Learning to trust myself
March 15, 2010 On Sunday morning Bear and I visited a corporate-whore book store to look for some "good readin'", or bad readin', depending on how you look at it.
A woman walked into the aisle we were perusing and in a smooth, Jamaican accent, bashed the self help books displayed in front of her. "How to be happy? Oh mercy, that's something you must figure out for yourself."
I nodded and laughed. She was a middle aged woman with peppered dread locks and skin the color of chocolate milk with two creams and possibly a package of raw sugar cane. And she wore a huge rasta hat. A RASTA HAT. May not seem like a big deal, but when you've been in small town Alberta for five years, any cultural representations that differ from F-350's, alcoholism, and gender roles from hell seem really exciting.
"Isn't happiness something that differs from person to person?" Bear responded.
"Well, you'd think," she agreed.
As she browsed closer our way, she looked at the section we were in and muttered, "says the folk in the parapsychology section." She laughed. Then we laughed, embarrassed, obviously, and I pulled the book I was carrying titled Opening to Channel: how to connect with your guide closer to my chest. 'Cause you already know you've hit rock bottom when you start reading hippie shit about developing a subconscious relationship with a spirit guide from a higher plane. The only thing worse is snorting things up your nose. Or Fundamental Christianity.
The conversation didn't stop there. Mrs. Rasta was a talker, the kind of stranger who spots my mother in a crowded room and hunts her down to converse for half an hour about whatever the fuck. I have come to realize that my boyfriend has the same magnetism, even despite his neck tattoo and resemblance to Kerry King from Slayer, which means he may even have a stronger magnetism than my mother. Last time we were buying groceries he had a thirty minute conversation with the Save On Foods lady about economical ways to purchase meat, and the uneconomical ways we transport meat, and oh my god! He should see how much meat grocery stores throw out everyday! Has he considered going to a butcher? Does he have a freezer so he can stock up? Meanwhile, I am thinking, how about we just stop eating meat, skip colon cancer, and call it a day?
Back to the book store.
Somehow the conversation turned to Tiger Woods, the apology he made for being a man whore, and his porn star mistress who is supposedly demanding a double apology for the public embarrassment he has caused her. She may be regularly sodomized on camera for all of the world's viewing pleasure, BUT GOD FORBID THE PUBLIC KNOWS OF HER AFFAIR WITH A MARRIED GOLFER WHOSE SEX APPEAL IS ON PAR WITH STEPHEN HAWKINGS. Mrs. Rasta was particularly perturbed that Tiger's apology slowed the stock market. What's the world coming to? WHAT'S THE WORLD COMING TO?! Then Bear brought up the absurdity of Reality Television, and I commented on the obvious fact that all these things are nothing but distractions to draw us away from the issues that really matter, and Mrs. Rasta was all like, "mmhmm! Thank you, yes, mmhmm, t-h-a-n-k y-o-u," and she nodded in agreeance, like all she had needed to regain peace on that Sunday morning was for two, odd looking white folks to be like, "hell yeah, fuck Tiger Woods! And fuck the media!" And all I needed was for an older woman with a Jamaican accent and a wicked rasta hat to give me some random reassurance, like "da world is fucked up my child, so give it da finger." She didn't say that, but she wanted to.
Later that day I spoke on the phone with my Mom and explained how I feel like I am in a rut. "So," I told my Mom, "I bought a book on connecting with my spirit guide."
At this point in the conversation my Mom was probably thinking, well, at least she's not snorting shit up her nose. Or turning to Fundamental Christianity. "That's interesting," my Mom lied, but I am not exactly sure that's the kind of guidance you need. . . " And then she went on to talk about me furthering my education.
Then my Dad's voice boomed over the line and said, "a little piece of life advice, Linds. . ."
It's always shocking when Dad gets on the line. It's startling to realize that Dad knows how to operate the telephone, but it is also unsettling to wonder how long he has been listening for. Have I mentioned my period in the last five minutes? Swollen breasts? MY VAGINA?!
Dad went on, "you don't want to go through life without goals, Linds. 'Cause one day you'll be fifty years old and you won't be where you want to be."
I agree that I am not necessarily progressing in regards to a forty-hour a week career, nor am I financially advancing. This does weigh on my psyche a bit, but I do have goals, and that's where my complexity stems.
I have a few sincerely supportive people in my life, and I am just now realizing how important those people are. But for every supportive person there are ten people who are not supportive, or have no idea what I really want in my life and create their own assumptions. I am selective as to who I share my aspirations with, so a cheer leading squad is not an expectation of mine, but damn, people really enjoy telling me how to live my life.
Having goals in the arts, whether it's visual art, writing, music, etc., can be as tormenting as it is invigorating. Establishing success is not only about talent, but even more so about drive, the dedication to continually improve when rewards are nil to none, and most tormenting of all, luck. There is no rational, step-by-step guide to making it, which often leaves the arts to be perceived as an intangible, almost make-believe aspiration, as if those of us striving in those areas are greasy street buskers who are waiting to win the lottery but can't even bother to buy lottery tickets.
It's not that I don't appreciate advice, it's just that most people's advice is like a mental yeast infection-- it does nothing but throw off my focus. Like the assumption that the key to my happiness is scoring a desk job, or moving to a different city, blah, blah, blah. If things were that simple, or if I were that simple, I would be there, and I'd be on my soapbox preaching to others about how high on life I am, and how they, too, could be high on life if they just did steps A, B, and C. And when they refuse that path, I could judge them like people judge me and blame any and all of their subsequent struggles on the fact that they didn't take my advice. Then I'd grow a Jesus beard. And pass around some kool-aid. Laced with cyanide.
I have two different voices that whisper in my ear, one that sits on my left shoulder and one that sits on my right. One voice is the voice of some of the people in my life: their expectations, their beliefs and values, their perceptions of me. The other is my own voice: my aspirations, my own beliefs and values, my self knowledge. I know in my soul that the key to getting to where I want in life is to follow my own voice. But I have some very dominant people in my life, and when their voices collectively boom in one ear, it's often hard to hear my own voice in the other.
Regardless as to whether I go back for more schooling or not, I know that I need to turn down the exterior static and learn to trust my own whisper. Being a self proclaimed rebellion who is nearing the age of twenty-seven, it's time that I start listening to my own voice and grow up, and not in the way that some others may expect of me. I know the woman I want to be-- she shows up in my dreams as a lively, confident young woman who is free and beautiful from the inside out. Seemingly untouchable. I loyally follow her as she leads me by the hand, usually throughout rooms of a large house. I am completely in lust with her, and she brings a huge smile to my face.
Reader Comments (3)
Two things: Matt also has that personality inviting older people to speak with him at random, usually they are old farmers. Despite his tattoos, people approach him all the time to chat, it bewilders me. He hates people more than I do, but I guess it doesn't come through as strongly.
The other thing is that I know exactly what you mean about the dominant other voices. It's tough to be doing your thing and have other people classify it as "wandering aimlessly" and wonder "what are you doing?". This is a big issue for me as well. For example, the fact that I had "figured out what I want to do with my life" and have spent 4 years of university gaining credits that I can't use right now since the Linguistics situation is dissolving. I made the decision to switch to SIAST and work as an x-ray tech for a while to get myself in a better financial situation. Anyway, it didn't bother me that much until my parents were all "So you're NOT done your degree now after all this?"
No, I'm not and it didn't bother me that much until someone threw it in my face like it's a BIG DEAL.
"Like the assumption that the key to my happiness is scoring a desk job, or moving to a different city, blah, blah, blah. If things were that simple, or if I were that simple, I would be there, and I'd be on my soapbox preaching to others about how high on life I am, and how they, too, could be high on life if they just did steps A, B, and C."
Exactly. Your words are spot on. And I think even simple people who preach that happiness is all of those things are kidding themselves a bit and keep wondering "Now what?"
My brother got his 40-hour a week career, bought the house and paid off his truck. Then he came over to our place one night and was like "Now what do I do?". Good question.
Great post, Lindsay. I totally understand where you're coming from with this.
People and their opinions...It's great to hear other people's points of view, which can sometimes help steer your direction, but ultimately our goals are our own to have, and our own to figure out. I often wonder why it is that some people are so opinionated about what other people are choosing to do in their lives. I know these people often mean well, but sometimes their input is more harmful than helpful. And they don't have to live our lives, so why they're so hell-bent on telling us what we're to do is beyond me!
Stick to your guns and strive for whatever it is YOU want out of life!
I'm not the best guy for advice... mine is "fuck it all". It might not have gotten me anywhere but it does keep me sane... a little.