Making rules instead of making choices

Okay, so here's my first go in the new digs. Again, please pardon the look of it all...it's a work in progress for sure.

I've been doing some mental preparatory work because I feel like I'm emerging from this goal-oriented mindset with new ideas about who I want to be. To get a little more specific, I am a rule maker. I get an idea about the way a certain thing should be, and then suddenly 'should' becomes 'must.' Moreover, the rules develop consequences as the idea takes hold in my mind. A few examples:

I must live without a roommate or else I am not successful.

I must be completely guarded and skeptical of anyone I date or else I will get hurt.

I must date someone or else I am not beautiful.

I must work in film production or else I will have failed myself.

My social calendar must be jam packed with events or else I will never be happy.

Those are some very big musts for a girl who's only been here six months! I put an awful lot of pressure on myself to be a certain person who, frankly, is a little beyond my means.

Profound PDF by candlelight

PDF never stops surprising me. He has this bizarre, kind of unheathy attitude toward life, but his reasons for it are actually quite impressive. He has this flippant, casual attitude about his own life history, and he doesn't like to talk about it with anyone. "What's past is past," he says, "I prefer to look forward instead of back." I think he and I are a true case of opposites attracting; we have a lot to learn from one another. I cannot fathom ignoring my past--in fact I can barely stop talking about it. I have this idea in my head that a person is the product of his or her combined experiences, and that without knowing all of those experiences, you can't get a sense of who that person really is. Also in my infinite idealism, I tend to assume that everyone is interested in knowing who other people really are. I think though that the reality is that we all need a little mystery (or at least the semblance of it) to keep things entertaining.

We went out Thursday night to this cute restraubar on the Upper West Side and had the most delicious white sangria ever, along with a tangy fresh mojito and some marvelous mussels. The conversation, as it always is with us two, was good and silly and fun, and then about an hour in, as it always does, the light banter shifted to a deeper discussion. There came an appropriate moment to bring up a question that's been stewing in my mind for a while: "PDF, how come you keep secrets from Boyfriend?"

"Uuuhh oh. Like what?" he asked, an uncomfortable impatience permeating his tone.

"Like getting arrested in college? Like your entire relationship with [ex-boyfriend A]?"

At first he was a little indignant that I had brought up the subject, but after I assured him that my inquiry was made out of curiosity and not judgment he smoothed his ruffled feathers and spoke matter-of-factly. Much like me--and, I suspect, everyone--there are things in his past that are embarassing and a little shameful, things that he'd prefer to forget. Basically his take on these things is that nobody needs to know everything about you (I get that). Everyone does stupid things, so we can assume that everyone around us has a few skeletons in their closet that they'd like to forget (yep, still with ya). But PDF believes that there is no reason to acknowledge the existence of his skeletons (huh?) and he sees no cause to share them with Boyfriend, even though they are part of who he is (uh... I don't get that at all).

Then--get this!--then he says the most profound and awesome thing: He feels like Who He Is ought to speak for itself with no need for excuses or explanations.

Whoa! Talk about something I can learn from! It's exactly this kind of thing that illustrates why I love people with ideas and sensibilities that are different from mine. His blatant disregard for the past notwithstanding (he even goes so far as to block certain things out of his own memory), PDF is on to something here. Granted, he takes the concept to an extreme, but I think somewhere in between my open-book and his lock-and-key diary there is a middle ground that would be better for both of us.

So here's a truth for me (and you) to think about: Who I am may be colored by my past, but there is totally no need to show off the paint when I display the artwork, so to speak. It's a much richer experience to wait until someone else gets interested enough to start asking about the techniques and tools that created me.

It's a very basic concept, but one I often forget. To my old friends the fact that I am a walking personal tragedy is funny and endearing because they know that I am strong and positive enough that my lemons always turn into lemonade. New friends might need a little time to warm up to me before I open up so much. I am being hasty in my search for really great friends and my search for a romantic interest (much as I hate to admit that I am searching for one....but I am). I had such great friends in New Orleans, and such great friends in Ohio...they were like chosen families. I am heartsick for my chosen families, and impatient to begin one here. I'm going to take PDF's advice though, and back off a little from the search... Instead, as he says, as I know, I ought to focus wholeheartedly on my career and trust that the rest will come.

With a smile and a wink he said something else to me too: "You know, honey, you've only been here five months. I'm really getting sick of your unwillingness to accept a life that is anything less than your ideal. It's making the rest of us New Yorkers look bad."

Ha! HAHAHA!

Things that are true:

Things that are true:

Pizza always makes my tummy hurt, but it is so so good.

It is important to think of difficulties as lessons.

My hair will never stop growing, no matter how much I wish it would just stay at that cute length forever.

In no way does my job description include the phrase, "stand there and look pretty."

Other people are works in progress too.

300 square feet is awfully small for two cats.

It takes effort to maintain a loving relationship, even if it is with a city.

The road to happiness is not necessarily paved with gold.

Following your dreams will pay off if you truly commit yourself.

There will always be faint strains of Mexican music on the subway unless there are loud strains of Mexican music on the subway.

In the pursuit of happiness, personal gain can only take you so far.

Sharing with and learning from other people are what really make life good.

The best way to be interesting is to be genuinely interested.

Making time for others isn't always easy, but it is nonetheless important.


(This list was blogged with my iPhone while waiting way too long for dailies at Technicolor.)

Thoughts of a girl in a bed

I love how my cheek feels when it's all smooshed against a warm, white cotton t-shirt. I love the sound of torrential rain. I love lazy moments when nothing exists but what is within arm's length. I needed this. I needed a little time for quiet and unobtrusive joy. There are lots of questions about what happens next and what do I want, but now, in this moment, none of that stuff matters. I'm here and I'm content.

It takes two to tango. I've always seen life as me and the world in a delicate dance... I can do anything, can be anything, but only to the extent that the world will let me. I thought that's what it meant to be realistic. Today though, I have a quiet and unobtrusive nature, and I figured out that reality is malleable, and that I have built a reality of endless possibility. It's funny how a fortune cookie with a terrible excuse for a fortune can make you think about such a thing.

It's funny too how I always seem to get what I want, provided I believe in the possibility. I used to get so annoyed with people who tout all that new-age bullshit. I guess I still would, if anyone were touting it to me now... I don't believe in any of that stuff really, but I do think it's nice to believe in possibility, and I do notice and appreciate the correlation between belief and positive results.

I'm not a rich woman, but I am a happy woman. I spend my days working for positive change in the lives of other people, dreaming about my own possibilities and writing. And sometimes--lately more often than not--I get to bask in the glow of someone else being happy too. It feels nice, like being little shiny candle flames in the big, dark, endless-possibility Universe.

I was so quiet the other day, and at the time it made me a little nervous that I wasn't good company. I'm not worried about it anymore though. I feel lucky to have a friend so shiny that I can just shut up for once and passively enjoy the time spent together. Living in the moment doesn't usually come easy to me. It's rare that I let my guard down with others. Although it's easy to say in retrospect, knowing that no harm came from doing so, I'm glad I let go of my boundaries for a little while. It was surprising and I was worried about causing anxiety, but really, it's okay. I'm okay. I just let the wall down...maybe a bit too far.

I'm not dancing with the world today. I'm creating it with an autonomy I never knew I had before...and basking in my own little glow.

What's the opposite of Koyaanisqatsi? Did I even spell that right?

I am secretly a girly girl. Whether I like to admit it or not, I looove to dish to my girlfriends about clothes and hairstyles and relationship woes... One of the better vacations I've ever had was an overnight trip to the beach in Alabama, where three other girls and I got hammered on gigantic self-poured cocktails and bitched about our boyfriends in backwoods Alabama twang. But now, since I left New Orleans, that's changed. I left the relationship that caused the woes, and since then I've been in sort of an awkward emotional state. I've been grieving for the loss of my companion of six years. Trying though he may be, I really loved him an awful lot and he was a really great friend.

Anyway, that relationship began within days of me turning 22. Now, at 27, I feel like I missed out a bit on that whole being-single-in-my-twenties thing, and I've been really nervous about it. Don't get me wrong, I've gotten really good at opening my eyes and noticing attractive people, it's just that my 'Taken' switch hadn't really been turned off. Then suddenly I went on that random date on the same day I saw that guy on the subway. Since then, a realization has been growing in my head, and this last weekend, doused in champagne, it really kind of dawned on me. The decade is still young. I have two and a half years of my twenties left. As strange and foreign as it seems to me, I can do whatever I want with those years and all the years beyond them. I am single! Unattached to any other human being! I answer to no one! Weird! Scary! Awesome!

Monday I cruised into the office to an iPod soundtrack of upbeat contemporary pop music (I'm kind of obsessed with The Go! Team right now), thinking about how wonderfully single I am and what that means in terms not only of dating, but also in terms of everything else. I felt free, like I'd finally cut the leash I had been wearing in deference to JH and New Orleans and to goals I had set at the green age of 19. I saw AIG on my way in and flashed a confident smile. I think it caught him a little off guard, even though we're sort of friends now. I laughed breezy hellos to ODG and 2.0 and chatted merrily about our antics from last Friday.

I feel so good, like my world is shifting back into balance. I'm settled into my apartment, I'm about to get my cats back, I have some friends, my family is doing great, and I'm ready to make my next move, which is the Big Job Push.

It's taken four months and a lot of stress, but I finally feel like I belong here in New York! I'm home!

I think my brain needs a 12 hour turnaround rule.

I am insane.

I have been rearranging the furniture in my apartment for a week and a half. Insane.

Okay, the roach thing? Completely insane, albeit kind of hysterical.

I have, as a general rule, stopped eating unless I go out somewhere and eat, or unless I'm at work having lunch. Painfully insane.

I am purchasing plane tickets for two cats. Somehow I expect these two cats to live with me in my <300 sq. foot apartment, with all their food and water and litter, and for us to all coexist in this tiny room in total harmony. What am I thinking?

I am all wishy washy about getting a job with my current temp employer (the women's rights nonprofit) because I have what can only be described as a masochistic desire to work in film production. Draw your own conclusion.

I met up in person yesterday with someone I met online (insane?) and after one very long conversation with this person I suddenly feel like I have a total handle on my JH situation in addition to a renewed idealism regarding my career goals. He happens to have experience in production, and now he's a producer for TV cartoons. And he definitely gave me a lot of food for thought about the things I like to do and how I can apply them to other careers in the entertainment industry, and how by limiting myself to production I am limiting my potential for self actualization within the scope of my career (which, we all know, is the main goal here). Needless to say, he's a very smart fella, and I'm beginning to think a little more broadly about my options.

The other day on the phone, Aunt J said, with no small amount of exasperation in her voice, "[Miss A], I don't know why you want to be an AD." She later quantified that by saying that yes, she does know....but the message still came through loud and clear. No matter how much I love being on set and managing others etc. etc., it's going to suck. I mean, I know all this. From the very get-go, from my very first research in high school about working in film, I learned that it sucks. Everyone tells you it sucks because they want to prevent you from being shocked by how completely unglamorous it is and by how non-creative it can be. And the career track for which I have set my cap is like the flagship of gray-hair-inducing unglamorousness. I know this. I do.

I also know that I can hack it, if given a shot. I can put up with 5 am calls and seventeen hour days and I still do a good job and keep focused and get things done quickly. I know that, in spite of the long hours and the nasty working conditions, it is really fun and exciting to be a part of the machine.

I am nervous about things like health insurance and income stability and budgeting. I am curious about other parts of the machine. And now I'm taking a step back and thinking very actively about all that.

Full Disclosure

The reason I started my Legend of Miss Adventurous series is that I am not always 100% truthful with myself about the events of my life. In fact, I'm not always truthful with other people either. Sometime during my childhood I developed a nasty and self-destructive habit of casually omitting certain facts about things to people, even the people I care about the most. And in fact I outright lied about many many many things up until I was about 18. Lied straight to the faces of people I loved and respected, and even lied so much about some things that I started to believe the lies. I've gotten much better about it over the years, but I do still compulsively lie about weird details, particularly to hairstylists and chatty people on airplanes. I really let my hair down with those types of people. I used to make up alter egos in bars, too.

I got on the subway with AIG and Data Guy. The car was nearly empty; they sat down, and I stood in front of them to facilitate conversation. Data Guy asks, "Is that a normal thing for you? Not sitting on the subway when there's a seat available?" Without any forethought I said, "Sure, sometimes. I sit all day, so it's actually kind of nice to stand." The truth? More like this: "No, actually I really look forward to the DeKalb stop every morning, because that's usually when I can get a seat. I'm actually a little exhausted right now from wearing heels all day, but I feel like if I stand here I can talk to you guys easier, and then maybe I'll make a real human connection."

I know that one's not that bad, but here's one for the books! When I was seventeen, I drove my car to the mall to do some Christmas shopping. After the mall, I decided to stop at Old Navy for some completely unknown reason, since I kind of hate Old Navy. While I pulled into my parking space, I completely misjudged the angles, and I hit a truck. Just bumped the corner of its back bumper with the side of my car door. No big, right? Wrong. I KEPT GOING. Like an idiot. I kept going! There was scratching and screeching! I pulled all the way into the space! Afterward, someone GOT OUT OF THE TRUCK. Mortified. I was mortified. There was a massive dent in my car door (that remained there for the duration of the car's lifetime). Luckily, no damage was done to the truck. Embarrassed as hell, I drove home and concocted a tall tale. I burst in the back door with tears streaming down my face and cried to my mom and stepfather: "Someone hit my car and then drove off!"

No joke. I even maintained the truth of that statement as recently as two years ago. I don't know if they still believe it, but they never told me if they don't. That is probably the most extreme case of lying, and I think it may even have been the point when I realized I needed to tone it down a bit.

Really and truly, there is nobody, not my ex-fiance, not my best friend, not even my sister, who knows everything about me. That is fine with me. In fact, I doubt there is anyone who wants to know it all.

Wait...never mind, I take that back. There is definitely one person who wants to know everything about me, and it is indeed someone with whom I am not always forthcoming with the facts of my life. (I'm talking about myself here, in case you're not following.) I guess I feel like if I write everything down, and if I make the information accessible to other people, then I can't change it. And to tell you the truth (yes, the real truth), I think it would all be a big relief, like I had nothing more to hide. And then I wouldn't ever ever lie again, right? Right?

I wish I had the answer to that. And I wish I could be totally and 100% forthcoming on every single tiny detail. The truth, however, is that I am a proud person, and there are things about my life that I just cannot disclose to anyone with broadband Internet access. Originally I intended for this blog to be completely anonymous, but it just isn't working out that way. Not only is my sister my blog's biggest fan, but I also posted a link on Facebook, where I network with (get this) my family. Seriously, my mom is on Facebook. And so are my sweet little cousins. And other family members. Come to think of it...I just took that link off of Facebook.

Not that it's your fault! Oh no no no, don't think for a minute that you spoiled my shot at self-actualization through my super awesome blog by being friendly and familiar or by commenting or even just knowing who I am...not at all. Quite the contrary; it's great knowing I'm not alone in this big scary city in this big scary world, and that there are nice people who are actually on the level. I love the comments I get, I love that people are actually reading this thing, and I think it helps give me the confidence to continue on in search of the truth about who I really am.

One thing I promise though. I have not lied here, and I will not lie here. In fact, I'm just not going to lie period, not even to a manicurist. The whole point of this New York adventure is to find myself, and the real me is definitely not located within a pack of lies.

Pop goes the whatever

I'm not one of those music people. You know, those people who know every word to every song by the Beatles and who keep up with the new bands and who...you know...care? I certainly like music. In fact, I love an awful lot of music; it's just not hugely important to me.

Oh yeah, and TV? I don't really follow along too much; in fact, I didn't know what Sex and the City was until it was in its last season. It's been easier to keep up with some of the shows I like now that the networks have started showing episodes online (which I love, because it's free). I love binge watching series on Netflix too. But I don't know that much about TV shows, per se... if I had cable I'd probably use it to watch Inside the Actors Studio and CNN and the Weather Channel in the morning....maaaaybe to watch Adult Swim, but anime bores me, so only the comedies. I used to watch Adult Swim a lot, but life happened.

I love-LOVE-movies. But I can't quote them. And I get annoyed when other people do and act like it's some kind of sin when you don't know what character said such-and-such or can't identify the scene. That's not totally true...I can actually quote The Big Lebowski quite a bit, but that's really only because my ex did it all the time. Oh yeah, and I haven't seen some movies. Occasionally I get something like, "You haven't seen Die Hard? What's wrong with you!?" I hate that shit too.

So is there something wrong with me? Is there something wrong with not knowing a lot about pop culture? Is there something wrong with not caring that I don't know a lot about pop culture?

I am a pretty smart person, which isn't a statement of vanity, it's a statement of fact. I have a lot of information that hangs out inside my brain, and I'm able to thoroughly process that information and draw complex conclusions from it. I can recall it fairly quickly, and in large quantities. I can spell and solve math problems and comprehend ideas.

I can't quote Ace Ventura: Pet Detective (in fact, I've never seen it), and I don't know any of the lyrics to "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" other than...well...Lucy in the sky with diamonds. I also don't know who sings that Umbrella song that I'm not too fond of. No, I did not watch American Idol. And I'm not going to either

-------

There are lots of things I can do. I can write in meter, should I choose to do so. I can speak front of a group. I can speak in French, and cook, and fit unprecedented amounts of stuff into a closet by organizing it just so. I can't sing that great, but I do know the science behind it. I discovered yesterday that I can do a three-quarter shimmy backwards. I can design graphic layouts very well. I can cut and splice film, in a very literal sense, and I can also do it well--you don't find a lot of folks my age who can do that. I can also edit the footage with some skill. I can recall phone numbers like it's my job. I can lead groups of people with authority and confidence. I can manage them in a task and keep in mind all of their individual needs as well as the need of the group. I can take a good story and make it great. I can make amazingly complex spreadsheets that organize data in ways you never knew it could be organized. I can knit, and sculpt, and build things out of legos. I can see every situation from at least three different vantage points. I can recognize problems as they occur, and dig my way out of them if necessary. I can be a real bitch if I put my mind to it, and I can also be very pleasant and sweet. I can systematically make someone feel beneath me, although I don't like to. I can crack a fairly decent one-liner. I can see the silly side of everything. I can wink both of my eyes without moving the opposite eye. I can appreciate the marvel of science. I can learn anything and learn it quickly. I can drive a sixteen-foot moving van 1200 miles with a trailer on it and a small sedan on top of the trailer. I can find my way around back-woods Louisiana and Texas and Illinois and Mississippi and Alabama without getting (too) lost. I can figure out the basics of nearly any computer program in fifteen minutes. I can calm down a stressed-out cat. I can even make cupcakes.

Whew, that's a lot of stuff! It felt good to think about it and write it down. Someone the other day made a big hairy deal out of how I must be uncool or something because I didn't recognize the song he was singing. It was a Beatles song. He was singing it off-key. It's stupid, I know, but it gave the this same feeling I've had in the past, like maybe I should pay more attention in if only to have something in common with people.

Or maybe I should try to hang out with people with whom I have more in common.

A Blog for LM, or, What I Learned from The Feminine Mystique

When I was working on leaving JH, I stumbled somewhere upon an article about Betty Friedan and her book, The Feminine Mystique. I had heard the title passed around before that article, but I always thought the term referred to a woman's sexual appeal. I'd never really thought about it or looked into it. From that article though, I learned that The Feminine Mystique is a book that reshaped the way women operated within American society.  I picked up the book around Christmas and I positively devoured it.

The term itself is used to lend words to what Friedan calls "the problem that has no name." The problem, in essence, was the general unrest being experienced by women in the early 60's that was often marked by alcoholism, extramarital affairs, and use of Mother's little helpers. The gist is that these were a new kind of women: college-educated, but expected to do nothing with their brains besides endless housework, bridge games, and perhaps the occasional PTA event. The general message from every point in society at that time, from the Dick Van Dyke Show, from Redbook, from Margaret Mead and even from their own psychoanalysts was that a woman should be complete and whole and happy being a wife and mother. If she tried her own career, she was placing undue burden on her husband and children by not fitting into her "role." And if she wasn't happy, well then there must be something wrong with her.  In the book, Friedan dissects all the backstory behind that message, why it's wrong, and what we can do to change it.

Here in the 21st century, you 20- or 30-something women may think this doesn't apply to you. Newsflash though, I see this crap from my friends all the time. In fact, it applied directly to me. Play along and you'll see what I mean.

For a long time, my MySpace page said something like "I define myself through other people." Truer words were never spoken. In fact, I think the whole reason I got myself into that wake-up-one-day-and-hate-my-life predicament was that I was defining myself through other people. I was never one of those girls that plan their weddings when they're twelve or anything, but there really was an amorphous, abstract part of my brain that thought I would be happy once I was married to JH. In fact, there was an amorphous, abstract part of my brain that made me believe there was something wrong with me because our relationship didn't leave me feeling complete and whole and happy. Hmmm... I put my dreams and goals on hold to help advance him toward his career goals, so that he might someday become a doctor and support me, and then I would work on my goals and dreams. Then I'd be happy. Hmmm....

I won't get into a saucy bitchfest over why I decided he couldn't be a part of my completeness equation, I'll just say that somewhere along the way I dissected a sentence:

I am happy.

The first word? I. Who is that? This I? What am I? If I strip away my mom, I am no longer N's daughter. If I strip away my dad, I am no longer a girl whose dad killed himself. If I strip away my sister, I have nobody to copycat. If I strip away JH, I am nobody's girlfriend. If I strip away my friends, my job, my cats, my hobbies, my red hair dye, my wardrobe, even my skin... Who am I? How do I know I am happy if I don't even know who I am?

(I know that's a circular line of questioning. Just play along, please. You know what I'm driving at.)

I read this other book, called Smart Women Finish Rich, which is a pretty good read if you're a self-help book junkie like me, or if money baffles you. Anyway, in that book, there's this exercise in which you write down your values. How do you know what your values are? "If you had all the time and the money in the world, what would you do?" It's the same question. Take it all away. Everything. What do you do? How do you define yourself? Give yourself everything you ever thought you could want, and then nothing else matters but who you are. What do you do? How do you define yourself then?

The answer, of course, is different for everyone, and it's not always as easy as you might think to come up with that answer. I'm still working on mine, of course; that's one of the reasons I blog. That and towels. But I think I'm getting somewhere. Living alone for the first time...that definitely helps.

Living in a place like New York? Perfect! You're automatically stripped. Nobody knows who you are or where you came from, and they're too busy to care. You can be anybody you want to be, and define yourself however you want. There's no such thing as a preconceived notion of a stranger in a city with 2 million people. Sure, we make them up, but that doesn't mean we're surprised when we find out we were wrong.

As for you, LM, I know that New Orleans is a much smaller town and that you don't have the luxury of anonymity like I do, but that's really not necessary. All you have to do is strip the other stuff away...what are you then? What do you want? What are your dreams? What would you do if you had already done it all? Moving out of your house, that's on the right track, for sure. Moving to another city? I highly recommend it, if only for the experience (grad school in New York!), but it's important to do what you think is right for you. And as for the boys, fuggedaboudit! You gotta be you, whoever the hell that is, and you gotta let them be them. The rest will come.

And as for the rest of you...  Go figure it out!

An ode to my bath sheet

O! White cotton glory
Snuggling me so friendly
When I saw you on the shelf at Ikea you were $9.99
I thought you were cheap then.

I know now that you
Are, as the French say, cher
(This means both "expensive" and "dear" in that language
So maybe you'll get the double entendre).

Wrap me, O towel!
For I have showered and am clean!
I am feeling lazy and did not shave my legs (again)
I never want to get dressed.