Some recent learnings, better late than never.
I spend more time than I would like lamenting in my mind about how my life is not as awesome as I want it to be, or not as awesome as it used to be.
Some important things to keep in mind though is that my memories of my life being awesome are deeply modified by time and the retelling to myself of what was.
I can summon the few moments of brilliance from three years of a spectacularly dysfunctional relationship... and I long to recapture that brilliance, conveniently forgetting how the codependence and mutual abuse made me literally sick. I lost weight, a lot of weight. Pictures of me then look really weird because my head looks so big in relation to my body. I couldn't sleep and got a prescription for Ambien which allowed me to sleep through him sitting at my computer while I slept, messaging girls online, planning hookups that he'd have in my apartment the next day while I was at work, earning the money that paid for everything for us because he didn't even have a job. It's when my stomach problems got really bad.
But I remember how funny he was, and how creative. How even though we were Not in A Relationship, we lived together, slept together, went on vacation together, spent holidays together, were friends with other couples and hung out with them. We made art together, cooked together, and went thrift shopping together. We both got sick with the flu and watched the entire six seasons of Lost in bed together. I remember our pinky swears, and the funny things we said to each other, our little phrases and things that were us. How on Thanksgiving we would start saying, when a fight would seem to be brewing, "Don't ruin Christmas..." but after Christmas, all bets were off, and we were at each other's throats again by New Years Eve.
This isn't about that time, but that's an example.
There have been so many romantic relationships, friendships, jobs, apartments, cities and towns, classes and academic affairs, family and neighbors, and little scenes I lurked around in. I have felt so much pain in all of them, so much not belonging, wanting so much more than I felt like I was getting, but when I look back, I remember the brilliance. I remember my heart bursting with adoration, the comfort of feeling like I could be myself with someone, the sense of accomplishment when I loved my work. I remember how much I loved, fucking LOVED, just driving or walking or riding the bus or train around the Bay Area. God damn I love the area probably more than the people. I miss the air. I miss the fog and the cold and the wind and hating it. I miss the rare but torrential rain. I miss Hat Creek and going to lectures at Berkeley and acting like I belong at parties with astronomers. I miss the inspiration from the music and art scenes. I don't miss many of the people.
So, the thing is, I thought that I was miserable in all the places and times because I was defective and because I couldn't get a handle on how to be better enough to feel like I was succeeding or doing what I wanted. I have had and done so many amazing things in my life, but in the moment did not see them. Or I believed they weren't enough?
When I'd look at other people around me, I believed - especially those who seemed to have what I thought I wanted - that if I could get what I wanted, I wouldn't be in pain anymore. I thought I could achieve and win and grow and change my way out of the pain in my soul.
You know what is a giant drag to learn? That all the people I've looked at with envy and jealousy and admiration have also been in pain. Have also been tormented by their own minds and insecurity and awkwardness. That no relationship or job or station in life would have saved me from the pain.
I let my pain tell me a story about who I am.
It's like when you really listen to the lyrics for "Dust in the Wind," - and all your money won't another minute buy - and you realize that holy shit one day all this struggle will mean nothing because we will cease no matter how much money. We might leave a legacy, but we'll never know because we won't be around to see it. We might be like Henry Darger. Maybe someone will come to clean up our mess after we die, go through our things, find our masterpiece, and it will join the canon of genius cultural contributions post mortem. Great.
I want to feel good NOW. I want to belong now! I read Brene Brown's book on belonging and I did NOT get it... but I sort of do now. It's not about fitting in. It's about belonging. And that feeling of belonging is something you give yourself. It's not from someone else. It's not from a little social scene. It's not conferred. It's decided, by yourself.