Since 2010 began, I ended a relationship everyone always told me to hold onto tightly. I quit my job as a standout copywriter in Nebraska to come to Chicago and swim in a sea with the other million people who work in marketing. I left friends who I’d been close with since my first day of college. I gave up my swanky studio apartment and come-and-go-as-I-please lifestyle to live with my parents for two months, and then alongside two others in a small apartment downtown. And, finally, I was diagnosed with something incurable, yet treatable, that I had never even heard of before receiving “the call.”
Man, I thought John Cusack said 2012 was supposed to be the year shit hit the fan?
Nonetheless, I’m convinced right now that if I wasn’t so worn out (Sunday – Thursday) or drunk (Friday – Saturday) before going to bed, I would have faced the fact that I have yet to feel any degree of at home or at peace since returning to Chicago. But thanks to my daily agenda and social calendar working in tandem, I’ve been able to avoid reality pretty regularly and keep my chin up.
But just when I think it’s all quiet on the crazy front, I remember I have an audience – and they want answers.
Evidently, I’m more or less a Ringmaster coordinating some grandiose circus known as My Life. And everyone from my closest family member to my most estranged acquaintance somehow has a ticket to this madness, whether I like it or not. And in their seats, as they sit back and watch the show unfold, it has come to my attention that they are all expecting the elephant to just flat out squash me, or the ring of fire to take my head off. But, as time goes by, they see one stunt after the next pulled off with precision and poise. And by the end of the show, they want to know how I did it.
Fair enough, considering no one is in a rush to orchestrate any madness of their own, right? So I share. Not just because everyone wants to know what life is like after peril, but because I love storytelling. As such, I found that the more I dished on things like my breakup or an outpatient surgery you’d think was alien research, the more I realized…I am the worst case scenario. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
What I’ve come to realize is that by sharing one fail after the next, I’m really trading you a “heads up” on life in exchange for one of the best compliments one could ever get in life – being called an inspiration. And because I’ve been hearing that a lot lately, I now know there’s something very right about the things that have gone wrong with me.
And that alone puts me at peace, at last.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Thursday, March 18, 2010
My Radical Routine Life
Yesterday I did something I typically try to refrain from doing at all costs: I read someone else’s blog. This is hard for me since I get good-writer envy, but I figured I’d tool around with what was out there.
As it turned out, what was one man’s casual transition, was the perfect subject of my latest entry. This particular writer was discussing a very common problem known as “delusional” people. And in his entry, he had commented that “life has a lot of down-time,” before slamming the next disillusioned Joe Schmoe.
Now I could easily go on and create my own post about the delusional people in my life – most recently the middle-aged man who was sitting next to me on the 7:57am Express Metra filling out his “Big D*** Competition” entry form for RAM Night Club. But that would be so rich in content, I’d prefer to put it in a book rather than a blog.
Instead, I’ll focus on that whole “life has a lot of down-time” thing.
How true is that? I mean, for the most part, I’m just hanging. And by “just hanging,” I mean taking part in what has now been established as my routine – a pattern of behavior that goes a little something like this: work, workout, relax, party, relax, repeat.
Not to generalize or anything, but I would imagine if you’re like me, then your life probably looks a little something like that as well – perhaps with a boyfriend/girlfriend and a hobby peppered in here and there. But what I’m starting to notice is that more and more people are for some reason vehemently against the commonality that’s at the root of this all, and therefore, are quick to say that it’s the moments that shake things up in life that “truly define us.”
Unbeknownst to me, I decided to test this theory.
In the last three months I quit my job. Broke my lease. Ended my relationship of two years. Moved to a new state. Started a job in a brand new industry. Moved in with my parents in the suburbs. Moved out of my parent’s and to the city. Went from living alone to living with two people and a dog. Went from driving to work to taking a train. And the list of radical changes goes on…
So now the question becomes, do I feel like these moments defined me? No, they defined hell, actually.
Who likes breaking hearts? How fun is moving? Who would opt to live with their parents after years of being independent? Come on, people. I was thrust out of my perfectly happy life to put up with all this? Can you blame me for not wanting to award these times as the “defining moments” in my life?
In fact, the Oscar ought to go to My Down-Time for best directing my life. Because I’d do whatever humanly possible to not disrupt my down-time – after all, it probably accounts for 90% of my time on earth. The other 10% is reserved for awesome adventures a.k.a., utter disturbances.
It is my guess that most people my age have fallen into some pattern by now. The good ones are called routines. The bad ones are called ruts. And as much as we knock “routine living”, let’s face it, one radical change after the next is not all that it’s cracked up to be. Very rarely is your life full of a series of cave-diving excursions and swimming with the sharks. Unfortunately, these major moments have less fun and more strife attached to them than people prefer to acknowledge.
I don’t know about you, but it is my goal to find a routine that rocks and call it good. If you want to be part of it, let me know.
As it turned out, what was one man’s casual transition, was the perfect subject of my latest entry. This particular writer was discussing a very common problem known as “delusional” people. And in his entry, he had commented that “life has a lot of down-time,” before slamming the next disillusioned Joe Schmoe.
Now I could easily go on and create my own post about the delusional people in my life – most recently the middle-aged man who was sitting next to me on the 7:57am Express Metra filling out his “Big D*** Competition” entry form for RAM Night Club. But that would be so rich in content, I’d prefer to put it in a book rather than a blog.
Instead, I’ll focus on that whole “life has a lot of down-time” thing.
How true is that? I mean, for the most part, I’m just hanging. And by “just hanging,” I mean taking part in what has now been established as my routine – a pattern of behavior that goes a little something like this: work, workout, relax, party, relax, repeat.
Not to generalize or anything, but I would imagine if you’re like me, then your life probably looks a little something like that as well – perhaps with a boyfriend/girlfriend and a hobby peppered in here and there. But what I’m starting to notice is that more and more people are for some reason vehemently against the commonality that’s at the root of this all, and therefore, are quick to say that it’s the moments that shake things up in life that “truly define us.”
Unbeknownst to me, I decided to test this theory.
In the last three months I quit my job. Broke my lease. Ended my relationship of two years. Moved to a new state. Started a job in a brand new industry. Moved in with my parents in the suburbs. Moved out of my parent’s and to the city. Went from living alone to living with two people and a dog. Went from driving to work to taking a train. And the list of radical changes goes on…
So now the question becomes, do I feel like these moments defined me? No, they defined hell, actually.
Who likes breaking hearts? How fun is moving? Who would opt to live with their parents after years of being independent? Come on, people. I was thrust out of my perfectly happy life to put up with all this? Can you blame me for not wanting to award these times as the “defining moments” in my life?
In fact, the Oscar ought to go to My Down-Time for best directing my life. Because I’d do whatever humanly possible to not disrupt my down-time – after all, it probably accounts for 90% of my time on earth. The other 10% is reserved for awesome adventures a.k.a., utter disturbances.
It is my guess that most people my age have fallen into some pattern by now. The good ones are called routines. The bad ones are called ruts. And as much as we knock “routine living”, let’s face it, one radical change after the next is not all that it’s cracked up to be. Very rarely is your life full of a series of cave-diving excursions and swimming with the sharks. Unfortunately, these major moments have less fun and more strife attached to them than people prefer to acknowledge.
I don’t know about you, but it is my goal to find a routine that rocks and call it good. If you want to be part of it, let me know.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Pain? Or party?
For starters: a sore throat always sets in slowly, but surely. It's like one minute you swallow and your fine, and the next you notice a small twinge of pain. Take that as a sign that by morning, it's going to suck and you'll probably have a nosebleed and sinus pressure to accompany it since bad things come in threes. At this point, there's really nothing you can do besides pour yourself a glass of orange juice and stuff a kleenex up your nostrils before bed.
Which brings me to my next point: don't skimp on tissues. Unlike opting for 1-ply toilet paper in a pinch, tissues can not get the shaft. In fact, I've noticed since the last time that I was sick, a new product came out - Puffs Plus with Aloe with Vick's Vapor Rub! These sheets are crazy - that minty, tingly scent hits you like you just shoved your nose in a jar of the good stuff. I don't know why I like it, but I think it has something to do with the fact that I get a small buzz each time I blow my nose. A two-for-one, I love it!
Then: pop the Sudafed. This is the stuff people use to make meth, so it must be good - or at least, strong, which is what you need when your head feels like it's about to explode.
And finally: get a boyfriend/girlfriend. Even the best of friends can make up an excuse why they can't make a run to the grocery store and get you soup when it's -15 degrees out, but the significant other cannot - I repeat cannot - hide from this obligation. One suggestion: always opt for him or her to run to a grocery store over the drugstore - it makes asking for little extras like "cheesecake bites if they've got them" (of course they got them) easier.
All in all, it looks like the remedy to the common cold is a little huffing from the Vick's on my tissues, followed by popping mini-meth, also known as, Sudafed, with a dash of hand-delivered cheesecake bites. Sounds like a party to me.
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