Missing Her

“You will lose someone you can’t live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly — that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.” - Anne Lamott

So, the pain doesn't go away, it just becomes more familiar and, with time, the pain is less a reminder that she died and more a reminder that she lived and how much I loved her.

It feels like there is a giant hole in the middle of me. And at the same time I'm standing on the precipice of that hole, about to fall in. And the hole must be a well, because I think if I fell in I would drown.

I think the person who loved me more than anyone else is gone.

FUCK YOU, cancer.

-Age

It's Hard to Follow Tangents. Even for Bombastic Jerks Like Me.

Life is a confusing mess. The only way to simplify matters is to acknowledge the truth of that statement. Once we've accepted that shit just happens and not every moment of life means something or is a part of some Great Master Plan of God or The Universe, it makes things much more manageable. Personally.

I'm not saying life doesn't have meaning. It absolutely does. But meaning is subjective. Because life is ultimately meaningless in The Grand Scheme of Things (which doesn't actually make sense since I just pointed out that a Grand Scheme doesn't actually exist but bear with me) we get to decide what is meaningful to us, with the knowledge that those same things are likely not meaningful to the majority of others, the world, or cosmos. Just us. Which simplifies things further. Convenient.

If my career is an ultimately meaningless endeavor that does nothing more then bring me money and a sense of self-worth or satisfaction, it could be just about anything. Something I enjoy, in a setting I enjoy, with people I like and a comfortable chair. I haven't actually found that yet because I don't enjoy most things for 40 hours a week except maybe eating or playing sports or sitting on the beach with a good book and I'd die quickly if I did the first, I'm not good enough at anything to be paid for the second, and the third is what retired people get to do if their pre-retirement job paid pretty well so I'd be taking away my whole 65+ agenda and no one would pay me to do that either, unless I was a book critic which would be lovely but I have no idea how to become one of those and I think I may be too old (too lazy) to try and be one now. So what should I do with my life? According to me, it doesn't really matter. Which sounds harsh I guess, but it's actually just realistic, freeing me up to find meaning in whatever it is I decide to do for whatever reasons I decide to do it. Handy, really.

My optimistic and pessimistic sides battle constantly over who's right and who's best. Right and best are often different things. My pessimistic side is probably right but people are always telling you that being optimistic is so much better and it's all about perspective. Is it? Is it really? Is it my perspective of a shitty situation that makes it not shitty? I don't think so. I think when things suck, it's OK to feel bad. Or mad or sad or depressed or a little (or a lot) crazy.

Now, I also understand that there are levels of appropriateness for our feelings. Boundless happiness is almost always permitted because it is unlikely to cause physical or emotional harm to others. Unbridled anger or frustration can, however, belittle, hurt, sadden, and bring tears or bruises to others so it should be checked. But if you need to vent over the phone to your BFF for a few minutes about how much you hate airports, you have every right. And that BFF should say something like, "That sounds really frustrating, I'm sorry. I hope the rest your the day gets better." Because we're human and we're allowed our emotions.

Anyway, back to the optimism vs pessimism situation. I agree with Louie CK, whose show I've just started watching/loving, that there are a series of choices that exist in life and even the best of them lead, ultimately, to heartache, tears, and emotional disaster. I also agree with those who see every day as a precious gift and encourage others to make the most of the life they have now. Which of these two perspectives I choose to focus depends on the day. Sometimes the weather. Certainly the time of month. Maybe even full moons, who knows? But the battle forges on.

When people say they are happy, what does that mean? Surely you can't be happy all the time. What about when bad things happen to you or to people you love? You must be something besides happy then. That's when people say that of course they feel sadness and anger but, in general, they are happy people. What does that mean? Is that based on a percentage? If the emotions we feel most often over the course of our lives from the time we were born until the age we are now were put into percentage points, I imagine my emotions would look something like this: 33% Sleepy, 25% Focused, 17% Amused. I suppose happiness could fit into some of those. Can you be a happy sleepy? Does focusing on my goals make me happy now or only after/if I complete them? I'm certainly happy when I'm amused so that's a relief. But am I a happy person? I just don't know.

Happiness is elusive. Life is confusing and messy. Existence is futile. And yet I love my life. I really love it. It's an extremely precious thing and I am SO blessed. I couldn't possibly believe in a God because of how blessed I am. I realize this seems contradictory but it isn't. I'm blessed and people all over the world are starving, abused, sold, and ruined. And here I am. Not that my worries or cares aren't valid. My life has tragedies. But my opportunities and advantages are so unbelievably unfair when compared to the global lack that a just and loving Superior Being seems unlikely. Immense wealth in the hands of few is balanced by populous groups of people whose value depends on their relation to the poverty line. I drive my car to Starbucks and children sleep hungry. What can I do about it? Very little. Not that I won't try. Of course I will. Maybe that's what happiness is: trying. We all try, we do what we can, and we find satisfaction in the effort. Happiness is fickle, like hope.

These are my thoughts. They confuse me too. I think that putting them in writing will help to make sense of them but it doesn't. It's all still pretty confusing and jumbled. But now that I don't believe in God it frees me up to believe in other things. Which I think is what all this mess is about. What do I believe in? Humanity? Relationships? Chaos? Love? They all seem like reasonable choices.

-Age

The PC's Like Going From VCR to DVD

What was the Peace Corps like?

Well, it was like…..it was sort of like……pretty much it was like going on vacation. Except for a really long time and you don’t have any money and it’s not nearly as much fun and you’re kind of just waiting around for it to be over but you feel like The Shit while you’re there and even when you get back, if you want to impress someone, all you have to do is slyly mention that you were a Peace Corps volunteer doing development work in a faraway country and automatically you’re cooler than anyone else at the table. Unless you’re at a table with an astronaut who’s been to the moon. Astronauts always win. I try not to associate with them.

It’s kind of like that.

How to sum up 2 years, 11 weeks of your life in a few sentences (or paragraphs if the person asking is really asking and not just trying to be polite)?

It was frustrating and boring and really hard. I found the language challenging, the culture emotionally intense, and I didn’t end up doing many of the things I imagined myself doing. I cheated a lot and, instead of integrating into my community, spent the weekend in other towns with other Americans.

I loved the people and hated them. I could feel both simultaneously cuz I got to know them - really got to know them –talked about the culture and the ideals and the social norms constantly, dissecting with fellow PCVs the dynamics of a place that we couldn’t accept (always aware of our own arrogance while at the same time convinced we were right). I loved the people because the ones I met, the ones that touched my life and I’ll never forget, were wonderful. I couldn’t help but think that in many other places they would do so much better for themselves and yet I was so glad they were there because their country really needed them. DevelopingCountry was a better place with them in it as they provided a sense of hope – hope being that tortuous thing that every place and person needs but doesn’t trust completely.

Yet for some inexplicable reason I now feel restless. I know, many of us know, that if we had the opportunity, we would leave the life we have now, jump on a plane with nothing more than a few pairs of clothes in a backpack and travel to some new developing place and not feel an ounce of trepidation. On the contrary, it would feel right. We would know we were just where we were supposed to be and the lack of stability would be comforting – it being an adventure that makes all of the questions marks in our life seem insignificant, like semi-colons that no one ever uses or trusts.

But instead, I’m being a grown-up with this story from my past that’s too long to actually be a good story that people would listen to.

The Peace Corps was like pushing the pause button on  your American life, living a completely different one, and then coming back to push play – except that all the images on the screen look different now and you want to push pause again.

Or maybe it was like something else. What do I know?

-Age

The Beginning of the End...Of My 20s

You know how sometimes you’re encouraged to consider life in perspective? For example, whenever life gets you down people will mention that you live in New York City and you have loving friends and family but there are people all over the world starving, suppressed, and far worse off than you are right now. So perk up! That’s completely legitimate. Helpful even, at times. But it doesn’t really get to the root of the problem you’re having. It doesn’t make your life better it just makes your life seem better in comparison to, well, complete and utter tragedy. As far as I’m concerned, if you get to the point where you need to start weighing your life against the lives of those who are forced to face a living hell every day then you probably do have something to worry about.

I try not to compare. It doesn’t seem fair to either of us.

I’m currently a little low. This happens. It’s not a cry for help or a need for any kind of reassurance (In fact, it makes sense that these moments come out in this medium because I write when I feel strongly about something and the writing of it usually helps immensely because all I want, all anyone really wants, is for other people to know me and I write my feelings and thoughts much better than I say them). I know what my life looks like right now – what’s good, what’s bad, what needs improvement, and what should make me proud. I know how much I weigh and the length and color of my hair. I’m pretty familiar with me. I’m just a little low.

What I’m worried about is balancing. Balancing all the important aspects of A Life. The type of life I think I’m supposed to have and the type of life I want. It’s not very harmonious currently and I’m not entirely sure what to do about it. I could blame grad school and rightly so as it consumes so many of my waking hours. However, I’m 29 years old and I’ve never had a real job, never been in a serious romantic relationship, and still couldn’t tell you with any kind of certainty where I’ll be in two years let alone five. There’s more than grad school to blame here. 

I could try blaming my parents. That something in the raising of me went horribly wrong and now I can’t grow up. But that’s not fair either because I think being a “grown-up” means that you are responsible, respectful, kind, generous, honest, and goal-oriented with meaningful relationships and an ability to see yourself for who you are and continue to make changes – all things my parents raised me to be and believe in. 

I don’t know what it is. I’ve made great strides to overcome my shyness and I’m doing fabulously. I talk to lots of people (even initiate conversation!), I make friends (albeit slowly), I can take the lead, input my opinions, laugh and play and get serious and be real. However, what I’ve noticed is that people my age or older tend to intimidate me. I spent most of my life with friends my age and we get along just fine. My best friend doesn’t intimidate me of course and we’re only months apart in age. However, in the Peace Corps most of my friends were a few years younger. Here, in graduate school, many students are a few years younger. I feel a connection to them because we are at similar places in our lives, however, the strides I need to be making socially are the types of strides that put me in contact with people my age. I need to be able to relate to someone on the same level in more substantial ways. That is currently hard to find and I’m struggling. 

Here I am again, grappling to find a conclusion for this post. Probably because there is no conclusion. I have no bright ideas or epiphanies as to how I should tackle this problem. I won’t compare myself to any of the women in Half the Sky because that would only serve to disrespect their heroism. In fact, I’m sure they’d have great advice for me. They’d probably say something like Get over it already! Jeez! Or maybe not. Maybe we’d strategize a plan to get me feeling more like a consonant adult. Then I’ll do that plan, it’ll work, I’ll write a book about it, and become a multi-millionaire, helping other late-20-somethings like myself! Perfect. 

-Age

It's Not Personal, It's Just Business

I resent them for being fitter than me and healthier than me and wealthier with this forced perfection that they all emit from every perfectly stitched seam of their designer clothes to every pore of their luxuriously spa-ed skin.

You can see their money and hear it. They're so polished, coiffed and sleek. The sound of their voice tells you where they grew up, where they went to school, the types of conversations they're a part of during their well-manicured tirade through the corporate world.

I try not to feel so obviously covetous, so jealous of the possessions and appearance and status I never knew I wanted til I saw it draped across a back, shining from an ear, glinting off a tie, or jutting from a hip bone through $75.00 spandex yoga pants.

I catch myself sometimes wishing I could wear some sort of badge or transmit a kind of telepathic signal that lets people know I was in the Peace Corps or that I'm working on a graduate degree. Some sort of, "Hey, I'm impressive too," referencing those things about me that seem important but really aren't.

I lived in a small village in Bulgaria and taught English. So did my Bulgarian counterpart and no one's praising her for her selflessness or adventurous spirit. Not that I'm trying to diminish my service. I'm just being realistic. The impact made on me was far greater than any imprint I left. And maybe these people feel the same way - that too big a deal is made out of what they do and who they are.

I suppose it's possible that they're like Lance Armstrong - forced to do what they don't want to in order to compete with everyone else who, ironically, feels the same way. Doping up for the race, striving for success even if the means to The End cause them to keep up in ways that are counterdispositional.

However, no more excuses for them. Or me. Let's continue, shall we?

It's the couples that really get me: gorgeous paired with gorgeous. Above-average-made-gorgeous-by-nice-clothes-over-sinewy-muscles paired with above-average-made-gorgeous-by-golden-highlights-dangling-inches-above-kickboxing-asses.

They make me want to get my hair cut by someone named Jean Luc and eat celery on purpose.

Now, I know you're chastising me in your minds telling me I should be satisfied with who I am and the life I'm living. I know that. Trust me, I do. And I am. Seriously, I am. It's just that sometimes I want shiny things too.

-Age