Things I Want To Do Before I Die That I Already Know I Won’t

Sometimes it's good to just write random things, even if it is crap. So, just for the fun of it. Here are some thing I want to do, but know I never will. 

1.) Dissect a wolf who died of natural causes in the middle school class room where I took Sex Ed, placing each of the wolf’s organs in a separate sealed display container, mislabeling the organs.

2.) Walk into a room shaped exactly the size as I am.

3.) Go to Arby's and order six of everything on the menu, and take one bite of each item as they bring it out to me, and then throw the rest on the floor for however long that takes, and then at the end clean it all up by myself, and then come back the next day and apply for a job and get the job. Then quit.

4.) Go to a park in perfect weather and spend an entire day laying on a blanket without the desire for food and not thinking anything except kind things about the other people and animals around me in the park.

5.) Popularize the acronym GGTTBAIMN (Gotta go to the bathroom and I mean Now) by becoming the first person to do that through the soles of my feet.

6.) Ask my dad once more how he’s doing and receive a coherent, informative answer.

7.) Cybersex Facebook-chat with Tom from Myspace

8.) Eat all the cookies currently existing or to be existing later thereby gaining so much weight the air is entirely made of human fat, but still be able to just hang out and do whatever in the meantime like go for a nice walk in the breeze.

9.) Redesign the Cheerios box with a picture of Stephen Colbert being beheaded in front of his children.

10.) Acquire & maintain in my apartment 86,400 working clocks of various design which as a group are set to every possible second in the day.

11.) Watch a horde of Dachshunds swim out of the ocean all together at the same time then up a hill toward a small black cube with a mouth hole in it into which the dogs one by one disappear.

12.) Get so many piercings I don’t have any skin left and just walk around jangling in the daylight handing out coupons for free piercings to little boys and girls at the mall.

13.) Get paid to lay around fantasizing about ridiculous garbage without having to write it down or tell anybody or remember that I thought it.

14.) Open an email that has a live baby inside it and begin to worship the baby but then one day accidentally leave it outside too long in the sun.

15.) Take a photograph of the sun that becomes the most famous photo of the sun ever taken.

16.) Shave Robert Smith’s head with a butter knife.

17.) Go as a Mexican restaurant for Halloween, constructing a costume so intricate and believable that people actually try to come up and open my doors and go inside me.

18.) Befriend an elderly Mexican woman who will come to my house in the late evenings and cook whatever comes to mind using fresh calorie-free ingredients that have appeared in the refrigerator overnight and feed me with an electronic device that requires no hand or attention on my part while I lay on the floor and look at the wall or listen to music if I feel like hearing music, who will let me pay her by reading whatever book I happen to be reading aloud but will still leave somehow with her pockets full of enough money each night to live happily and support her family, and when I’m not hungry or not home she’ll know not to come without requiring contact.

19.) Walk into a room full of everything I’ve ever eaten again reconstituted into how it was before I ate it

20.) Find a shell on the beach that has a mouth that speaks Italian and when people ask me questions I can just hold up the shell.

This Is How We Date Now

We don’t commit now. We don’t see the point. They’ve always said there are so many fish in the sea, but never before has that sea of fish been right at our fingertips on OkCupid, Tinder, Grindr, Dattch, take your pick. We can order up a human being in the same way we can order up pad thai on Seamless. We think intimacy lies in a perfectly-executed string of emoji. We think effort is a “good morning” text. We say romance is dead, because maybe it is, but maybe we just need to reinvent it. Maybe romance in our modern age is putting the phone down long enough to look in each others eyes at dinner. Maybe romance is deleting Tinder off your phone after an incredible first date with someone. Maybe romance is still there, we just don’t know what it looks like now.

When we choose—if we commit—we are still one eye wandering at the options. We want the beautiful cut of filet mignon, but we’re too busy eyeing the mediocre buffet, because choice. Because choice. Our choices are killing us. We think choice means something. We think opportunity is good. We think the more chances we have, the better. But, it makes everything watered-down. Never mind actually feeling satisfied, we don’t even understand what satisfaction looks like, sounds like, feels like. We’re one foot out the door, because outside that door is more, more, more. We don’t see who’s right in front of our eyes asking to be loved, because no one is asking to be loved. We long for something that we still want to believe exists. Yet, we are looking for the next thrill, the next jolt of excitement, the next instant gratification.

We soothe ourselves and distract ourselves and, if we can’t even face the demons inside our own brain, how can we be expected to stick something out, to love someone even when it’s not easy to love them? We bail. We leave. We see a limitless world in a way that no generation before us has seen. We can open up a new tab, look at pictures of Portugal, pull out a Visa, and book a plane ticket. We don’t do this, but we can. The point is that we know we can, even if we don’t have the resources to do so. There are always other tantalizing options. Open up Instagram and see the lives of others, the life we could have. See the places we’re not traveling to. See the lives we’re not living. See the people we’re not dating. We bombard ourselves with stimuli, input, input, input, and we wonder why we’re miserable. We wonder why we’re dissatisfied. We wonder why nothing lasts and everything feels a little hopeless. Because, we have no idea how to see our lives for what they are, instead of what they aren’t.

And, even if we find it. Say we find that person we love who loves us. Commitment. Intimacy. “I love you.” We do it. We find it. Then, quickly, we live it for others. We tell people we’re in a relationship on Facebook. We throw our pictures up on Instagram. We become a “we.” We make it seem shiny and perfect because what we choose to share is the highlight reel. We don’t share the 3am fights, the reddened eyes, the tear-stained bedsheets. We don’t write status updates about how their love for us shines a light on where we don’t love ourselves. We don’t tweet 140 characters of sadness when we’re having the kinds of conversations that can make or break the future of our love. This is not what we share. Shiny picture. Happy couple. Love is perfect.

Then, we see these other happy, shiny couples and we compare. We are The Emoji Generation. Choice Culture. The Comparison Generation. Measuring up. Good enough. The best. Never before have we had such an incredible cornucopia of markers for what it looks like to live the Best Life Possible. We input, input, input and soon find ourselves in despair. We’ll never be good enough, because what we’re trying to measure up to just does not fucking exist. These lives do not exist. These relationships do not exist. Yet, we can’t believe it. We see it with our own eyes. And, we want it. And, we will make ourselves miserable until we get it.

So, we break up. We break up because we’re not good enough, our lives aren’t good enough, our relationship isn’t good enough. We swipe, swipe, swipe, just a bit more on Tinder. We order someone up to our door just like a pizza. And, the cycle starts again. Emoji. “Good morning” text. Intimacy. Put down the phone. Couple selfie. Shiny, happy couple. Compare. Compare. Compare. The inevitable creeping in of latent, subtle dissatisfaction. The fights. “Something is wrong, but I don’t know what it is.” “This isn’t working.” “I need something more.” And, we break up. Another love lost. Another graveyard of shiny, happy couple selfies.

On to the next. Searching for the elusive more. The next fix. The next gratification. The next quick hit. Living our lives in 140 characters, 5 second snaps, frozen filtered images, four minute movies, attention here, attention there. More as an illusion. We worry about settling, all the while making ourselves suffer thinking that anything less than the shiny, happy filtered life we’ve been accustomed to is settling. What is settling? We don’t know, but we fucking don’t want it. If it’s not perfect, it’s settling. If it’s not glittery filtered love, settling. If it’s not Pinterest-worthy, settling.

We realize that this "more" we want is a lie. We want phone calls. We want to see a face we love absent of the blue dim of a phone screen. We want slowness. We want simplicity. We want a life that does not need the validation of likes, favorites, comments, upvotes. We may not know yet that we want this, but we do. We want connection, true connection. We want a love that builds, not a love that gets discarded for the next hit. We want to come home to people. We want to lay down our heads at the end of our lives and know we lived well, we lived the fuck out of our lives. This is what we want even if we don’t know it yet.

Yet, this is not how we date now. This is not how we love now.

Building A Big Life

I wish someone had told me that you need to be strong in this life, that flowery romanticism and vacant idealism was never going to be very helpful. I hadn’t realized when I was younger that the kind of strength you need isn’t hard or infallible or impenetrable, because I always thought that was what it meant to be strong. It turns out strength is much more nebulous than that. It turns out that strength is in the reaction, not the action. What do you do when your life takes turns and curves you never expected? Where are you amidst the rubble? What do you do when you’re not who you thought you’d be? What happens when your life turns out entirely different than what you expected? How do you handle that?

I believed in so much when I was younger. That was my generation: the You Can Do Anything You Want Generation. I still believe that, but it requires much more than I ever expected. The You Can Do Anything You Want speech came with an asterisk and some fine print that nobody knew about. You can do anything you want, if you’re ready to work for it, to sustain long bouts of sacrifice, and if you’re willing to learn what it means to truly be strong. Alright, then you can do anything you want. Just be prepared. Because, as it turns out, wanting something really, really, really badly does not lead to having it. There is work involved. There is pain. There is sadness. There is a lot of living that needs to happen in between the moments of dreams and hopes and the pursuit of both. 

I wish someone would have tempered my expectations about life, love, and work. I know part of this is my privilege, that I had the luxury of being around people who really did believe that I could do anything I wanted to do, that the only thing standing between me and success was just me. I know there are a lot of people who do not have the luxury of delusion. One of my friends was born amidst abject poverty in a small country in North Africa where there was no delusion of hopes and dreams, besides making enough money to survive, which in Tunisia, was a dream that many have a difficult time actualizing. His life and the trajectory of his life is humbling.

I am aware that there are only certain pockets of people in this world who have the indulgence of passion, who are ever encouraged to “do only what they love.” Only the privileged are ever encouraged to “follow their passion.” I know this. And, in all honesty, I wish I had never been given such a strangely toxic gift. Because, the foolish pursuit of only doing that which I love to do leaves out far too much of the grittiness of life. It did nothing to prepare me for the fact that—on the path to this elusive, perfect life of only doing what I love—there’s a lot of shit I have to do that I don’t love. And, I was never prepared for this and, fuck, I really wish I had been. At least I would have been strong enough to handle failure and financial stress and the fact that—no matter how much you love something—sometimes it fucking sucks to do it. Sometimes love is not always enough to sustain a commitment. It takes discomfort and suffering and sacrifice and there are painful moments and that’s okay. I know it’s okay now. I didn’t then, when I was in my late teens to early twenties. I hadn’t known that pain and sacrifice were okay, that there is something larger than having good days every day. I know now that hard work feels better than easy rewards. 

I don’t subscribe to this “do what you love” advice anymore. I cringe when I see mugs and totes and bullshit prints about following your passion and doing only what you love. It’s just stupid to think like this. That’s not how life is and that’s not bitter or cynical or pessimistic or negative: it’s fucking freeing, if you let it be. It’s ridiculous to expect that every day should be perfect and that, if you find that magical passion of yours that you love and can make money from, then you shall be awarded lifelong happiness that never falters. It’s not worth even entertaining these expectations, because life can be magic and beautiful and surprising in all the best ways, but it is so many others things as well, unsavory things that you don’t want to think about, but demand your attention. And that’s okay. It’s all okay. Life doesn’t have to be perfect to be beautiful. Your work—your path, your purpose, your calling, whatever you want to call it—doesn’t have to be something you enjoy every day to be worth you showing up to it daily. The journey does not have to be paved with rainbows in order to be embarked upon.

I let myself get caught up in the fantasy of many things for a dangerously long amount of time and it left me cripplingly unprepared for my life. Flowery words about what you deserve and how life should be a wonderful adventure every moment of every day and you can’t miss any of it and everything should just feel like a movie all the time, these can wrap you up and make you hope for a life that doesn’t exist and a life you shouldn’t be wanting any way. I don’t use the word “should” very often, but I think it’s warranted here. You shouldn’t aim for a life of ease, of comfort, and of perfection, of a constant happiness that never wanes.

A big life is big because it has been built with everything you’ve got, not just the good parts, not just the happy parts: EVERYTHING!. A big life is big in all the ways. Big reward. Big pain. Big sacrifice. Big sadness. Big disappointment. Big excitement. Big happiness.

You will find that the times you are most proud of yourself, the times you look upon your life with wonder, is when you have risen from the depths of something catastrophic, when you’ve stared down your breakdown and not let it ruin you completely. You will sense the real hope that lives within your bones when you’ve become dangerously close to burning through it all completely. Life is better when your stars and stripes are earned. The rewards are more vibrant when you’ve been a little beaten and bruised and broken from weathering the journey it took to get you where you are. You will never appreciate your happiness more than when you’ve lost it, when it has vacated you for long stretches of time and you must claw your way back to it. This is a life. This is the full experience. This is what the whole thing is about. Live it completely, in all the ways in which it is meant to be lived. This is it.

My Mom & The Point

On the Things I Love About My Mom list, which, by the way, is quite lengthy, the way she talks is very high. Easily top five. I love the way my mom talks. For what it’s worth, other top five items include her hair, the fact the she gave birth to and raised me, her love for dogs, and that she used to live in Germany. 

Don’t ask me to rank them. I can’t in good conscience put used to live in Germany up against raised me. No way. They’re both so great. Don’t do that to me.

Anyway, like many moms, mine is a talker. She does it in great quantities and at rapid rates, always unloading information like she’s just been rescued off a deserted island, but there was no one to discuss deserted island stuff with. You might catch her on a long car ride, explaining, in-depth and at-length, the many and varied character dynamics existing within her book club. You also might catch her by the front door, waiting to corner you on your way out, making you unpreparedly discuss your love life, living situation, and career plans. It’s impressive. And lately, I’ve taken to critically analyzing my mom’s communicative behavior, because it’s intriguing, and also my medical degree has gotten some use.

Hear me out.

Premise one: At 26, I don’t spend as much time with my mom as I did when I was, say, 12. Which is sad. But quite inevitable. (For my age, we see each other often, so it’s cool.)

Premise two: Now that I don’t spend as much time with my mom, it’s easier to view her speech patterns through an unbiased lens. When we’re catching up, I’m better able to examine the way she speaks: what she says, how she says it, the structure of her stories, etc.

Premise three: Recently, I have become aware of premise one, two, and my unbiased lens has turned into a microscope. I analyze everything my mom says. I am a master of her communicative trends.

Thesis: My mom is 3% point, and 97% getting there.

She’s an excellent storyteller. Seriously. She understands which narration styles work, and which don’t, better than anyone I know. That’s what makes her so dangerous.

Traditionally, her choice storytelling method looks like this:

Pretty straightforward.

She begins, then builds, builds again, builds some more, and then boom, she hits you with the point. Textbook approach. But like any Great, my mom can’t be flawless at all times.

So, with our aggregate conversations on the decline, it’s no surprise that her performance has taken a slight hit. Her general strategy remains the same: she builds suspense with circumstantial evidence, capturing your attention before staggering you with whatever the point may be. Except the circumstantial evidence portion has grown. Exponentially. Like, at least tenfold. And there’s no stopping it. She just overwhelms you with background info until you arrive at some sort of conversation oblivion, wherein there is no escape. You’re trapped. Trapped in background information.

Take a look:

THE BACKGROUND INFO SMUDGED THE RISING ACTION.

An example of my mom’s new storytelling approach at work: recently, she told me the gripping tale of her trip to Target. It was insane. She ran into like six people she knew, she was barely wearing any makeup, and it took her twice as long as it should have because everyone in the store was slow-moving, an ideology my mom is firmly against. Those are the three chief points of the story as I understand them: (1) ran into some people; (2) not cosmetically prepared; (3) others are slow. But here are some ancillary facts I picked up along our journey to the point: the quality of her frozen coffee beverage, the color of her fleece zip-up, the array of vehicle issues she had to endure, at which intersection there was unexpected traffic, how she knows every person she ran into, how she feels about every person she ran into, how she feels about the friends of every person she ran into, what the weather was like that day, which food item the dogs had recently gotten into, and so much more that I’ve since forgotten.

The following point can’t be emphasized enough: I love my mom for this. It genuinely is one of my favorite things about her. It helps us stay entirely connected despite not living together.

Which leads me to the point of this post.

Conclusion: Every person should talk like my mom talks to an extent.

Think about how knowledgeable the world would be. Every piece of information — each seemingly trivial but possibly valuable fact — would be out on the table, ready to be digested and dealt with.
Would we be overwhelmed? Yeah, probably. Perpetually confused? Maybe. But it’s the ultimate form of transparency. And for that, my mom is a hero. That’s right. My mother is a crusader. A crusader in the name of forthrightness. And I love her for that.

Never change, Mom.