Today, a friend and I were talking about the fads of our youth, and we started reminiscing about Choose Your Own Adventure books, a genre of poorly-written, oddly sci-fi, second person narratives for children in which the reader continually makes choices that influence the plot of the story.
Every choice you made drastically changed the story line, though some choices ultimately took you to the same place. I devoured these books when I was little, high on the fact that the author was giving me some of the power in my reading experience.
On the way home from the gathering where we discussed these books, as I came down 28th Street back into my neighborhood, I saw a potentially homeless lady, the kind you can lump together with all the other potentially homeless ladies. You know, bad skin, smoking a cigarette, damaged hair, layered clothes in shades of gray that allow all your attention to go to their faces with wrinkled mouths revealing years of poor dental hygiene, walking around on a block that has nothing interesting going on because they're always walking around on that same block that has nothing interesting going on.
You know, them. Except today, I saw myself in this lady. I saw my face on hers, as I had that sudden flash of realization that came in the form of a question: What's separating me from this lady?
Do you ever ask that? What really is causing me to be who I am and where I am in life, as opposed to where she is? The numbers on our parents' paychecks while we were growing up? A few choices we made, seemingly small choices that led to patterns of behavior that altered the trajectories of our lives?
I believe that our choices and our actions define who we are. Intentions are often meaningless, because no one else experiences them. They only experience what we do, and we create the world around us and who we are in that world by what we do. One choice one time might not define your character, but you better believe that a pattern of behavior does.
I teach my children that people are not bad. I tell them no one is bad, though they might make bad choices. In my personal life, however, I pretty much hold the opposite view. I will judge you based on what you do. And I will judge myself even more harshly.
However, sometimes patterns of behavior don't feel like choices. They feel like traps that every time you fall into, you shout from the bottom to the people around you, Please know that this is not who I am. Yeah, it was a choice I made, but it's not really ME. This hope in some hidden, true identity that has nothing to do with your actions surfaces, probably from the same place from which I authentically tell my children that people just make bad choices sometimes.
The ladies walking around on the same block every day must also be internally shouting, This is not my life. I know I'm living it, but it's not the real ME.
I don't know how to reconcile these two beliefs. I could turn to page 32 if I believe that you are what you do, or I could turn to page 63 if I believe that you are your greatest untapped potential. Either way though, I'm afraid the story might end up the same.
Becky: (holding a laptop) Anna, I just found two of your favorite things put together. me: Wait, wait, don't show me. Um...a lobster...telling a short story about his life. Becky: No. But keep guessing. me: A bowl of ice cream floating on a pristine lake. Becky:Neil Patrick Harris and Listerine.
I had a great weekend, filled with many memorable moments. However, the one where we had breakfast this morning and gave an impromptu, semi-harmonized rendition of More Than Words followed by a loud clapping fest is perhaps the best. Cause come on, when's that going to happen again?
When walking alone down the streets of downtown Baltimore late at night, some would advise, it is best to avoid eye contact with strangers. I, however, feel more comfortable acknowledging people's existence. So that is what I did last night.
I was meeting my brother, who was in town on business, at the Sheraton for a trade. His leftover crabs from dinner for some bottles of Resurrection Ale, both things that any transplant would crave when back in the area. The hand-off was made, and I was on my way to the car. (Don't worry, Mom, it was a short walk.)
On my way, I passed a dude in a yellow jacket and probably gave him a pathetic half-smile, which for some reason, is what I do when I pass people.
yellow jacket dude: How are you? me: Good, how are you? yellow jacket dude: I'm good. I continue walking.
YJD: Hey. Let me ask you a question. I keep going. YJD: Wait! I turn around. YJD speaks, in what I now assume to be some type of African accent. YJD: It's okay, I won't follow you. You stay there. I'll stay here. I just want to know...how do I get a date with the Caucasian ladies? me: Haha, I don't know! I turn and keep going. YJD: No, I really want to know. I can't do it here. I have to go to Europe. I try, but I do not know how. What advice can you give me? me: Well, I really don't know. I guess just...be yourself. YJD: No, here they want you know certain things. I don't know where to meet them, what to say, what to do. They want you to know so many things. me: Hm...well, that sounds like it would take a lot of time to learn, more than I could tell you in a few sentences. Just...keep trying I guess. YJD: Ha, okay, thank you. me: Have a good night!
I am a rock. I am unphased by preschoolers' tantrums. I am an island of serenity in a sea of young children's chaotic emotions.
Except for today, when the sticks and stones of a four-year-old were too much for me to bear, only 15 minutes after work had begun. And I needed a hug. And I got one. From said four-year-old.
Is this what it feels like to be a crazy cat lady?
I hear it's not cool to sing along, but I don't even care
I know I've said it before, and I'll say it again...
People have told me that interesting things happen in my life that don't happen to other people. I always told them that it was just a perception thing, and it only seemed like my life was extra interesting, because I like to see it that way and tell it that way. However, at some point I just started agreeing. Interesting things happen to me. And now I've started to believe that I will them into existence. This weekend, I really felt like the world revolved around me. There was just too much serendipity.
running into several people that I've met once before, including but not limited to the guy who lent us a shovel during the blizzard and the people dressed as Yip Yips at Halloween
notable celebrity sightings: John Waters and Geof from Ace of Cakes (Seriously, once I befriend them, I'll have to remove all these creepy references.)
the icing on the cookie cake of a weekend: receiving last minute, through a strange series of events, tickets to the sold out Beach House show that I'd been trying to get for months
In many of the above cases, I had literally said, "I hope ____ happens. I think it will." I mean, I told myself I was going to one day meet the Yip Yips and find out who they were. Standing in line for the concert, which was miraculous to begin with, I heard the person behind me say to her friend, "These guys were the Yip Yips on Halloween." And there you have it. Smalltimore shrinks once again.
My life is one big "huh" moment, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
maybe I'll never be ready for that, or maybe I need to bite the bullet
I had every intention of enjoying the sunshine today. But when I got back from breakfast, I just crashed. Maybe it was a combination of heat and constant dehydration throughout the weekend. Either way, I don't do well in 90 some degree weather in the absence of a pool, and all I could do for the last several hours was just lie on my bed and drift in and out of dreams. What a waste of a day.
Anyway, I had one particularly vivid dream. I went to a new church, and before I went in to the room where they were having the service, I saw a person from my past who I never want to see again. I was about to bolt out of the building, but I think this person saw me, and I didn't want them to know I was running away. Instead, I went downstairs to the bathroom to collect my thoughts. As I was running, I began to fly down the stairs. It was more of a really really slow fall, but my body was suspended in the air for a while as I tried to control where I was going. Instead, I was kind of careening down the winding stairwell by sheer momentum, which also carried me in this flying/falling state into the bathroom, whose doors I tried to shut, but they just kept swinging around with the same kind of momentum. I felt like I was accomplishing my goal of getting where I wanted to be, but I was very out of control.
I wish I had felt good today and enjoyed the last day of my weekend.
