One of my favorite pastimes is having juvenile life realizations and, with my self-righteous stock of words, attempting to convey the seemingly profound to any readership I may have. My mind reels, my fingers fly across the keyboard, and I think, “I want this excitement to be infectious, this enlightenment to be liberating!”. Meanwhile my trite discovery already sits stale in the back of every other well-adjusted adult’s mind and I’m over here betting and banking on the hope that you all find this process endearing, if not mildly entertaining. With that being said, welcome back! It’s been a while. (For my next act of self-deprecation I’ll rip into how pretentious I sound in the written word!)
While I’m making a laundry list, another one of my favorite pastimes is referring a facing party to an inappropriate rap or R&B song as musical reinforcement to topics both minor and major,
mostly sometimes without being asked. Upon further reflection I suppose this makes me an unsolicited, tailor-made hype man. For those who I frequently come in contact with, I’m sorry.
Aside from the fact that my music taste has been developmentally stagnant for the past year and a half since I posted in this blog I’d like to believe I’ve had a slew of earthmoving epiphanies that have set me well on my way to becoming the woman I want to be, von Furstenburg style. Posting back up in the writing game has been on my mind for a couple months now, but you know how these things go: life interrupts, inspiration lacks, work overwhelms, and family issues forge ahead. Translation: I don’t have any real problems and just allocate my time poorly, mostly by watching bootleg episodes of Nashville. Unintended personal improvement as a result of months submerged in the depths of self-analyzation all propelled by crappy, unforeseen life circumstances sounds a lot more romantic though, so if you’d like to think that’s where I’ve been that’s okay with me.
Anyway, I’m here now so let’s press on, shall we?
When I came to New York I was immediately gripped by the scramble to The Top. If I’m being honest, I was in it’s clutches before I even boarded that ghetto Spirit Airlines plane to JFK. A flamboyant flight attendant listened with wide-eyed interest as I Regina-George-smiled and chatted about my one way ticket to New York and my securing an internship at Oscar de la Renta from the jump. What he didn’t know is that 1) my internship was a mere week and a half and 2) my mom’s a flight attendant and I had a return flight pass within arm’s reach in the likely case I crashed and burned in NYC. It didn’t matter to me, as far as he knew I was cool. I was cool to someone and that was a high that marked the genesis of what was to be a steep social and professional climb.
In the past couple years I’ve bounded and woven my way through the professional thicket, rubbing elbows and picking up knowledge, oft in the unlikeliest places. An equal-opportunity information sponge, I adopted social mannerisms I deemed necessary after careful observation and meticulous rehearsal. I joined the right club, moved to the right neighborhood, dated the right man, and took the right meetings. I wore the right shoes, went to the right bars, worked at the right fashion label, and radiated the right nonchalance. It bums me out about myself that it took me this long to realize that while none of these “right” people, places, or things are inherently wrong, the perception of them as de rigueur can be crippling. No matter my progression, there was always something I still lacked rendering me unqualified. Wait, unqualified for what? Here’s the part where I’m going to say something trite that you all already know and patiently waited for me to piece together: The thirst is unquenchable because The Top is a nonexistent pinnacle. (My truth bombs are mind blowing, I know.) The rat race we self-employ is exhausting and would be comical if it weren’t, well, such a bummer. I feel grateful that I lost my footing on that analogous steep climb as it caused me to free fall right into a big ole humble pie, equipping me with a new perspective.
It’s easy to find yourself in the throes of chasing unrealistic ideals and unaware that the process and mindset are actually afflictions, just like that brand Affliction that also sucks. From what I can tell life is both long and short at the same time and I genuinely think most people are just out here trying to do their best, which is why it’s so important to be kind and patient with others and yourself. (That sounds offensively obvious but I know I surprise myself with how often I’m in violation of that concept.) In doing one’s best sometimes what’s “right” is mistaken for what’s actually right for an individual. Making a conscious effort to stick to the latter is a challenge well worth the effort because the simple notion that your best is good enough is a surprisingly massive wave of relief. It’s like lifting a weight that no one really needed you to carry to begin with. Put it down, try it out, treat yoself.