MyAdultLand

I am not a co’ ho’.

Raise your hand if you’re tired of people old enough to know a thing or two by now (and I’m talking to you, my fellow aging Gen Xers) complaining, lamenting, wondering: “how did I get here?” Not just in terms of their relationship, but their life: career, income, self-fulfillment. I used to do the same. But at some point, increasingly I’d ask that question of myself (rather than of a friend, rhetorically, over my second double macchiato, as was my way in the past). And when I asked it of myself, I actually required of myself an answer. And it hit me:  Because that’s what I’ve chosen. Wealth and a relationship and self-worth cannot be had if the price is feeling trapped. Compromise? Of course. Frustration? A given. But trapped: never, ever again. Not in a job, not in a relationship, nowhere. Let freedom reign.

I’m smart. So why am I not Wealthy? Married? Satisfied? Sometimes I need to remind myself, to be quite honest.

Why am I not wealthy? Because I chose to walk away from a lucrative corporate gig a long time ago. It paid well but I was miserable. I felt trapped. The good definitely did not outweigh the bad – no amount of money is worth feeling trapped, not to me. So I walked. I could quite easily have more money. There are lots of ways right outside my door I could easily earn a great income with lots of benefits. Perhaps I’ll find one that fits well and doesn’t feel come with that “trapped” feeling. In the meantime, I know exactly how I want to live my life, what I want to do with it: and it can pay off. It’s a longshot, I know. And that’s okay. I’m doing okay. It’s 100% worth the tradeoff. I’m loving every minute spent trying. This is an adventure.

Why am I not married? Again, I chose to not remain married. I loved being married. I loved him, he loved me; we still love each other. But Dave Mason said it best: “There ain’t no good guys. There ain’t no bad guys. There’s only you and me and we just disagree.” And if you spend your life together in disagreement, it’s not good for either party. It felt like another trap: one I’d built around myself. Some people stay with the wrong person for fear of ending up alone, or for the kids, or because they loathe the confrontation/battle of divorce, so they take the lifelong path of least resistance. It’s up to you: risk being alone for the right reasons or with someone for the wrong ones. And that is for no one to decide or judge but you.

Climb Me.

Why am I not satisfied? I choose — no in this case, I’ll always need — to ameliorate. Because I like the act of striving, pushing myself, wanting to accomplish more, improving myself. I’ve been satisfied many times, and to great degrees. I just don’t remain satisfied for very long. Show me a mountain and I have to climb it. And there’s always a mountain to climb. I like the climb as much as the view from the top. And I mean that literally, not metaphorically. But you can do what you want with that mountain and that metaphor.

Self pity, tear down this wall!

I wonder if he’s satisfied.

But let’s talk about you now, my fellow aging Gen Xers, who are still stuck on the “why me?” loop. Most of you are fiercely smart. Too smart for your own good. It was great currency in your 20s, when having a low-paying job with cool cred was hot. Or you were working a McJob until your big break, when your indie-alt-grunge band “Carpet Picnic” (or whatever genius name it was then) was discovered, signed to Sub Pop, and changed the face of rock forever. Or you were working to Save The Children (or The World, or The Peppered Moth) in a non-profit organization — which made you a good person. Fine and dandy.

But we’re 15, 20 years on, guys. You didn’t go into it for the money then. And you stuck with it. So why, oh why are you whining that there’s no money now? “How did I get here?” “How did this happen?” Answer: Because it’s what you chose. You could change it any second. Get a broker’s degree. Go into pharmaceutical sales. Not into selling out? Write the next blockbuster movie franchise that elevates the genre into the category of  “art”. Just do something, anything, different. Differently. Or own it, take pride, be the best you can be at it. Or… choose to stop complaining. It’s only your life we’re talking about after all. Just how much of it do you want to spend complaining, regretting, lamenting – and annoying everyone around you in the process (while you still have their attention, that is)?

Sure, there are some circumstances we definitely do not choose. Death of loved ones, layoffs at work, and other’s behavior all come to mind. But whether we stay vs. go? Choice. To listen vs. ignore? Choice. Accept vs. change? Choice. Path of least resistance (and often, least reward) vs. challenge? Big choice. Big choice. Choose wisely.

A) Company

B) A second life as an installation in a touring museum exhibit!!!

That’s right, don’t be so quick to throw out those old mementos and relics that only serve to remind you of the broken heart you’ve suffered (or caused).

Come to think of it, Who is quick to throw this stuff out? A lot of people save this stuff: old photos, old gifts, old stuffed animals won at the state fair. Some save them for the happy or bittersweet memories they conjure. Some save them as a badge to remind themselves of the pain they’ve survived and learned from. And others never throw anything away and their homes look like the inside of a junk drawer.

I had one such of these relics. But of course, I love a good ceremony. So years ago I had my way with my memento.

It was a letter I wrote to a certain someone, about 15 years ago. I never sent it. I’m not sure I ever meant to send it. Sometimes I just write a letter to gather my thoughts, and then just keep it. It was a sort of “I love you this isn’t working why can’t we make it work blah blah blah” letter. Not a breakup. But not a lot of hope left in them there words either. But then… the guy beat me to the punch. And I didn’t protest. I knew it was the right thing to do. So we split and he moved to LA and I got my own flat (still here — GOD BLESS RENT CONTROL) but refused to give him my new address & phone numbers because though, on occasion, I may cave and dabble in martyrdom; ultimately, It Ain’t Me, Babe.

I kept the letter. It got old. My life changed. I moved on. I moved. Moving means shedding belongings — at least when you live in the Tiny-Apartment-World that is San Francisco. I was also getting rid of a mirror. Say, there’s an idea.

I saw it. Didn’t know if it would work, but I saw it. Shards Of A Broken Loveletter. So I glued it to the back of the mirror… then shattered the motherfucker. Whipped out my X-acto knife to finish the job, put the shards of broken mirror/loveletter in this glass column, to sort-of give it that natural history “preserved specimen” presentation… And that was it. It’s lost all emotional impact for me. I just thought it looked cool, so I kept it.

So if you are going to hang  onto your badges of heartache, why not reinvent them? Got T-shirt with a logo on it (maybe from the first show he/she took you to)? Stretch it over a canvas and presto! A new dartboard! Seriously, go out and get some darts — that would be awesome if I ever saw that in someone’s home! Maybe you can even make them functional? Decopage your garbage can (or toilet seat)  with old pictures of or associated with him/her? I don’t know, get creative! Have fun!

But back to my object. When I saw that the Museum of Broken Relationships (based in Croatia) was on tour and stopping in San Francisco, I thought “why not?” It deserves a good home. I never dreamed they’d get back to me within 2 hours. But… hey, it was just hours after President Barack Hussein Obama (God, my four favorite words right now) was sworn into office. I just fell head over heels in love with 2009 on that day. And most fittingly, the museum makes its San Francisco debut on St. Valentines’s (reception from 7 – 10pm) day at Root Division, an arts & education non-profit organization that does some amazing work here in San Francisco.

Feel free to bring a date.

I had a conversation recently with a complete stranger. Some of my favorite conversations are with complete strangers. You’re starting with a clean slate and can be the you that you want to be — for as long as you’re able to keep up the act. Admit it, you do it too. Not lying, no not at all. Just omitting all the whiney crap with which we pepper our conversations with friends.

Back to the conversation: The subject was travel, for the most part. Drive vs. fly; solo vs. others, 5-star vs. backpacking. etc. etc. etc. And the fact of the matter is, we decided, travel is travel. It’s all good, it’s all relative.

And then he said, “it’s as though you shed some of the identities you’ve taken on with each step away from home, the world seems sharper and vivid.” And long after the conversation ended, I couldn’t stop thinking about what he said.

Why do our identities bring us down so much that the world improves when we shed them? Shouldn’t these identities — since the are after all a part of us — enhance our daily experience here (and during travel) that much more, giving us an enriched perspective?  It’s as if we send someone else out there, the part of ourselves we like, the part that can relax, “just be myself”. So are we not ourselves at home? Sure there’s work, family, obligations, etc. But that is all part of one’s “self”. I mean, I get that travel is freeing and liberating and fantasy-filled and not a realistic existence for which most of us could trade in our “real lives”. But it’s that state of mind, that here-and-now, that we can keep.

Then why don’t we? Why not make that one of our many identities, in addition to offspring, spouse, parent, employee, home decorator, carpooler, choc-o-holic, sex-goddess, etc.?  Why not approach every step away from our front door as an adventure, a journey, a trip in and of itself? Actually, it is when you think about it. You don’t know what’s going to happen. You know what will probably happen — probably what happened yesterday. And the day before. Wake, shower, coffee, drive to work, banter with colleagues, work, bathroom, coffee, email, work lunch masturbate etc etc etc blah blah blah.

But you don’t know for certain; this may be the day your CPR skills are put to the test when you pull over to help an accident victim. Or the day when you find a complete stranger at the gas station is so intriguing that you make up some lame excuse to be “…going to the mall too! Gee, what a coincidence!” Or any number of scenarios that definitely did not happen yesterday. I think it’s called living in the present. I think we’re supposed to do that while planning for the future and learning from the past. Something like that.

Back to travel & the whole identity thing. I think about this a lot lately because as you know (if you’ve read any of this blog before), I blew up my life as I knew it over a year ago. And in the explosion, I lost some identities. Your dad dies: you’re no longer a daughter. You and your husband part: you’re no longer a wife. You leave your job: you’re no longer a bartender. You put your filmmaking on hiatus: you’re no longer a filmmaker (and no longer call that community your own — and that was my community). All I know: I’m a writer. I’m a yogi. I’m an athlete. I like my wine and I love to cook and there’s a few more things that are a little personal that I’ll just keep to myself. I want to feel alive, even if it hurts sometimes. And these days, I throw stuff at the walls. A lot of stuff. See what sticks. See what my new Identity is going to entail. It’s interesting to say the least.

Which is why I like traveling. I don’t just like it; I feel most calm,  most “myself” then: Because people may ask out of curiosity “what do you do?”, which is shorthand for “what do you do when you’re not standing in that spot talking to me for the first time?” But they don’t really care. Think about it. When you’re at home, if you go to a party or a bar or meet a friend of a friend, that’s the inevitable question. And one I honestly don’t know how to answer right now. But when you meet someone when you’re traveling, no one cares about what you do, your past, your plans when the trip’s over. It’s all right here. It’s all right now. We’re interested in the person before us at that moment. That moment is all that matters. Sure, it could change our futures. Don’t bet on it, but you never know.

The hell with all this existential crap. I want to talk about travel some more. The above-mentioned stranger asked me where I’d like to go next. Here’s what I came up with off the top of my head.

1. Copenhagen (at Christmas): Saw it on a billboard when I was living in London and I fell in love. Hans Christian Anderson stuff.

2. Barcelona: Spaniards are HOT! Plus it was my daddy’s favorite country when he lived in Europe for 6 months after WWII. He said the people in Spain were the nicest. Plus, Spaniards are HOT!

3. Greek Isles: I did the National Geographic mainlands-in-the-off-season-tracking-down-the-village-where-my-grandparents-were-from thing. Now I want the sexy beach experience. And Greek food… oh, the food.

4. Venice: Just look at it, that’s why.

5. Tokyo: Never been anywhere in Asia. Tokyo just seems to have this incredible, one-of-a-kind energy. And the surrounding countryside.

6. Safari in Africa: I imagine that would be like stepping back in time. Plus then I’d get to wear a cute little safari outfit.

7. Desert of Arizona and Utah. Actually, I’ve already been to both. I grew up in Vegas and the only redeeming quality of Vegas in my opinion is the surrounding desert. That said, it pales in comparison to the deserts of Arizona and Utah. I don’t know if I believe in God, but I do believe in the desert.