"It's it. What is it?"
They say to “Fake it til you make it.” as if this idiom is some god-given key back to Eden. Maybe it is, and maybe I just haven't faked it enough to make it to his holy Christmas gift list.
But then again I've never really been the sort of person to buy season tickets for the home games in that particular heavenly arena (though once upon a time in my life, sure, I've flirted around with partying in the tailgating lots, but I think that was more for the burgers than anything). No, I've always searched for my proverbial “it” in other people, digging for my happiness in the approval and acceptance of those people around me, surrounding myself in people and seeking the praise and adoration of other people.
Hell is other people.
They say to “Fake it til you make it.” as if this idiom is some god-given key back to Eden. Maybe it is, and maybe I just haven't faked it enough to make it to his holy Christmas gift list.
But then again I've never really been the sort of person to buy season tickets for the home games in that particular heavenly arena (though once upon a time in my life, sure, I've flirted around with partying in the tailgating lots, but I think that was more for the burgers than anything). No, I've always searched for my proverbial “it” in other people, digging for my happiness in the approval and acceptance of those people around me, surrounding myself in people and seeking the praise and adoration of other people.
Hell is other people.
So as many self-help books and
motivational speakers as stars in the sky have preached “fake it til
you make it.” And they might have some sliver of a good idea there.
Isn't manufactured happiness happiness nonetheless? I mean, we've
manufactured artificial diamonds that are cheaper, stronger, more precise and
perfect than the real things, and industrial drillers and
brides-to-be alike are all the more happier for them, no?
The other night delivered melancholy to
me, and I wasn't alone in it. Deuce, who was recently dealt a Club on
the river while all-in on the Diamonds flush draw, expressed his need
for a little bro-mmiserating as well. Despite an early weekend shift
for him and a daunting and expensive drive across the Range for me, I
knew I couldn't leave Mr. Positivity hanging. It would be downright
un-homey of me, and if Deuce values anything above all, it's his
homies. How many times did I find unexpected (and to me, undeserved)
consolation in his words of praise and his confidence in me as a
person? It was the least I could do to return the favor. So I
swallowed my relatively minor depressions and sped away to the
rescue. I faked it til we both made it, and shit, I daresay we both
had a better night than we could have hoped.
So maybe there is some magical genesis of it to be found in faking it. It's hard to say right now, though. Right now I definitely don't have it nor am I even faking it. Tonight I'm searching for it in the words of a girl, texts on my phone, and probably more foolishly in the imaginary words I'm conjuring between the lines. Her silence might mean she's fallen asleep. It might mean I'm at the base of the wrong tree and should give up my barking. It's definitely the search for it that led me to put myself through hell for some of the girls in my past, that's for sure.
If we read on in this hypothetical anthology of self-deliverance propoganda, we might come to understand that we cannot find our it in another person, we can only find their it and allow them to share it with us. But that doesn't work unless we have a full and firm grasp on our it, our sense of worth and well-being. Take it from me, it's pretty easy to despair at the seeming paradox. Just as the recent college graduate sees every job opportunity looking for 5 years of experience on an entry-level position and questions the sanity of the world, every person who, like me, feels like they can't have it until they get it from someone else, then gets told that they have to have it before they can get someone else's it, has at least once scoffed at the illogical absurdity of it.
Sometimes I still do.
So I guess I can read all these gospel instructions to fake it til you make it, and that will lead to finding someone to share it with, and though I can't believe them very easily, I'll just have to fake it til I do, then start faking it til I make it. Once I find it, I'll let you know.
So maybe there is some magical genesis of it to be found in faking it. It's hard to say right now, though. Right now I definitely don't have it nor am I even faking it. Tonight I'm searching for it in the words of a girl, texts on my phone, and probably more foolishly in the imaginary words I'm conjuring between the lines. Her silence might mean she's fallen asleep. It might mean I'm at the base of the wrong tree and should give up my barking. It's definitely the search for it that led me to put myself through hell for some of the girls in my past, that's for sure.
If we read on in this hypothetical anthology of self-deliverance propoganda, we might come to understand that we cannot find our it in another person, we can only find their it and allow them to share it with us. But that doesn't work unless we have a full and firm grasp on our it, our sense of worth and well-being. Take it from me, it's pretty easy to despair at the seeming paradox. Just as the recent college graduate sees every job opportunity looking for 5 years of experience on an entry-level position and questions the sanity of the world, every person who, like me, feels like they can't have it until they get it from someone else, then gets told that they have to have it before they can get someone else's it, has at least once scoffed at the illogical absurdity of it.
Sometimes I still do.
So I guess I can read all these gospel instructions to fake it til you make it, and that will lead to finding someone to share it with, and though I can't believe them very easily, I'll just have to fake it til I do, then start faking it til I make it. Once I find it, I'll let you know.
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