Oct
20
Thank you, thank you for all your kind comments and emails. I feel . . . well, so grateful. So happy that you are all a part of my life, and that you’re patient with me when I whinge.
Yesterday in the midst of reading your lovely, thoughtful words, I heard from my gym coach. As embarrassing and awkward as it was to have a candid discussion about what went wrong during Monday’s workout, it was exactly what needed to happen. I went back and worked out in his class yesterday and it was much, much better.
You, my friends inside the computer, so often give me the push I need to get myself pointed in the right direction. Whether that’s kicking a bad habit to the curb or taking on a new goal or bolstering how I feel about myself as a person, you guys always, always help.
For that and so much more, thank you.
Oct
19
My life is so different than it was a month ago, in so many good ways. You’d think I’d be proud.
Ironically, as much as my office job degraded me and made me feel bad about myself, it seems like my self-confidence has taken a hit since I left. I feel this burning need for people to understand that I work for a living—three articles a day, not including other freelance assignments! (See? How I couldn’t stop myself from saying that?)—and why is that, exactly? Why does it matter? God, but it does. I can’t seem to let it go.
I feel like everything I’ve been doing lately sounds so lame. Look at what a joke I am, I keep saying. Cooking! Cleaning! Homeschooling! Look, I made three scrapbook pages, next I’ll wear a bonnet and french-braid my pubic hair while picking my own gherkins HA HA I AM UNCOMFORTABLE WITH MYSELF.
I’ve had a couple people write me to say they don’t identify with me any more. I get that. Some of you know me by surface only, by words and pictures. I could say, well, I’m the same foul-mouthed insecure motherfucker I always have been, but it doesn’t matter, the subject matter has changed and I know that can be reason to move on. It’s hard, though, when you’re looking at yourself and feeling worried that you’ve become less interesting or less relevant somehow, and someone chimes in and says, well yeah dude, you pretty much have.
And it’s so stupid, because goddamn, I’m so much happier. I am so much happier than I was. I am so glad to have kicked that soul-sucking job to the curb, to be spending more time with my boys, to work for myself, and to try new things like CrossFit and yeah, sitting around glueing little annoying-ass pieces of paper. That should be enough. That should be plenty. I don’t know why I get so hung up on what other people think.
I had this awful, awful gym class last night where for the very first time a coach was totally condescending and basically treated me like an idiot for being a newbie, and I could feel myself starting to cry. Like right there in front of everyone. (Terrible. Oh god.) I barely managed to keep it at bay until I got out to my car where I just sat there in the dark and sobbed in total hysterics for maybe fifteen straight minutes. Not because I thought there was anything wrong with being new and unsure and still learning, but because someone else did.
Or maybe I did think there was something wrong with it, with me, maybe I thought I was a giant loser trying to fit in somewhere I didn’t belong, and some gym guy just confirmed it for me. I don’t know. How do you know, really?
I quit my job and it was the best thing that ever happened to me but I lost some sense of identity I didn’t know I needed so badly. I miss it, like a ratty security blanket that I could drag out in order to square my shoulders, paint a picture of myself that was never really true in the first place.
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