I’m not an angry person. At all. I’m happy. I’m social. I like people. I like to laugh. I get this from my family. We’re all happy people. We love each other, we love life, we love to be together. My dad and I spent a day together the other weekend working on a project at my house, and we had a brief conversation about how people are so angry these days. People are so quick to yell and honk if someone’s driving too slow. People are so quick to glare or shove when someone is in their way at a store. Where does all this anger come from?
Today I read a featured post on Brazen called Rushing Through Humanity. In this post, the author found herself rushing home from work and getting upset at someone who stopped in front of the escalator. She rushed passed, noticing a flash of white as she did so, and assumed the man was stopping in heavy traffic to put in his ipod ear pieces. She angrily called him an idiot in her head, before she noticed that he was really putting away a cane before stepping on the escalator. Of course, it made her pause, and she wrote that her quick judgment call haunted her all night.
I’ve made judgment calls like this. I’m not blameless. I’ve had random bursts of anger and irritation because of something a stranger did. Lately, however, I’ve been calling myself out. I’ve been channeling compassion. I’ve been noticing when I get this way and actively working to change it. Whenever this happens to me, it’s always because I’m angry about something else. The old man driving slow in front of me is not the reason I’m angry… he had nothing to do with my stressful day at work or school, or the hole in my sock, or the freezing cold. And I’ve discovered that once I realize that this old man in front of me is driving slow because he’s old, and his reaction times are slower, and he’s being careful on the partially snow-covered road, I feel better because I’m now viewing him with compassion instead of frustration.
When I’m angry and frustrated, I hate myself for being angry and frustrated. And that’s an endless cycle with no way out. I’m not an angry person. I hate being angry. I hate yelling at my blanket for getting stuck in my office chair. Or rolling my eyes at my boss for trying to be friendly and social. That’s not me. That’s not the kind of person I am.
I commented on the Rushing Through Humanity post. I said that I feel our world has gotten angrier because the internet has made us accustomed to instant gratification. I’ve blogged about it before… about having patience. About taking time to smell the roses. People rush through life all the time. Always rushing rushing rushing to get ahead, to get home, to get to work, to get to the grocery store. We need to breathe. We need to smile. We need to wave at our neighbors and help the elderly across the street instead of pushing them. We need to remember that everyone struggles. That we’re all just trying to keep our heads above water. That we all want compassion and understanding.
At least I do.
Today I read a blog post about a guy meeting a girl on a plane because she accidentally fell into his lap. It made me think of a boy I met when I was 16. It was January 1998, and I was in California for AFS orientation. I spent two days with a group of students my age, and we were all flying to Australia to be exchange students for the next year. I developed a crush on Adam, and we hung out most of the weekend. He had blue eyes and big hair. He wasn’t conventionally attractive, but he had a large smile and he made us all laugh. When it came time for our 17-hour plane ride to Sydney, I was as head over heels in love as a 16-year-old girl can get in two days. I switched seats with someone so Adam and I could sit together on the plane, and it was the most magical 17 hours I’ve ever had. We talked about our families and our friends. We talked about our dreams and goals. We talked about how scared we were but how that fear was overwhelmed by excitement. We slept hardly at all, so by the time we landed in Sydney we were exhausted, but we didn’t care. As we parted after customs, we wished each other luck, hugged goodbye, and promised to call and write.
I never saw or heard from him again.
It’s forced sometimes. My happiness. My smile. My confidence. My “I am woman, hear me roar” attitude. Sometimes that’s the only way I know how to get through it all. By forcing it to be. By making everyone else believe it even if I don’t. I can appear surprisingly put together to the rest of the world, meanwhile I sit at my desk and play solitaire and monopoly online because I just can’t find the effort to do anything useful. To do anything that will better my situation. To make any attempt to improve anything at all.
I go through the motions. Accomplishing the bare minimum. Doing just enough to pay the bills. Just enough to make my deadlines. But never any more. I never put in that extra push that will get me the one step ahead that I often appear to be.
I tell myself I’m doing it. I’m going to school so I can move on from the mundanity that is my current life. I have another freelance gig that, if I really applied myself, could allow me to freelance full time. I’m paying off my debt, slowly but surely. I’m doing it.
But that drive isn’t there. That ambition. That optimism that what I’m doing will amount to something.
I keep coming back to the idea that I’m stuck in this town. This town I grew up in. This town that I came back to for a man. This town that I bought a house in after I left the man because by then my entire life was back here. This town that I vowed I would never live in. This town that I love and hate to leave but desperately need to escape from.
This town is my crutch. My safe haven. But I fear it’s preventing me from flying. Like the caged bird with the clipped wing who can’t fly away even after being set free.
I need to find my wings again.
I need to remember how to fly.
I used to love writing poems. In middle school and high school I wrote poems all the time… some of them I’d show, some I wouldn’t. But so many times I truly felt them. In my mind they were perfect, and I didn’t appreciate any criticism, constructive or not. They said what I was feeling, and they were for me only. Who cared what anyone else thought?
Now that I’m back in school, one of my classes this semester is a creative writing class, and the first half of the semester we’ve been working on poems. Did you know there was actually a technique to writing poetry? That it is actually very structured and purposeful? That how the author feels about it really doesn’t matter if the author intends to publish it? It’s really an amazing art, and I’ve really learned a lot from this class. And, I’ve realized how haphazardly all my previous poems were written.
That being said, I’m going to take a chance and share one of my recent poems. The assignment was to write a poem from the perspective of an inanimate object talking to someone or something. We’re talking about it in class tonight, so I may post an updated version later, but here goes.
My Doors Are Open
Sir, come in, my doors are open.
Up or down? Please press a button.
Fourth floor you say? I’m on my way.What burdens you so when you come to work
That you carry a flask in the pocket of your shirt?
Your face is creased; your eyes are sunk;
To get through the day, must you come in drunk?Not one to talk? Nothing to say?
We’ve reached the fourth floor, sir. Have a nice day.Sir, come in, my doors are open.
Up or down? Please press a button.
Eighth floor you say? I’m on my way.Your Armani suit is pressed and fits well;
Your hair’s combed with mousse; is that Dior I smell?
Your nails are trimmed, your skin browned by the sun,
But where do you go when your work is done?
You put on your wedding ring as we passed the third floor,
Why was it in your pocket before?
If I were so brave I’d wager a guess
That it’s not your wife’s lipstick smudged on your chest.Not one to talk? Nothing to say?
We’ve reached the eighth floor, sir. Have a nice day.Lady, come in, my doors are open.
Up or down? Please press a button.
Sixth floor you say? I’m on my way.Fendi on your shoulder; Tiffany on your neck;
A necessary costume to cover the wreck.
You can’t hide the twitch though you fold your arms tight.
Are those tracks on your arm from last night?
Better paste on a smile and pull down your sleeves;
If your boss knew your state, he wouldn’t be pleased.Not one to talk? Nothing to say?
We’ve reached the sixth floor, ma’am. Have a nice day.Young man, come in, my doors are open.
Up or down? Please press a button.
Twentieth floor you say? I’m on my way.Have you been traveling? You’ve quite the tan.
You’re obviously an educated man.
Harvard Law School your briefcase says,
As does the crimson silk tie you caress.
Ah yes, take it off, make yourself at home.
Why do you sweat so? And let your eyes roam?
Don’t move that tile, sir, we’re moving fast.
See how quickly the walls go past?
Please unfasten your tie from the ceiling bar
And push back the tile, we’ve still to go far.
Excuse me sir, but is this a joke?
With your head in the loop you’ll surely choke.
Is that why you’re standing on your briefcase so?
Now you’ve kicked it aside, with six floors to go.
We’ll never make it in time I’m afraid,
For someone to help and you to be saved.
Your hands grasp your neck and I fear you regret
But I am no help, and we’re not there yet.
I’m sorry, sir, that life was so grim
You chose my doors to end it in.Now you cannot talk. There’s nothing to say.
We’ve reached the twentieth floor…
I recently discovered Rebecca Thorman, thanks to Brazen Careerist, and she “hosts” a “Monthly Goal Meetup,” where people are supposed to post their monthly goals on their blog. My life has been “go go go” ever since classes began (and September equally dragged and was over before it began, if that makes any sense), so I think I need to refocus my priorities. A list of monthly goals may help me accomplish that. So here goes.
Goal 1: Market Landmark Editorial. I created a facebook ad today, which may not be exactly the audience I want to target, but I’ll try it for a month and see what happens.
Goal 2: Workout at least two times a week.
Goal 3: Spend at least 30 minutes training my filly at least two times a week.
Goal 4: Winterize my house.
Goal 5: Celebrate accomplishing goals 1-4 with a kickass halloween party on the 31st!!
