my tomorrow self

March 30, 2012

I’ve noticed that more and more that’s who I’ve been turning to when I’m not feeling very psyched about how my day’s going or when I’m feeling down on myself. Whatever bullshit my today self is doing, like watching TV and eating junk food and ignoring cleaning up my errors on my credit score, I can take comfort in knowing that my tomorrow self is going to work out and write and clean the fridge and generally be a better person who gets shit down. Too look at it kindly, I could say that my tomorrow self is aspirational.  That it’s both a benchmark and a source of hope. But realistically, I think my tomorrow self is fantastical, even a  little delusional, which I don’t mean pathologically. I mean my tomorrow self is getting in way of my today self and I’m living in a fantasy of who I am based on who I dream of being. I’ve got nothing against dreams. It’s just I feel I use them to get me off the hook of doing the hard work to actually achieve them, or at least to try to. I have a sneaking suspicion that my tomorrow self is becoming an escape and a much more embarrassingly elaborate escape than I described above because secretly I imagine my tomorrow self is wildy successful at something, as well as being in much better shape than I am today.

I probably sound much harsher than I actually feel because I think this whole tomorrow self thing is very human. We plan and we dream and we otherwise consider the future. There are a ton of songs and sayings about tomorrow being a new day and I think they speak to our desire for the chance to start over, or event re-invent ourselves, especially when things are crappy and fucked up or just terribly disappointing. That’s powerful stuff, especially if it can be dialed in to the moment. If every moment is the chance to start over.

I’ve got no conclusions except soon my tomorrow self is going to be older than I’d like. Soon being relative to a decade or two, probably. I’ve got no big declarations either. Except all the sudden I’m thinking of David Foster Wallace  and “This is water.”

By the way, one of my new favorite essayists, John Jeremiah Sullivan, wrote a review of DFW’s The Pale King. Great writing about great writing.

My mind is twisted up like a wet towel wrung tight and I should probably go to bed. Untwist the bugger if I can.

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best sir like story so far this year and other things

March 26, 2012

I’m not gonna edit this or try and correct for typos or other short comings.

A couple weeks ago I had my best sir-ish moment for 2012 so far. It was kinda late and I was shopping at Food 4 Less. There weren’t many people in the store and this guy who was also shopping kept staring at me. I thought he was maybe a little socially awkward or potentially maybe off in some other way because it did get the tiniest bit creepy in that he seemed to be almost following me. Finally, he said “Excuse me, m’am, but are you Sam Adams.” For you non-Portlanders, Sam Adams is our mayor. As soon as he said it, the guy started giggling, and saying he hope he didn’t offend me, but it was the glasses and the hair and had anyone ever told me that before. For the record, my glasses are bigger and look cooler than Sam’s and my hair is more silver. It made me laugh and I told the guy that I wasn’t offended and no one had ever aid that before.

I went to Hawaii for first time this month. I got called sir a lot there, one of the many perks, but certainly not the biggest. The biggest was an old friend’s generosity who made the trip possible in the first place and the next biggest was being warm, pretty much all the time, even when it rained. The first morning we were there, the woman who ran the coffee shop where we’d gone said, “Welcome to paradise.” It was cheesy, but standing there in my flip flops and looking out at the blue sky and ocean, I could see what she meant. Also, I forgot that I tan. It’s mostly gone now. But it was nice while it lasted.

I lost some steam for the letters from dad project. Not that I’ve given up. I just need some dedicated time to trying to get the letters in chronological order. I can’t hardly stand the idea that I would post them haphazardly, even though I know it’s better than not posting them at all and it’s not like I’m setting things in stone. Maybe it’s the perfectionist part of me, which can easily sink a project, if it goes unchecked and I know I need to check it. But, also, I’ve been concentrating on writing other things, finishing a short story and writing part two of the larger story of what it was like to grow up with my dad or kind of in his shadow, since I didn’t really grow up with him, per se.

I am also in full swing of contemplating my upcoming birthday, which represents a milestone and kind of freaks me out. Really, what am I doing with my life? Why am I not sending out my finished writing or songs to get published? Do I really have to get a colonoscopy this year? Is it strange to have a bunch of friends who are so much younger than me? Should I be making more money? What would make me happy? What do I want to experience in this life, especially when it’s clear, that half my life is over? Is it only going to get even harder to stay in shape? Do you get to reach an age where you stop being angsty? And also, I’ll be posting a “save the date” soon because even though I ma feeling neurotic about it, I am gonna have some kind of open house party to mark this whopper of a birthday.

I take back, the editing part. I went back and corrected some obvious typos.