What struck me as sort of interesting, though possibly not entirely shocking, was that the day I posted about how I was feeling was the day that I received a flat out ridiculous amount of views on my otherwise scarcely viewed blog. I went from a solid thirteen views on September 8th to fifty-six on the 9th then flat back to five the day after. I hadn’t posted anything new, that was for sure, and five seemed about normal for one of those days, but the fifty-six the day before still had be scratching my head. What was it that these people were interested in that day? I hadn’t been particularly clever or talked about any sort of universally entertaining thing. I could see someone laughing over my abhorrence of Cialis commercials, but that day I was just sort of… sad.
So maybe that was it. Prior to my distinctly unpretty self dissection I’d had one comment and that post got five. Were people just concerned, wanting to make sure that I was alright or maybe people were glad to know that someone else out there was feeling like crap. Either way, it doesn’t matter.
I am not miserable. There have been times in my life when I was. When I couldn’t have told anyone, couldn’t have written it down, couldn’t really do much of anything. That’s neither here nor there, and saying how I pulled myself out is for another time. It wasn’t fast and it wasn’t easy and it certainly wasn’t alone; but overall I think I am more or less okay now. Despite the crappy job, and living with my mother, and feeling trapped.
I have an interview for a job I actually want on Tuesday, which is terrifying. Wanting things is hard, wanting things leads to potential disappointment and sometimes I feel like it’s easier to not really want anything than to allow yourself to go through that sort of fall in the end. The same sort of way I refuse to give myself goals or hope for the better outcome. Falling short of goals makes you fail, and failure is hard.
When I was younger my mother posted a poem on my bulletin board. I couldn’t have been very little because I remember reading it and rolling my eyes, wanting to crumple it and throw it back at her, what stopped me was that I knew it would hurt her. It was some sort of inspirational something or other about a litany of people who’d failed in their lives before going on to become massively successful in the end. I will now proceed to annoying copy it over for you:
You’ve failed many times, although you may not remember. You fell down the first time you tried to walk. You almost drowned the first time you tried to swim, didn’t you? Did you hit the ball the first time you swung a bat? Heavy hitters, the ones who hit the most home runs, also strike out a lot. R.H. Macy failed never times before his store in New York caught on. English novelist John Creasey got 753 rejection slips before he published 564 books. Babe Ruth struck out 1,330 times, but he also hit 714 home runs. Don’t worry about failure. Worry about the chances you miss when you don’t even try.
It’s hard to believe that with a mother who would put that up and who fully believed everything it said, and with a child who was exposed so readily to that frame of mind and who had a generally failure free childhood, that she would grow into the kind of adult to kept everything and everyone at least an arms length away, just to be on the safe side.
Have a positive attitude, she’d always say, with that attitude of course you’re not going to get it. I never understood that, it seemed like the universe wouldn’t give a damn one way or another what I was thinking and that if I was talented enough to get the part I wanted in the play, or if I’d studied hard enough for the test, then I would succeed. And if I expected to fail I wouldn’t be so disappointed when I did, and if I succeeded then it would come as a happy surprise. And what is so wrong with that?
And then, so much worse, is the stagnancy. Why apply for a job I’d really like in a place where I don’t even want to stay? Why give myself another reason to not change for the better? In some ways it still seems solid, but in so many others I know that, in some small respects, I have to grow up about it. I don’t have the money to leave here right now, that’s true. And if I did I am unsure as to where I’d even want to go. Someone very wise pointed out that having a job I love in a city I don’t doesn’t tie me there, it only makes it easier to get up and go in the morning. And that’s true.
So, I guess I’ll let you know how it goes. You don’t get details, I’m not quite ready for that one yet, and there’s no guarantee I’ll even get the job, but an interview is a start, and chance that’s so much needed. A sort of light at the end of the tunnel.
Sometimes I feel I need to try on something new; happy. It’s a little snug and takes some getting used to but in the end I think I’ll look good in it.