This post is a little... rougher... than I'm used to. Maybe I'll polish it up some day. Probably not.
The most important thing you have to remember about anything I write below is that it’s all a lie.
Well, ok, not exactly. I’m not about to spew off a litany of untruths. What I mean is that though what I say may be true, and I certainly believe it to be, my preaching has not yet been fully actualized in personal practice.
What follows is like the inside of a Hallmark card – a lot of text in flowery language that hopefully conveys enough romantic sentiment that it rescues from the dog house the man who chose it only because it’s the cheapest card and it doesn’t have glitter dandruff cascading from its cover. I mean, I’m sure there are some men out there who spend ages finding the perfect card for their woman or man. But there’s that sort of man who needs something quickly from Walgreen’s on his way home because his wife has been texting him about the garbage not going out and the dishes not being washed and Mary Sue across the street just received flowers from her husband and why don’t you ever buy me flowers?
Holy shit, maybe my idea of what life should be has been more heavily influenced by television sitcoms than I realize…
Tangential bit of advice for men that hopefully none of my future girlfriends will ever read: find the card that really expresses how you feel about your special lady, then take a blank card with a pretty picture and hand copy the message of the first card into it. She will think more of you for putting in effort to compose the perfect personalized lovely note just for her.
Every ex-girlfriend of mine reading this is now thinking back on every card I’ve given her to see if it was hand-written. Of course, if you’re already a talented writer, you don’t have to do this. In fact, I’ve never done this myself. I could prose the pants off the ladies, wink wink nudge nudge. I’m sure there’s a joke about my love life in there involving abbreviation or certain punctuation marks; I’ll leave that to your imagination.
So I’ve been struggling with thirty. I’m within 5 months of the milestone number now. Macklemore says “They say thirty is the new twenty, and twenty is the new thirty. Shit I guess makes sense, cause fifteen year olds seem twenty and twenty five year olds seem ten.” I can’t seem to agree with him on that first part, though. I’ve spent the past eight years clinging to 21, as reflected in my booze budget, sleeping habits, and the girls I’ve dated. But lately I’ve said the terms “401(k)” and “personal responsibility” more than ever before.
(And if you think Macklemore is just a thrift-shopping hipster, you really ought to check out his back catalogue. He’s earned his fame, if for nothing more than working with the best producers (shoutout to Budo and Ryan Lewis!))
I’ve let my quest for fullness of life be dictated by externalities for my entire adult life. I’ve emulated the “cool kid” in a bid to earn some of his successes, only to realize that the person I’m looking up to is nothing more special than another guy stumbling through his own problems. The moral of this story, however, would be just around the corner, out of sight, ready to be discovered, and I’d instead cling on to the next attractive-yet-fundamentally-flawed role model, only to become as disenfranchised in him as I did the first. I’ve found my identity in others’ mirrors. I’ve tried on many different hats out of others’ closets. I’ve searched for self in the validation of those around me, a lost dog begging for scraps. If a numerical value could be placed on my self-worth, it is directly proportional to the number of notifications I see when I log on to Facebook. I had no idea who I really am.
I’ve been with my company for 5 years now, longer than any other single job I’ve held. This isn’t just a job, this is a career, too, a label that demands more reverence. My billing rate hasn’t increased very much, and compared to others’ rates, I’m a little low on the pay scale. I know there’s many reasons for that (they have higher cost of living in the Cities, or more experience) but the one that I have to accept responsibility for is that I didn’t earn any raises. I slacked off at work for the better part of two years, doing just enough to not get fired. Wow, for somebody who seeks his self-worth in the approval of others, you’d think I’d be eager to please everyone at work, no?
The most important thing you have to remember about anything I write below is that it’s all a lie.
Well, ok, not exactly. I’m not about to spew off a litany of untruths. What I mean is that though what I say may be true, and I certainly believe it to be, my preaching has not yet been fully actualized in personal practice.
What follows is like the inside of a Hallmark card – a lot of text in flowery language that hopefully conveys enough romantic sentiment that it rescues from the dog house the man who chose it only because it’s the cheapest card and it doesn’t have glitter dandruff cascading from its cover. I mean, I’m sure there are some men out there who spend ages finding the perfect card for their woman or man. But there’s that sort of man who needs something quickly from Walgreen’s on his way home because his wife has been texting him about the garbage not going out and the dishes not being washed and Mary Sue across the street just received flowers from her husband and why don’t you ever buy me flowers?
Holy shit, maybe my idea of what life should be has been more heavily influenced by television sitcoms than I realize…
Tangential bit of advice for men that hopefully none of my future girlfriends will ever read: find the card that really expresses how you feel about your special lady, then take a blank card with a pretty picture and hand copy the message of the first card into it. She will think more of you for putting in effort to compose the perfect personalized lovely note just for her.
Every ex-girlfriend of mine reading this is now thinking back on every card I’ve given her to see if it was hand-written. Of course, if you’re already a talented writer, you don’t have to do this. In fact, I’ve never done this myself. I could prose the pants off the ladies, wink wink nudge nudge. I’m sure there’s a joke about my love life in there involving abbreviation or certain punctuation marks; I’ll leave that to your imagination.
So I’ve been struggling with thirty. I’m within 5 months of the milestone number now. Macklemore says “They say thirty is the new twenty, and twenty is the new thirty. Shit I guess makes sense, cause fifteen year olds seem twenty and twenty five year olds seem ten.” I can’t seem to agree with him on that first part, though. I’ve spent the past eight years clinging to 21, as reflected in my booze budget, sleeping habits, and the girls I’ve dated. But lately I’ve said the terms “401(k)” and “personal responsibility” more than ever before.
(And if you think Macklemore is just a thrift-shopping hipster, you really ought to check out his back catalogue. He’s earned his fame, if for nothing more than working with the best producers (shoutout to Budo and Ryan Lewis!))
I’ve let my quest for fullness of life be dictated by externalities for my entire adult life. I’ve emulated the “cool kid” in a bid to earn some of his successes, only to realize that the person I’m looking up to is nothing more special than another guy stumbling through his own problems. The moral of this story, however, would be just around the corner, out of sight, ready to be discovered, and I’d instead cling on to the next attractive-yet-fundamentally-flawed role model, only to become as disenfranchised in him as I did the first. I’ve found my identity in others’ mirrors. I’ve tried on many different hats out of others’ closets. I’ve searched for self in the validation of those around me, a lost dog begging for scraps. If a numerical value could be placed on my self-worth, it is directly proportional to the number of notifications I see when I log on to Facebook. I had no idea who I really am.
I’ve been with my company for 5 years now, longer than any other single job I’ve held. This isn’t just a job, this is a career, too, a label that demands more reverence. My billing rate hasn’t increased very much, and compared to others’ rates, I’m a little low on the pay scale. I know there’s many reasons for that (they have higher cost of living in the Cities, or more experience) but the one that I have to accept responsibility for is that I didn’t earn any raises. I slacked off at work for the better part of two years, doing just enough to not get fired. Wow, for somebody who seeks his self-worth in the approval of others, you’d think I’d be eager to please everyone at work, no?
The bitterest pill to swallow is realizing that the sum of
these misguided parts has been my love life of the last 3 years. Now I’m not going to bad-talk anybody here (
a habit I’m eager to break, mind you), I’ll just say that I clung desperately
to broken relationships for far longer than was sane, let alone healthy. I’d
sacrifice and make promises that ultimately I couldn’t keep, I’d fight both
literally and figuratively, all because I was afraid of being alone. Facebook status: single. By myself.
Because really, I hated myself when I was alone. I hated aspects of my life I let get out of control, be it late bills, credit card debts piling up, messy house and piles of laundry built up. I hated myself because I lacked the discipline that would have prevented these issues, lacked the discipline to fix these issues, lacked an external outlet (in the form of a girlfriend) for my anger, and lacked the awareness to even realize just how much I was shifting the blame for all of the above to anyone but me.
Basically: I had no personal responsibility for myself. I needed to learn how to be an accountable and reliable adult. I knew that that was the path to the happiness I’d missed.
Because really, I hated myself when I was alone. I hated aspects of my life I let get out of control, be it late bills, credit card debts piling up, messy house and piles of laundry built up. I hated myself because I lacked the discipline that would have prevented these issues, lacked the discipline to fix these issues, lacked an external outlet (in the form of a girlfriend) for my anger, and lacked the awareness to even realize just how much I was shifting the blame for all of the above to anyone but me.
Basically: I had no personal responsibility for myself. I needed to learn how to be an accountable and reliable adult. I knew that that was the path to the happiness I’d missed.
Sure, most people who have known me will argue that I was
never that bad, that I’ve been a pretty happy and jovial dude. Fact of the
matter is, everyone has their internal demons, and I got good at hiding mine.
On the other hand, let me take a moment to acknowledge that I’m not diminishing
the struggles of people with diagnosed depression, or those whose life stresses
tower over mine. This isn’t a woe-is-me tale.
The trick to happiness is to take control of the things you
can control, and for the other things, you fake it ‘til you make it.
I’ve started concentrating on my work, doing better and
getting back on everyone’s good side, but the most major thing I did was take
responsibility for my personal happiness. I knew I was poison to my
relationships, so I made it a point to stay single for a while. I wasn’t going
to replace my latest ex, nor would I allow myself to pursue another lover
without first being happy with myself. “You can’t expect other people to be happy
with you if you’re not happy with yourself” became my new mantra. I had a few
opportunities for dating, but I was still apprehensive and, well, scared of
myself. I learned that a relationship is not required to complete my life;
rather it should be a way for me to share my complete life with another person,
who ideally would do the same with me.
As I've written before, I lost a bit of weight during this
period. At my heaviest, I tipped the scale at 355 lbs. That’s two of a normal
man! But suddenly I was seeing 330, then 325 on my digital scale, and while I
did actively to earn it, I embraced it and vowed never to pass those numbers
again. A year later, with minimal work (and I do mean nearly non-existent) I’m
currently at 310, but feeling better than ever. My cholesterol and blood sugar
levels fell to acceptable levels. My face thinned and I lost one of my chins.
Clothes fit me much better and I look and feel better in them.
I bought a house. My credit card balance is currently zero, and while I’ve hit that milestone a few times in the past year, this time I’m maintaining a zero balance for a lot longer, and don’t feel in danger of needing to, barring of course any emergencies. My bills are all caught up. I haven’t gotten any savings yet, and don’t yet contribute to my 401(k) as I should, but I’ll get there. My other debts aren’t all repaid, but I’ll get there.
I’ve even started dating again, with minimal results. But a certain special girl helped coax me out of my shell and I found myself unafraid of myself, content with myself. Happy with myself. Not all the time, but I’ll get there.
I bought a house. My credit card balance is currently zero, and while I’ve hit that milestone a few times in the past year, this time I’m maintaining a zero balance for a lot longer, and don’t feel in danger of needing to, barring of course any emergencies. My bills are all caught up. I haven’t gotten any savings yet, and don’t yet contribute to my 401(k) as I should, but I’ll get there. My other debts aren’t all repaid, but I’ll get there.
I’ve even started dating again, with minimal results. But a certain special girl helped coax me out of my shell and I found myself unafraid of myself, content with myself. Happy with myself. Not all the time, but I’ll get there.
And here’s the aforementioned lie: I still search for
approval in others. Why else would I be writing a blog? Why else would I try to
post music, quotes, or jokes on Facebook? When my friends attribute their
boring morning shits to the lack of my status updates for them to read on their
smartphones, I feel like I’m something of worth. When blogger extraordinaire
F-Dot tells me to increase my readership, I should post something on the
regular, I scoff at the idea that my artistic value be corralled by publishing
deadlines, but I also want to see increased readership, and more importantly,
feedback or discussion. Sorry, Mom, but your thumbs up, while much appreciated,
is rarely sufficient. I’m not completely independent of approval of others for
my self-worth, but I’ll get there.
I see old habits creeping up on me when I’m seeing a girl, too. I suppose I should be extremely happy that I’m recognizing them as they occur, rather than stumbling through oblivious, but even with a chance to nip them in the bud, I still find myself doing the wrong things a few times before making the choice that’s most right for me. If my life were a choose-your-own-adventure book, I’d definitely be guilty of flipping back to my last page before choosing the story-ending option. For a book, that’s alright. In a relationship? Not so much. But I’ll get there.
I’ve read many self-help forums on Reddit, The Art of Manliness, No More Mr. Nice Guy. I’ve even internalized some of the platitudes presented therein and can regurgitate them to help anybody who might listen. But I don’t always live by them myself. I’m a work in progress, and I discover more of myself day by day. Sometimes these words of advice are tried and true advice given with the weight and reverence of experience. Sometimes they are the words inside a hastily-chosen greeting card, and sometimes I have to read them after I give them to make sure I choose correctly or to see if I should go back and get a proper “I’m sorry” card.
But should I have to do that, I’m prepared to take responsibility for my mistakes and fix them. No more blaming anything else but me. I hope that those of you who know me can say that he doesn’t always practice what he preaches… but he’ll get there.
I see old habits creeping up on me when I’m seeing a girl, too. I suppose I should be extremely happy that I’m recognizing them as they occur, rather than stumbling through oblivious, but even with a chance to nip them in the bud, I still find myself doing the wrong things a few times before making the choice that’s most right for me. If my life were a choose-your-own-adventure book, I’d definitely be guilty of flipping back to my last page before choosing the story-ending option. For a book, that’s alright. In a relationship? Not so much. But I’ll get there.
I’ve read many self-help forums on Reddit, The Art of Manliness, No More Mr. Nice Guy. I’ve even internalized some of the platitudes presented therein and can regurgitate them to help anybody who might listen. But I don’t always live by them myself. I’m a work in progress, and I discover more of myself day by day. Sometimes these words of advice are tried and true advice given with the weight and reverence of experience. Sometimes they are the words inside a hastily-chosen greeting card, and sometimes I have to read them after I give them to make sure I choose correctly or to see if I should go back and get a proper “I’m sorry” card.
But should I have to do that, I’m prepared to take responsibility for my mistakes and fix them. No more blaming anything else but me. I hope that those of you who know me can say that he doesn’t always practice what he preaches… but he’ll get there.
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