New Years Resolutions

It’s that time of the year! The time when everyone eats too much, drinks too much, spends and parties too much and in that cloud of pound gaining, broke hangover we make resolutions to do be better people…or something. So I’m going to take this time to do two things: talk about this year, and talk about what I’m going to do differently next year.

A few months ago I was at a party with thirtysomethings who talked about the change in their lives going through revolutions, or certain time periods. They said they changed every seven years. With my age it’d be hard to measure change in a seven years period, so I’ll just take one year.

One of things I’ve noticed about my life is that I have on and off years. Some years are exciting, and others are so dull that I can’t endure them. This past year was exciting, and in terms of personal growth, I think this was one of the years when I did grow the most. The only other year I can think of that had as many twists, turns and decisions are when I studied abroad in London. I’m not sure where this personal growth is going but I don’t think it’ll end with this year. I wouldn’t want it to, since I’m in a rough patch right now and to think I’m just going to be stuck in it.

Something that I’ve always thought about is this idea of confusion, since it seems like I’m stuck in a mass of it. That’s where my screen name comes from. I guess I just had this idea that everyone else seems so sure of their place and what labels they want to adopt, whereas I have no clue. But I guess another way to look at it is that I’m always evolving, and once I know what labels I want to adopt, then well, maybe that’s the time when I’ve stopped growing. But I’m too optimistic. Here are my New Year’s Resolutions:

Abstain from alcohol: This is for personal reasons, not because I think alcohol is dirty, gross, or makes people impure. It’s for my own reasons. Looking back on my own history with alcohol, I didn’t start drinking heavily until I stopped cutting myself. It was for my own self medication and was more socially acceptable. However, especially since I’ve moved out here my tolerance has been higher and I’ve drank to the point of consuming a lethal dose of alcohol. And what’s scary is that I didn’t care if anything happened to me, since no one’s around.

My drinking probably wouldn’t be considered problematic if I did it in groups, since that’s the way most people my age socialize. I do most of my drinking in private though. I know I’m using it as an excuse to solve most of my current problems, and it’s not helping, so maybe I should put some distance between drinking and I and just abstain. It’ll give me a chance to explore other ways to solve my problems, instead of drinking my way through them.

Make physical activity a regular part of my life: This is different than saying I’m going to lose weight. My eating habits are okay, but I don’t exercise, and that’s going to be the death of me. I’ve had this on again, off again relationship with running. It’s effective, but I’m usually bored with it. I’ve thought about applying for a membership at the Berkeley Y, but I’ m not sure what to do exercise wise. Any suggestions?

Get a new place: That one’s self explanatory.

Get in touch with my writing: Like running, I have an on and off relationship with writing. I haven’t been doing very much of it, and I share even less. Maybe this should change. Maybe not.

Do some volunteering: Working with VISTA is great, but I miss doing some sort of direct service work, so I enrolled to volunteer at an animal shelter. Go me!

Spend less time online: I think this is an obvious one. I probably spend way too much time online. The only way I meet people is online, and well, lately that hasn’t been the easiest avenue to navigate, mainly because I meet the same kind of person, and there’s that extra layer of getting someone to meet offline which I am honestly tired of negotiating and dealing with. So I’m resigned to use online for exchanging emails and getting the info I need, but as far as meeting people, I need to go elsewhere. It’s a dead end search.

Do one fun thing a week: Reading this blog and my journal I realize my life is very lacking in the fun department. What’s the fun thing I’m going to do for each week? I need to do some brainstorming on that.

Watch my spending: Being a VISTA also means having very very little money, so I need to strategize ways to spend less. That probably means I’ll have get out the rusty excel spreadsheet to track my spending.

Those are mine. What are your New Years Resolutions?

Breakup notes from a party of one

It’s been nine days since I’ve laughed and it hasn’t been just because of a cold. I’ve been in and out of illnesses since I’ve arrived here. First a UTI, then an ear infection, then a head cold that gives me a scratchy voice, sore throat, stuffy nose and sinus congestion that’s stopped me from fully enjoying this week.

Okay, that’s not completely true.

Nine days ago I got a shock when someone I’ve loved very dearly broke up with me. Or maybe it was a break up. But we weren’t together. So it wasn’t a break up. But he said he doesn’t want to see me anymore. He said it wasn’t my fault. He thinks I’m smart, sensitive, sweet and such a nice, refreshing break from what’s normally out there, but he just can’t fit me into his life, and I’m not sure what hurts more. The fact that he’s the only one I’ve known out here and he’s leaving me, or that I don’t understand why he’s leaving. I try to play it out in my head as to what happened, or where I went wrong. I want to ask him, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to speak to him right now. Did I pressure him? Was I demanding? I never even told him I loved him and I’m wondering if I had said that before he would’ve stayed. Or maybe he was sensing this, and then he left. Still he left.

So I’ve done what I can to get over this break up (or having someone else leave me). Here’s what you don’t do: Don’t engage in the post break up sex, don’t act as if you’re over it right away and don’t contact the other person again. So I’ve taken the necessary steps: I chucked all the stuff that reminds me of him in the trash, and dropped off the valuables at his office. I had ordered tickets to one of his fundraisers, and since I’m sure I can’t handle myself seeing him, I took the tickets back, got a refund. I’ve done a lot of journaling, crying, talking to friends. I’ve done the whole out and out wallowing, staying in my pajamas for 24 hours, watching chick flicks and eating sorbet. But I’ve done this for nine days almost. It’s like I’m always on the brink of tears.

Last week I was presenting an award to a volunteer and started crying in the middle of my speech, and I knew it was because I was so miserable I can barely contain my sadness, like a large glass overflowing with water. It’s like some toothache. It’s small enough to let me go on with my life, but barely. I’m confined to the bedroom, listening to my Keisha Cole album, I’m sleeping constantly and trying to feel less and trying to figure out a way to swiftly end my misery, or whatever life this is. I’m bored. In serious pain. Only sad. Feeling fat. Is there any way to stop feeling this so much?

I want to say that it’s not just him. I’m constantly left behind by people who find me because I can provide a soft, safe space for people, but when they no longer need it, they leave. And when they leave they’re not as miserable as I am. They get girlfriends. They find new friends who they have more in common with. They move on and get engaged. And yet, I’m stuck with trying to figure out, why did you leave me. I know there’s supposed to be some sort of lesson here, and yet I’m exhausted with trying to find the lessons and ways to improve so that people won’t leave in the future. They don’t go through so much self reflection. Do I have to because I chose them but they didn’t chose me?

Maybe I’m just better off alone, since I spend so much time by myself anyway. I took a survey once that said I’m more independent. Maybe that’s the better suited word for it. Being alone isn’t so much of a positive experience, as it is an experience that I’ve adapted to. I have three other siblings, but our ages range so much that I was raised separately. As a child I spent a lot of time alone since I had no siblings, and few friends but I know now that that particular behavior isn’t perceived as a survival tactic. It’s seen as antisocial. Maybe I am a little bit. It’s just hard to do the cocktail parties and small talk now since I didn’t engage in the playground games as a kid. And I don’t like small talk. I want real, honest connections. I don’t care too much for investing in fake, shallow ones and it seems like those are only connections possible for people around my age.

I’m in some limbo. I don’t like being alone as often as I am because sometimes, it can turn into loneliness and I reminisce on all those who have left and I’m in my current situation and I can no longer enjoy my solitude. But at the same time, I can’t imagine letting someone in my life because I don’t know how long they are going to stay. Or the reasons they’ll stay. Some days I think I can enjoy this solitude, and other times I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it. Some days I want someone to be there, but when I’m stuck with thinking about all the work it’ll entail I change my mind. Sometimes I want someone to be there, and tell me I’m going to be okay, and they’re okay with being with me, but I don’t know how to make that happen.

Until then, I’ll try to enjoy my solitude.

Thoughts of the Day: Cognitive Dissonance

Let’s say I met this mythical person on the street (possibly on Shattuck, Telegraph, Broadway, or Park Blvd.) and we started talking about their lives. Here are some of the things that may come up: mythical person X might like the taste of meat, but not the way it’s produced, might like PUMAs but dislike sweatshops, or might love someone but dislike what this person’s gender, nationality, race (fill in the blank) represent as a whole.

What do all of these things have in common?

Cognitive dissonance! According to wikepedia, cognitive dissonance is a psychological term describing the uncomfortable tension that may result from having two conflicting thoughts at the same time, or from engaging in behavior that conflicts with one’s beliefs. I’m not sure how many people this represents, or how many people’s values conflict with their actions or every day appearances. I didn’t realize how different my actions are from my beliefs until these past few weeks.

I’m still on the search for a room, and let me tell you, roommate hunting in the Bay Area is more stressful than applying for college. I’ve been on countless open houses, first and second roommate interviews and then there’s the deliberations on whether this person is a “good fit” for the household, even if it’s a month to month lease. When I was in Riverside, room searching took about a week. I’ve been on the search now for almost a month, and I haven’t gotten an affirmative yet. And on these interviews I do nice things. Sure, I’ve baked cookies and the roommate grin in my face, but once I’m reached with a question on drugs, sexual activity, cleanliness, my opinion on spirituality or queer relationships, I know I get this blank look on my face.

For the record, I’ll describe my lifestyle. I work for Americorps, pulling what are sometimes 50 hour work weeks (like this week). I run or work out. I plan on volunteering at a shelter this January. I like common clean spaces. I don’t smoke or do drugs and I’m giving up drinking. I don’t eat meat, massive amounts of dairy, caffeine or sugar. I don’t party, mostly because I’m bad at it. I don’t think much about religion, spirituality or relationships at this point because they’re not in my immediate daily life. I like debates, good conversations, an occasional roommate dinner, and I encourage a harmonious relationship between roommates, but I don’t require to be friends with roommates.

I sound pretty boring huh? Maybe I am. I’ve been pegged as a good two shoes by several failed roommate interviews and as conservative by others. Perhaps by my lifestyle I am. I see nothing wrong with people who chose a more hedonistic approach, by binge drinking and partying, tons of casual sex and happy accidents. I’ve just never been that person, although I wonder if my discomfort with people who describe me as conservative comes from the fact that my lifestyle is conservative. This doesn’t describe my believes though. Belief wise I’d describe myself as liberal, but my lifestyle doesn’t fully reflect that, and I’m not sure if I’d want it to either.

This is something I thought about constantly in college. I was surrounded by all the cool queer kids who were honor students and popular, who partied all night long and still looked great, who had numerous relationships and whose socialist politics reflected their open sex lives, and there I was — some nervous kid, constantly chewing on my hair who had never even kissed anyone, didn’t drink, smoke or skip class and talked to her mom at least once a week. They weren’t too fond over inviting me to parties, and now I can understand why. Sure, I said I was okay with all sorts of stuff, but I couldn’t engage them on that level. They had no clue what to do with me. Maybe that’s how all these potential roomies are feeling about me too.

I don’t know. I keep wishing I’d want to change, but in my decision to give up drinking (another blog on that) I don’t think it’s me. The question is, is my lifestyle in conflict with my beliefs? Should I try another path just to make my beliefs more consistent with my lifestyle? And dammit, I bake cookies for roommates all the time, why won’t anyone rent to me?

Kids

Since it’s holiday season which means party season for work. At the office party a few nights ago, I met the former director of my organization and her son. Her curly headed toddler was passed from one woman to the next who ogled on how adorable he was (because that’s what you do with babies). Her son reached up for me, hands grasping and releasing the air around he and I, and my coworkers smiled at his request. He wanted me to pick him up and he hadn’t done that with anyone else. I didn’t want to pick him up though.

Is it weird if I admit I feel really awkward around kids? I don’t hate or dislike them. I just feel awkward around them.

Can Writers Be Happy?

While my friend watched “Syriana” I flipped through the page of his recently purchased book (because I can’t afford any, sniffle sniffle) “100 Simple secrets of happy people.) I was mildly surprised to see this particular friend having this particular book since he describes himself as happy. I asked him if people can ever really be happy. You know, like consistently happy. He said they can, nodded and returned to trying to understand that plot of the movie.

And then I started thinking: Can writers be happy? Is that even a goal a writer wants to obtain? I’m not sure. Since my screen name is still confused, one of the things I’m confused (or torn) about is the pursuit of happiness. I want to be happy and I want to be a writer. Just the term happy writer doesn’t conjure many fruitful images in my head. When I think of happy writers I think of are Anne Tyler, or the anonymous authors who pen genre fiction. Sure, the stories are cute, and escapist, but the tend to lack the tension, struggle or self reflection that I like writing to have. Last year, I heard a genre fiction in at Writer’s Week explain why she thinks people love genre fiction so much: for its optimism, for its wit and charm, for its belief that yes, good things can and will happen. Whereas with literary writing, everything is usually all negative and doom and gloom.

Sure, she’s right. It’s a trend that make trendy literary fiction have more in common with genre fiction than it probably would like, but I find that my mind works like that. I’ve done some wonderful writing when I’ve been pissed off, angry or upset when something goes on in the larger world or my smaller, province val one. When I do reflection and have to write on something bad that happened to me, the painful, wistful memories always end up the strongest, the sharpest, the best written compared to any other stuff. Stephanie Elizando Griest said it best when she said that memoirs are hard, because the happy stuff gets boring to write about after a while. It’s all the bad shit that makes the best drama. Fiction or nonfiction.

Some writers have addictions that set them apart. At least that’s one thing I learned while in college and in the Bay Area. Most artists latch onto some addiction or drug, be it alcohol, cocaine, marijuana, Oxycontin, vicadin, heroin, meth, video games, gambling or sex (can’t you tell I watch way too much intervention?). Some folks, like me, just have their history of sadness to cling to. Like Sylvia Plath. Her earlier stuff is more conventional, brighter, almost happier, and it sucked. Her stuff didn’t start getting interesting until she tapped into her depression. And look where she ended up with that.

Like sadness, love, or jealousy, happiness is an emotion like any other. It’s temporary but it gets too much press for an emotion that you’re supposed to have, all the time, and when you don’t have it, it’s obvious that something is wrong. It may or may not be true, but when it comes to the writer’s truth, maybe happiness isn’t the goal. Writers after all, exist on a different plane or morality, so wouldn’t that include a different plane of goals? And if the writer part of me is okay with not being happy, why does it have to convince the rest of myself that I don’t need it? I don’t know. It’s like I want to convince myself to be normal like my friend (who can be self motivated almost to a fault) although the truth lies in what I like to read. I hate happily ever love stories. I like the ones where they experience something bad, like an abortion or a threesome. I hate friendship stories where they become friends and that’s the end of it, like you can order friends at your nearest Taco Bell. I like stories that focus on the decline of friendship and how it hurts so many people, maybe even more so than losing a lover. (Hell, I’d like to actually read a story about people who have issues making friends). I like hearing about dysfunctional families, kids in crisis, being broke and the arduous and painful task of just trying to survive (I’m not even on the being happy part). I’m not sure if that’s because it makes more interesting stuff, or because it reflects my own past.

Is it just me, or is that people who are happy, much like people who are in that oh-my-god-i-just-met-the-one-and-i-know-it-because-we-make-out-all-the-time love are really obnoxious about their happiness or what they’ve found? I don’t believe them. I think happiness is a shallow emotion that gets more credit than it deserves. You know those couples who slob all over each other? They meet each other’s parents. They move in together. And they break up. A lot. And find the One two weeks later. That’s why I don’t trust them. That’s why I’m suspicious of happiness. I’ve never heard of anyone who’s been happy, consistent and popular because of that happiness. During my conference in LA this week, someone created a breakout group called “everything’s wonderful” and I wanted to throw my notepad at them. Why can’t I run around and shout about how angry, pissed off, and annoyed I am but they get to flaunt their wonderful wonderful happiness?

Don’t worry, I’m not pissed off right now. That was just my thought at that very moment. Like I was saying I don’t think the quest of the writer is to be happy, or write about happiness, or portray their material in a happy light (I think that’s the whole point of this post), but to write whatever truth they have. I just haven’t seen a convincing truth for happiness from writers, or anyone at this point.