly enough validate it in the same breath.
it's a real pain in the ass when your head and your heart don't sit right because then you end up awake at 4 a.m. writing way too honest blogs because you feel like you know someone's soul and they know yours. or if that's too dramatic, they at the least make you smile from the inside. you concede all of your power at the risk of looking like an idiot (again and again....and again).
it's ironic because I was great in Logic class. i could write you three step arguments and identify the "Bandwagon" theory all day. and i would enjoy it too. but outside of this setting, logic was never my strongest suit. i was terrible at math proofs. my dad is amazing at them. when he tried coaching me through proving that a hypotenuse was the longest side of a triangle, and would get increasingly frustrated and want to scream "LOOK AT IT! MEASURE IT WITH A RULER! OF COURSE IT'S THE LONGEST SIDE."
whether something seems right in my mind, it is no match for how something feels. i usually regret not following my instincts because i always wonder what would happen if i did. i'd rather go out on a limb with the risk of it getting mowed down than wonder what would happen if i was still fiddling around it's stump. to paraphrase my favorite songwriter, landing hurts, but at least you know how to fall. emotions can override whatever thought process you may have. what's may actually be in your best interest is only relevant if it feels like it's what is in your best interest. something in the pit of your stomach just tells you to go for it, because even if you crash and burn, at least you won't be left wondering why.
i used to not be this way. i used to be guarded. i used to hide. i used to start the games. i used to put up walls. i used to run. i used to be vague. i used to be 'complicated.' i used to pretend i had no depth because it was easier than acknowledging what i've been through. i used to keep an arms length from anything i cared about. i used to bull shit. i used to worry about how i appeared than how i was. i used to drown in trite bullshit phrases like "it's just the hand i was dealt" and "i don't think you get me and what i've been through, and i hope you never have to." i used to think my pain was unique to me, which on some level i suppose it is, but on another level is completely tokenly adolescent. i used to love cautiously. but love isn't cautious, at least not the good love.
i'd rather be an open heart than a bleeding one. i'd rather be the fool on the hill than too scared to climb. i'd rather feel like i did everything that i could rather than think i did. i'd rather get bit in the ass by my own bravery and willingness than by my own fear and closed off nature. i'd rather someone know i care in the most pitiful, heartbreaking way than keep my Ace in my back pocket. i'd rather be honest than harmless. i'd rather be genuine than "kind of sweet." i'd rather care unconditionally than at convenience. i'd rather be me than someone who "seems" easier to be with. i'd rather live by my own motivations than comply with what every thinks a 22-yr-old girl should be. i'd rather be a challenge than someone who always says yes. i'd rather tell you it's not okay than lie. i'd rather take the risk than be safe. and maybe i'll break something, but it wouldn't compare to the pain of never having stretched.
i guess we will see where my instincts get me. for now, i'm trying this balance thing.
"some things are meant to be
and some things are are not
this is one of those things"
-k.
fool me once, shame on you
fool me twice, shame on me
what about the third time?
and every time?
who do we blame?
does it matter who we blame?
blame doesn't matter if you are knowingly going to fight the same battle.
shouldn't we be trying to determine whether or not we are utterly masochistic or beautifully devoted? if you believe in something enough, it won't always come true. so when the door doesn't fully shut us out, why don't we shut it ourselves? why don't we lock it? why don't we barricade it?
logically we know we should.
we know we should opt for the healthier Situation (and it's abs).
we know we should move on.
we know we are better than pathetic.
we know we are better than helpless.
we know we are better than shameless (except for Garth Brooks).
we know we are better than playing games.
we know we are than anything that isn't straightforward, honest, and simple.
we know we are better than creating our own complications.
we know we are better than playing the fool.
we know we are better than "always on my mind."
we know we are better than everything feeling like a sign.
we know we are better than everything being a reminder.
we know we are better than the pain.
we know we are better than feeling like you invested so much, what's a little more?
we know we are better than listening to Janice Joplin's 'Piece of My Heart.' ever.
but unless you feel that way, you can "know" until the cows come home, which sometimes they do in Binghamton. you can "know" until you are blue in the face. but sometimes our instincts lead us away from our logic. they can lead us down a selfless and selfsacrificing road that may turn out to be a huge waste of time and/or money. they can make you question your selfrespect, but oddly enough validate it in the same breath.
it's a real pain in the ass when your head and your heart don't sit right because then you end up awake at 4 a.m. writing way too honest blogs because you feel like you know someone's soul and they know yours. or if that's too dramatic, they at the least make you smile from the inside. you concede all of your power at the risk of looking like an idiot (again and again....and again).
it's ironic because I was great in Logic class. i could write you three step arguments and identify the "Bandwagon" theory all day. and i would enjoy it too. but outside of this setting, logic was never my strongest suit. i was terrible at math proofs. my dad is amazing at them. when he tried coaching me through proving that a hypotenuse was the longest side of a triangle, and would get increasingly frustrated and want to scream "LOOK AT IT! MEASURE IT WITH A RULER! OF COURSE IT'S THE LONGEST SIDE."
whether something seems right in my mind, it is no match for how something feels. i usually regret not following my instincts because i always wonder what would happen if i did. i'd rather go out on a limb with the risk of it getting mowed down than wonder what would happen if i was still fiddling around it's stump. to paraphrase my favorite songwriter, landing hurts, but at least you know how to fall. emotions can override whatever thought process you may have. what's may actually be in your best interest is only relevant if it feels like it's what is in your best interest. something in the pit of your stomach just tells you to go for it, because even if you crash and burn, at least you won't be left wondering why.
i used to not be this way. i used to be guarded. i used to hide. i used to start the games. i used to put up walls. i used to run. i used to be vague. i used to be 'complicated.' i used to pretend i had no depth because it was easier than acknowledging what i've been through. i used to keep an arms length from anything i cared about. i used to bull shit. i used to worry about how i appeared than how i was. i used to drown in trite bullshit phrases like "it's just the hand i was dealt" and "i don't think you get me and what i've been through, and i hope you never have to." i used to think my pain was unique to me, which on some level i suppose it is, but on another level is completely tokenly adolescent. i used to love cautiously. but love isn't cautious, at least not the good love.
i'd rather be an open heart than a bleeding one. i'd rather be the fool on the hill than too scared to climb. i'd rather feel like i did everything that i could rather than think i did. i'd rather get bit in the ass by my own bravery and willingness than by my own fear and closed off nature. i'd rather someone know i care in the most pitiful, heartbreaking way than keep my Ace in my back pocket. i'd rather be honest than harmless. i'd rather be genuine than "kind of sweet." i'd rather care unconditionally than at convenience. i'd rather be me than someone who "seems" easier to be with. i'd rather live by my own motivations than comply with what every thinks a 22-yr-old girl should be. i'd rather be a challenge than someone who always says yes. i'd rather tell you it's not okay than lie. i'd rather take the risk than be safe. and maybe i'll break something, but it wouldn't compare to the pain of never having stretched.
i guess we will see where my instincts get me. for now, i'm trying this balance thing.
"some things are meant to be
and some things are are not
this is one of those things"
-k.
Thursday, January 7
belated new year's
a friend of mine reads my blog when we aren't talking about the yankees or playing sporcle. he noted a lapse in my posting. it occurred to me that i owe everyone the obligatory "new year!" post.
usually when i lack in posting it means that i'm either a) leading a really boring life b) leading too busy of a life or c) trying to figure out what the fuck is going on in my life so i can try and figure out a way to articulate it. this time was both b and c.
i love my new gym. it's like Globogym in the movie Dodgeball except with better hair and no hilarious huge black sidekick named MeChelle. there are a million machines, 2 million towels on every floor, and their snobbish Upper East attitude means i can be rude when blaring my mp3player. this is a far cry from my gym back in...Astoria (insert condescending Manhattan tone).
Fitness Point in Astoria was a far cry from the perfect body machine that is New York Sports Club. it cost $200/yr, many of the machines were broken, but a little bit of everything was available. there was an adorable dog owned by those who ran the place. while charming, that yapping dog would bark enough to shake you from your elliptical.
what i remember most about this gym was the odd T.V. choices that ran. rather than your typical e.s.p.n., music video, or token chick movie station that normally cycle while you are cycling, this gym ran the news, the history channel, and the discovery channel. it was really weird. most of the time that i went, i was positioned slightly off centered from the show Nature's Deadliest. it made my really glad that the only jungle that i live in is made of concrete. the whole premise of the show was about your surroundings can poison and kill you. and by surround you i mean envelop you if you are strolling through the heart of the jungles of Vanuatu or the mountainous Hunzas.
i made them turn off this show when the A.L.D.S. started. afterall, i had to watch Mark Texeira make defensive plays and begrudgingly watch A-Rod succeed. i still hate that guy. but Nature's Deadliest taught me more than what scorpions to avoid and what plants are poison ivy wannabes. the premise of our surroundings poisoning us, and even killing us, runs deep. not only are you making a decision to utilize something toxic, but you may not even realize you are making the decision to do so. in fact, you may even view it as a resource.
ain't that the truth. lately there has been a disparity between what i want and what i should do. dave ramsey, who inspired my fear of debt and hatred of creditcards, said that "children do what feels good, adults devise a plan and stick to it." i've been a child lately. sometimes i think this is ok. but sometimes i give too much weight to unhealthy habits that sneak their way into my life. it's one thing to have their presence, it's quite another to cultivate them. then they go from an unhealthy habbit to an unhealthy lifestyle. i can feel myself getting farther from what i ultimately want. in a way, getting closer to what i want as a short term satisfacatory dillusion clouds my long term desires. usually, these short term things are more often than not fun with only slight twinges of self loathing, but they add up pretty quick. and while this self loathing is only a splinter, it runs deep, ultimately because i am making informed decisions that i know are harmful. i am picking the poison ivy on purpose. i am chasing the sting ray, knowing that it's called a S T I N G ray and what happened to steve irwin (too soon? see south park's thoughts on AIDS being funny).
i sound pretty mature for recognizing all of this. i sound pretty lame for knowingly not following through on healthy decisions. but that introduces the dichotomy of head vs. heart. i *know* there are certain decisions i need to make, and that there are certain people who are poisonous to keep in my life. i know that usually when i cut out these poisonous people, it fucking sucks. but then i usually feel a lot better. but i also know that my instincts are telling me not to let go. that somewhere in my guy the bittersweet treasure is ultimately a win, that pain coming with pleasure is worth it. i know that when i don't trust my instincts i more often than not regret it. i know that this contradiction between how i think and how i feel is somewhat irresolvable because if i fulfill one, i end up wondering what life is like if i take the other path.
i wonder what version of myself is the true me. if we are pretending to be something for a day/weekend/week/year/millisecond, aren't we genuinely--in this moment of pretend--being just that? how are we supposed to discern between head vs. heart, between guise and truth? and what if both feel comfortable?
my new year's resolutions are to learn music, get more organized, shed a few pounds, and be more honest with myself. that last one kind of just started.
i don't think i'll ever have the answer to these questions. but if anyone needs a remedy to a spider bite and a spin and a brief sprint on a mediocre treadmill, there's a cheap gym in Astoria that is happy to keep you. just beware of dog.
-k.
usually when i lack in posting it means that i'm either a) leading a really boring life b) leading too busy of a life or c) trying to figure out what the fuck is going on in my life so i can try and figure out a way to articulate it. this time was both b and c.
i love my new gym. it's like Globogym in the movie Dodgeball except with better hair and no hilarious huge black sidekick named MeChelle. there are a million machines, 2 million towels on every floor, and their snobbish Upper East attitude means i can be rude when blaring my mp3player. this is a far cry from my gym back in...Astoria (insert condescending Manhattan tone).
Fitness Point in Astoria was a far cry from the perfect body machine that is New York Sports Club. it cost $200/yr, many of the machines were broken, but a little bit of everything was available. there was an adorable dog owned by those who ran the place. while charming, that yapping dog would bark enough to shake you from your elliptical.
what i remember most about this gym was the odd T.V. choices that ran. rather than your typical e.s.p.n., music video, or token chick movie station that normally cycle while you are cycling, this gym ran the news, the history channel, and the discovery channel. it was really weird. most of the time that i went, i was positioned slightly off centered from the show Nature's Deadliest. it made my really glad that the only jungle that i live in is made of concrete. the whole premise of the show was about your surroundings can poison and kill you. and by surround you i mean envelop you if you are strolling through the heart of the jungles of Vanuatu or the mountainous Hunzas.
i made them turn off this show when the A.L.D.S. started. afterall, i had to watch Mark Texeira make defensive plays and begrudgingly watch A-Rod succeed. i still hate that guy. but Nature's Deadliest taught me more than what scorpions to avoid and what plants are poison ivy wannabes. the premise of our surroundings poisoning us, and even killing us, runs deep. not only are you making a decision to utilize something toxic, but you may not even realize you are making the decision to do so. in fact, you may even view it as a resource.
ain't that the truth. lately there has been a disparity between what i want and what i should do. dave ramsey, who inspired my fear of debt and hatred of creditcards, said that "children do what feels good, adults devise a plan and stick to it." i've been a child lately. sometimes i think this is ok. but sometimes i give too much weight to unhealthy habits that sneak their way into my life. it's one thing to have their presence, it's quite another to cultivate them. then they go from an unhealthy habbit to an unhealthy lifestyle. i can feel myself getting farther from what i ultimately want. in a way, getting closer to what i want as a short term satisfacatory dillusion clouds my long term desires. usually, these short term things are more often than not fun with only slight twinges of self loathing, but they add up pretty quick. and while this self loathing is only a splinter, it runs deep, ultimately because i am making informed decisions that i know are harmful. i am picking the poison ivy on purpose. i am chasing the sting ray, knowing that it's called a S T I N G ray and what happened to steve irwin (too soon? see south park's thoughts on AIDS being funny).
i sound pretty mature for recognizing all of this. i sound pretty lame for knowingly not following through on healthy decisions. but that introduces the dichotomy of head vs. heart. i *know* there are certain decisions i need to make, and that there are certain people who are poisonous to keep in my life. i know that usually when i cut out these poisonous people, it fucking sucks. but then i usually feel a lot better. but i also know that my instincts are telling me not to let go. that somewhere in my guy the bittersweet treasure is ultimately a win, that pain coming with pleasure is worth it. i know that when i don't trust my instincts i more often than not regret it. i know that this contradiction between how i think and how i feel is somewhat irresolvable because if i fulfill one, i end up wondering what life is like if i take the other path.
i wonder what version of myself is the true me. if we are pretending to be something for a day/weekend/week/year/millisecond, aren't we genuinely--in this moment of pretend--being just that? how are we supposed to discern between head vs. heart, between guise and truth? and what if both feel comfortable?
my new year's resolutions are to learn music, get more organized, shed a few pounds, and be more honest with myself. that last one kind of just started.
i don't think i'll ever have the answer to these questions. but if anyone needs a remedy to a spider bite and a spin and a brief sprint on a mediocre treadmill, there's a cheap gym in Astoria that is happy to keep you. just beware of dog.
-k.
a little late.
wrote this on the bus ride home over the holidays:
i used to sit and watch the pourin rain
i used to wish to be home again
-guster
my 4 minute shuttle ride between Grand Central and Port Authority was packed probably with more suitcases than people at 3:45 this afternoon. i bobbed and weaved through idiot tourists in Times Square that don't know how to walk and be on vacation simultaneously. this game of frogger was joined by other travelers who were equally as pissed at these tourists as i was.
normally, the charm of the city at Christmas doesn't turn me into a scrooge--in fact i'm somewhat of an elf. but i was anxious to get to catch my bus home. after all, i had 4 cramped hours of avoiding conversation with an inevitably well dressed but portly and smellly bus partner to look forward to. hey, disgusing this avoidance as unsuccessful sleep attempts is hard work. thank god MP3players can salvage by pathetic acting.
thankfully this ride has been different. my reasonably sized, neutral-to-good smelling sidekick ditched at the Monticello stop. often times, the bus chugging through these small towns is like traveling through my past. the cars in my family could do this route on autopilot. recounting these hometown memories gets fuzzier as it gets darker and more time passes.
i remember as a freshman in college i visited home much frequently and painfully missing home despite my happiness at Seton Hall. but i haven't been back since August when i returned for the infamous Speediefest and Balloon Rally, which feels like dog years in Binghamton time. i guess this is because as the present and future take over, the past slips away. you forget what happened at what dances and that fact that weird chemistry class kid even existed. also, when the entire Binghamton AA staff is now playing in the Majors, there isn't a whole lot of reason to go home.
the memories are not what's invaluable, although there are some i am more than happy to hold onto. what i care about most is the familiarity with the people you are visiting--that feeling that you can pick up where you left off even though there has been so much growth and time inbetween visits. it's hard to believe i met some of these people when i was 14 and others in 4th grade. and it feels like nothing has changed, but it also feels like everything has. and of course it has, we've grown up--at least most of us--at least a little bit. but that comfortable side of home is the part that keeps me coming back, even if it's spread out over six months. it's what makes home "home."
yes, when i am home, i am sure there will be an inevitable visit to the Denny's where we spent most of our post-Homecoming dance outings and various after chorus concert celebrations. we will recount memories straight out of Billy Joel's "scenes from an italian restaurant" and think about the days before we could legally discern between red or white wine. but the important part it is that we will continue to make new memories close or far, maybe in the same classy Denny's booth. we will probably have the same waitress anyway.
my mom is big into the planting roots at home, and spreading wings that take you anywhere. apparently my love for metaphors is hereditary. but there is something to be said for that. i always have said that home is wherever my family is, as i'm am most deeply rooted in them. but somewhere between the roots of my home and the branches of my growth is that sturdy tree-ish part. the part that's not going anywhere and supports the growth. that's a huge part of home.
it's amazing how you can always discover something new in a town that usually only takes 20 mins to cover in entirety. but usually you're discovering, or rediscovering part of you.
-k.
i used to sit and watch the pourin rain
i used to wish to be home again
-guster
my 4 minute shuttle ride between Grand Central and Port Authority was packed probably with more suitcases than people at 3:45 this afternoon. i bobbed and weaved through idiot tourists in Times Square that don't know how to walk and be on vacation simultaneously. this game of frogger was joined by other travelers who were equally as pissed at these tourists as i was.
normally, the charm of the city at Christmas doesn't turn me into a scrooge--in fact i'm somewhat of an elf. but i was anxious to get to catch my bus home. after all, i had 4 cramped hours of avoiding conversation with an inevitably well dressed but portly and smellly bus partner to look forward to. hey, disgusing this avoidance as unsuccessful sleep attempts is hard work. thank god MP3players can salvage by pathetic acting.
thankfully this ride has been different. my reasonably sized, neutral-to-good smelling sidekick ditched at the Monticello stop. often times, the bus chugging through these small towns is like traveling through my past. the cars in my family could do this route on autopilot. recounting these hometown memories gets fuzzier as it gets darker and more time passes.
i remember as a freshman in college i visited home much frequently and painfully missing home despite my happiness at Seton Hall. but i haven't been back since August when i returned for the infamous Speediefest and Balloon Rally, which feels like dog years in Binghamton time. i guess this is because as the present and future take over, the past slips away. you forget what happened at what dances and that fact that weird chemistry class kid even existed. also, when the entire Binghamton AA staff is now playing in the Majors, there isn't a whole lot of reason to go home.
the memories are not what's invaluable, although there are some i am more than happy to hold onto. what i care about most is the familiarity with the people you are visiting--that feeling that you can pick up where you left off even though there has been so much growth and time inbetween visits. it's hard to believe i met some of these people when i was 14 and others in 4th grade. and it feels like nothing has changed, but it also feels like everything has. and of course it has, we've grown up--at least most of us--at least a little bit. but that comfortable side of home is the part that keeps me coming back, even if it's spread out over six months. it's what makes home "home."
yes, when i am home, i am sure there will be an inevitable visit to the Denny's where we spent most of our post-Homecoming dance outings and various after chorus concert celebrations. we will recount memories straight out of Billy Joel's "scenes from an italian restaurant" and think about the days before we could legally discern between red or white wine. but the important part it is that we will continue to make new memories close or far, maybe in the same classy Denny's booth. we will probably have the same waitress anyway.
my mom is big into the planting roots at home, and spreading wings that take you anywhere. apparently my love for metaphors is hereditary. but there is something to be said for that. i always have said that home is wherever my family is, as i'm am most deeply rooted in them. but somewhere between the roots of my home and the branches of my growth is that sturdy tree-ish part. the part that's not going anywhere and supports the growth. that's a huge part of home.
it's amazing how you can always discover something new in a town that usually only takes 20 mins to cover in entirety. but usually you're discovering, or rediscovering part of you.
-k.
Thursday, October 29
my mother once told me, the thicker your skin...
...the better off you'll be when this world brings you down.
well this kind of sucks. i was hoping i would never have to write this blog. because this blog marks the end of a friendship. or something like that.
you can confirm that a friendship has run it's natural course when it's ending is best described as cathartic. when it feels as though a weight has been lifted off of your shoulders, and heart, that probably means that a) you were never meant to be friends in the first place or b) the friendship has served it's purpose. it seems that in option b, you match the length of the relationship's valuable time with an equally as long period of awkward politeness. you try to clean up the friendship by sweeping underlying issues further under the rug and washing away any sign of hostility. this is usually done by clogging up everyone's facebook news feed with bumpstickers or inside jokes or photo comments from the 'sincere' memories. we hope that if things look okay, they will revert back to how they once were. or at least into a new form of okayness.
the whispers of genuine efforts are drowned out by the shouting fact that you are postponing the inevitable, probably so that upcoming birthday parties of mutual friends will be less awkward. plus it's never easy to admit that what once satisfied our insatiable appetite for friendship has now converted itself into the heaping pile of shit that soon follows.
there are two sides to every story. i like mine. i still hold myself accountable, but don't concede and don't believe that i was wrong in the dispute or in my decision to end this friendship.
the unique thing about this particular situation was that i didn't start a fight--i simply cut off communication. i am still debating whether or not this was cowardly, adult, or somewhere in between. i would like to think it was the adult thing to do, but i would also like to think that the Yankees will knock out Cliff Lee in 5 1/3 innings and exhaust the Philadelphia bullpen. this may be completely inapplicable to the subject at hand, except for the fact that neither of my 'hopes' matter, and that the scenarios play out as they will. this connection is a complete stretch. both of these things occupy my mind, however, so i must tie them together somehow.
the reason that i cut off communication instead of had a fight about the issue was because i feel as there is nothing the other party could have said that would repair what was broken. we had crossed the rubicon. so why should we both shout a bunch of things, half personal attacks that we don't mean and half justified anger, if it won't resolve the issue any way? what if i simply walked away instead of further investing myself is a situation that will ultimately stay the same? unfortunately alternate endings are for Goosebumps books and not this friendship. a friend, much suggested that i open up a conversation about it. he's obviously far more adult than i considering i didn't even view this as an option. but it's because with hostility swelling, a conversation is just a contained fight that is reiterating the fake mild mannered bull shit you are trying to get away from. and a conversation still would fail if you feel that their is nothing you can say. also, the fact that neither of us cared enough to have the fight OR the conversation is just another indicator that it would come to this anyway.
let's start with my accountability because it will make me look better. the names and genders of those involved have been kept confidential to protect the innocent and the guilty. everyone in this situation is a little of both.
just over a year ago, i broke an unwritten friendship rule. this is why i am a writer. i don't believe in unwritten rules. i like them written out clearly-- sometimes metaphorically in stone if they are REALLY good rules. but this is not how the other person operates, which is something i knew going into the situation. although personally it feels inherently wrong to not believe what someone is saying, i should have "known better." ultimately, this is what the fight should have been about, and it should have happened a year ago. there is also a level of hypocrisy involved that i was blind to until i was fully aware of the situation. and i HATE hypocrisy. this was something i tried to come clean about to the other party, but they were dodging me at the time, as i suspect they were probably trying to avoid exactly what i was trying to do. third, i must admit my hubris. my tragic flaw is that i have a very long fuse, but the end of it is an ugly sight. i find myself straddling a line between complaining about every detail and letting grievances build up inside of me until one major thing airs them at once. this ultimately blindsides the other person, because they are unaware of how ANNOYING they are. because i am better than everyone else. (totally kidding).
our friendship caved into an outside force. or perhaps an accomplice to the friendship murder. (outside force sounds like star wars and accomplice sounds like law & order. since i know nothing about star wars, we will go with that and call the external force a death ray, which is probably incorrect but definitely ironic). some think i am too sympathetic to this outside force/death ray--self included. and quite possibly the death ray itself. the easiest cop out would be to blame the death ray, which is incredibly tempting but also incredibly 'in-the-sxth-grade.' real friendships don't give into the pressure of an outside force (death ray). they break because they aren't strong enough on the inside to resist any form of weathering--weather it's a tornado or a light drizzle. weak sauce.
my pain comes from my openness about this external force (death ray) with the other party (Luke Skywalker). i made myself vulnerable to the other person (slash futuristic space creature?. upon a few swift actions (included but not limited to lightsaber fights) i felt like the rest of my friendship was spent trying to accept something that was felt unacceptable. then, in the back of this closet holding many a skeleton, there was a sprawling web of lies. i assume this metaphor came about because webs spin out of control, catch your prey, are very delicate, and easy to destroy. when actions are covered by lies, the mountain of forgiveness can suddenly avalanche. these actions that once seemed like they were coming from an honest mistake travel to spite and revenge. and that makes 'best friends for life' pretty shortlived. it also make what you are actually fighting about very convoluted.
a textfrontation initiated by the other party soon ensued. (i really want 'textfrontation' to catch on). we both pretended we wanted to be adults, even though we secretly wanted to have a meet-me-in-the-cafeteria style fight. we both said that we are trying not to blame the other, even though that's exactly what we were doing. it's like how when someone says 'no offense, but...' and you know they are about to say something offensive. we both wanted to blame the death ray, even though we knew it was between Luke Skywalker and Fill-in-a-jedi-here. (spoiler alert: Luke's Dad is Darth Vader). and so the end was cemented.
i learned a lot, but also learned absolutely nothing. i think i already knew what to do, and how to do it. i just hadn't had the guts to go through with it. but a new apartment and a new job cultivate an atmosphere that inspires you to rip up life by its roots and lay new seeds complimented by the most fitting perennials.
reap. and. sew.
the world has kept spinning. the galaxies near or far far away stayed aligned. the Yankees are ALCS champions again. and on we go.
-k.
well this kind of sucks. i was hoping i would never have to write this blog. because this blog marks the end of a friendship. or something like that.
you can confirm that a friendship has run it's natural course when it's ending is best described as cathartic. when it feels as though a weight has been lifted off of your shoulders, and heart, that probably means that a) you were never meant to be friends in the first place or b) the friendship has served it's purpose. it seems that in option b, you match the length of the relationship's valuable time with an equally as long period of awkward politeness. you try to clean up the friendship by sweeping underlying issues further under the rug and washing away any sign of hostility. this is usually done by clogging up everyone's facebook news feed with bumpstickers or inside jokes or photo comments from the 'sincere' memories. we hope that if things look okay, they will revert back to how they once were. or at least into a new form of okayness.
the whispers of genuine efforts are drowned out by the shouting fact that you are postponing the inevitable, probably so that upcoming birthday parties of mutual friends will be less awkward. plus it's never easy to admit that what once satisfied our insatiable appetite for friendship has now converted itself into the heaping pile of shit that soon follows.
there are two sides to every story. i like mine. i still hold myself accountable, but don't concede and don't believe that i was wrong in the dispute or in my decision to end this friendship.
the unique thing about this particular situation was that i didn't start a fight--i simply cut off communication. i am still debating whether or not this was cowardly, adult, or somewhere in between. i would like to think it was the adult thing to do, but i would also like to think that the Yankees will knock out Cliff Lee in 5 1/3 innings and exhaust the Philadelphia bullpen. this may be completely inapplicable to the subject at hand, except for the fact that neither of my 'hopes' matter, and that the scenarios play out as they will. this connection is a complete stretch. both of these things occupy my mind, however, so i must tie them together somehow.
the reason that i cut off communication instead of had a fight about the issue was because i feel as there is nothing the other party could have said that would repair what was broken. we had crossed the rubicon. so why should we both shout a bunch of things, half personal attacks that we don't mean and half justified anger, if it won't resolve the issue any way? what if i simply walked away instead of further investing myself is a situation that will ultimately stay the same? unfortunately alternate endings are for Goosebumps books and not this friendship. a friend, much suggested that i open up a conversation about it. he's obviously far more adult than i considering i didn't even view this as an option. but it's because with hostility swelling, a conversation is just a contained fight that is reiterating the fake mild mannered bull shit you are trying to get away from. and a conversation still would fail if you feel that their is nothing you can say. also, the fact that neither of us cared enough to have the fight OR the conversation is just another indicator that it would come to this anyway.
let's start with my accountability because it will make me look better. the names and genders of those involved have been kept confidential to protect the innocent and the guilty. everyone in this situation is a little of both.
just over a year ago, i broke an unwritten friendship rule. this is why i am a writer. i don't believe in unwritten rules. i like them written out clearly-- sometimes metaphorically in stone if they are REALLY good rules. but this is not how the other person operates, which is something i knew going into the situation. although personally it feels inherently wrong to not believe what someone is saying, i should have "known better." ultimately, this is what the fight should have been about, and it should have happened a year ago. there is also a level of hypocrisy involved that i was blind to until i was fully aware of the situation. and i HATE hypocrisy. this was something i tried to come clean about to the other party, but they were dodging me at the time, as i suspect they were probably trying to avoid exactly what i was trying to do. third, i must admit my hubris. my tragic flaw is that i have a very long fuse, but the end of it is an ugly sight. i find myself straddling a line between complaining about every detail and letting grievances build up inside of me until one major thing airs them at once. this ultimately blindsides the other person, because they are unaware of how ANNOYING they are. because i am better than everyone else. (totally kidding).
our friendship caved into an outside force. or perhaps an accomplice to the friendship murder. (outside force sounds like star wars and accomplice sounds like law & order. since i know nothing about star wars, we will go with that and call the external force a death ray, which is probably incorrect but definitely ironic). some think i am too sympathetic to this outside force/death ray--self included. and quite possibly the death ray itself. the easiest cop out would be to blame the death ray, which is incredibly tempting but also incredibly 'in-the-sxth-grade.' real friendships don't give into the pressure of an outside force (death ray). they break because they aren't strong enough on the inside to resist any form of weathering--weather it's a tornado or a light drizzle. weak sauce.
my pain comes from my openness about this external force (death ray) with the other party (Luke Skywalker). i made myself vulnerable to the other person (slash futuristic space creature?. upon a few swift actions (included but not limited to lightsaber fights) i felt like the rest of my friendship was spent trying to accept something that was felt unacceptable. then, in the back of this closet holding many a skeleton, there was a sprawling web of lies. i assume this metaphor came about because webs spin out of control, catch your prey, are very delicate, and easy to destroy. when actions are covered by lies, the mountain of forgiveness can suddenly avalanche. these actions that once seemed like they were coming from an honest mistake travel to spite and revenge. and that makes 'best friends for life' pretty shortlived. it also make what you are actually fighting about very convoluted.
a textfrontation initiated by the other party soon ensued. (i really want 'textfrontation' to catch on). we both pretended we wanted to be adults, even though we secretly wanted to have a meet-me-in-the-cafeteria style fight. we both said that we are trying not to blame the other, even though that's exactly what we were doing. it's like how when someone says 'no offense, but...' and you know they are about to say something offensive. we both wanted to blame the death ray, even though we knew it was between Luke Skywalker and Fill-in-a-jedi-here. (spoiler alert: Luke's Dad is Darth Vader). and so the end was cemented.
i learned a lot, but also learned absolutely nothing. i think i already knew what to do, and how to do it. i just hadn't had the guts to go through with it. but a new apartment and a new job cultivate an atmosphere that inspires you to rip up life by its roots and lay new seeds complimented by the most fitting perennials.
reap. and. sew.
the world has kept spinning. the galaxies near or far far away stayed aligned. the Yankees are ALCS champions again. and on we go.
-k.
Monday, September 21
what's black, white, and gray all over?
i dashed around the corner to pick up some last minute dinner at the conveniently located and always classy 'C-town' grocery store the other day. outside, a group of pigeons had congregated between the rusting red rods of metal that divide the uneven sidewalk and store entrance--a common occurrence. but on the outskirts of this gray feather maze stood a white pigeon, sporting patches of black that almost appeared spray-painted. not only was this bird singled out by color contrast, but it was as if he was squeezed out of the pigeon hole by it's peers who were indulging in a feeding frenzy on a stale piece of bread that was probably discarded from 'C-town' itself.
i promise this is not a blog about the injustices of racial profiling or affirmative action..
at some point, we all feel like the white pigeon. we lay hungry on the outside of our friends who are gobbling up the fruit of this stage of life. we wear a different look than the norm for our age, gender, etc., forgetting that we are all actually just people--at least outside of this metaphor. we are isolated. we are alone. we are standing on our less that impressive talons, just trying to maintain balance and composure. and if we are lucky, once the Ring of Normal breaks, we can swoop in a salvage some of the leftover crumbs.
i'm pretty sure birds can't smirk, but this white pigeon carried itself with a satisfaction as if it could. it wasn't fluttering in chaos. it wasn't frantically pacing like the others. hell, it wasn't even trying to break into the pack and attack the food.
recently, a friend and i discussed the importance of honesty in writing--not only with your readers--but with yourself. she has a point. writing can keep you in check. writing can keep you from falling into the trap of sugarcoating. basically it can prevent you from bullshitting yourself, even if it makes you vulnerable. so here it goes.
lately i'm the white pigeon. i'm on the other side of the bridge from a majority of my friends. i'm still in the battle for employment, although that load seems to lightening. i live a completely different lifestyle than i did when i was in college and during my immediate post-graduate life. many others are maintaining this lifestyle.
some friends are fading into the backdrop of my successful four year college stint, while other staples i know remain regardless of how often i see them. most of those who have faded have gone quietly, others with a loud, hard thump that ended an inevitable dying cause anyway. sometimes the final nails in the coffin reveal the grave that you were digging at all along. that was a lot more morbid and depressing than intended, but seemingly valid.
but that's what happens with time. you grow. you bloom. you change. people enter and exit your life in both temporary and permanent stages. the motivated, fresh faced adolescent you enter as never matches the older and in some ways wiser version you become. you want new pieces of your life. you want different pieces of your life. and you want to cut weight you didn't recognize as dead to begin with.
so after the personal and interpersonal shake up, you're the white pigeon. but the white pigeon was patient. the white pigeon was secure. and the white pigeon could stand on it's own--at least until a future 'C-Town' customer breezed by, and all of the birds scattered.
most white pigeons are just a flight away from their peers at the next park or local grocery store.
-k.
i promise this is not a blog about the injustices of racial profiling or affirmative action.
at some point, we all feel like the white pigeon. we lay hungry on the outside of our friends who are gobbling up the fruit of this stage of life. we wear a different look than the norm for our age, gender, etc., forgetting that we are all actually just people--at least outside of this metaphor. we are isolated. we are alone. we are standing on our less that impressive talons, just trying to maintain balance and composure. and if we are lucky, once the Ring of Normal breaks, we can swoop in a salvage some of the leftover crumbs.
i'm pretty sure birds can't smirk, but this white pigeon carried itself with a satisfaction as if it could. it wasn't fluttering in chaos. it wasn't frantically pacing like the others. hell, it wasn't even trying to break into the pack and attack the food.
recently, a friend and i discussed the importance of honesty in writing--not only with your readers--but with yourself. she has a point. writing can keep you in check. writing can keep you from falling into the trap of sugarcoating. basically it can prevent you from bullshitting yourself, even if it makes you vulnerable. so here it goes.
lately i'm the white pigeon. i'm on the other side of the bridge from a majority of my friends. i'm still in the battle for employment, although that load seems to lightening. i live a completely different lifestyle than i did when i was in college and during my immediate post-graduate life. many others are maintaining this lifestyle.
some friends are fading into the backdrop of my successful four year college stint, while other staples i know remain regardless of how often i see them. most of those who have faded have gone quietly, others with a loud, hard thump that ended an inevitable dying cause anyway. sometimes the final nails in the coffin reveal the grave that you were digging at all along. that was a lot more morbid and depressing than intended, but seemingly valid.
but that's what happens with time. you grow. you bloom. you change. people enter and exit your life in both temporary and permanent stages. the motivated, fresh faced adolescent you enter as never matches the older and in some ways wiser version you become. you want new pieces of your life. you want different pieces of your life. and you want to cut weight you didn't recognize as dead to begin with.
so after the personal and interpersonal shake up, you're the white pigeon. but the white pigeon was patient. the white pigeon was secure. and the white pigeon could stand on it's own--at least until a future 'C-Town' customer breezed by, and all of the birds scattered.
most white pigeons are just a flight away from their peers at the next park or local grocery store.
-k.
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