Living Well: Lesson 1

So, let me tell you a little story. 

A few months ago, I foolishly started spending every waking moment of my life with a boy who, at the time, seemed just so sweet and fantastic (mostly because I was avoiding eye contact with all of the red flags . . . he had really great teeth, what do you want me to do?).  Sometime during that fabulous, amazing, wonderful time, we heard that Willie Nelson was coming to play the final show at The Backyard (Indiana people, think Deer Creek, but about 80% smaller), and this boy was so excited.  He was a big music afficionado, with a penchant for country (and an adorable affinity for Texas country, especially), so Willie Nelson was a pretty big deal.  When you pair Willie with the end of an era for a phenomenal music venue and a dozen other artists to create one big ass day of music, well, suffice it to say, it was something we couldn’t miss.

Naturally, he shoots out a mass email to gather a crowd for the show. . . because here in Austin, y’all, that’s what we do.  Something cool is happening = invite all of your friends and make a party of it.  That’s why I live here.  That’s why you should live here. 

Of course, people respond.  Hell yeah, they do, it’s WIllie!

And, in a matter of days, we had a group of 6 totally excited, ready to go.  Yeeehaw!

I’m not really a big Willie Nelson fan, but I’m perfectly fine paying $87 to spend an entire day listening to live music with good friends and tasty, cold beverages. 

At the time, I briefly thought it was quite optimistic to assume we’d be attending the show together given that we had spent maybe a few weeks together and the concert was months out.  But, having way more important things to worry about, I just let that hesitation fade into the background.  We were having a really good time together and assuming it wouldn’t last at least a few months was something I wasn’t willing to do.  As such, and I really don’t want to tell you this, I was silly enough to insist he hold onto the tickets until the show because DUH, we’ll be going together!

Well, HA HA!  That joke was on me! 

A good 6 weeks before the show, we stopped seeing each other.  For no reason, really.  No bad feelings, no big fight, nothing like that.  Just very different expectations that we weren’t willing to compromise on.  No big deal. 

Now. . . if we had ended the story here, we’d all be in really good shape right now.  We’d have gone to the concert together and we would have laughed and danced and had a blast and been best friends ever until the end of time.  Pretty sure.

Ah ha!  But we did NOT end the story there!  It gets so much better!

Instead!  Instead, he hops into bed with a friend of mine and then sends her to tell me about it. . . oooh, 10 days before the concert.  Oops!

This just created so many problems.  To begin with, I no longer had any interest in communicating at all with the boy.  At all.  AT ALL.  He seemed to have difficulty comprehending this (hi, fucking my friends is a big no-no if you want me to have any respect for you whatsoever, sorry I failed to disclose that upfront).  BUT, he had my concert ticket.  Oy.

Bless his heart, he tried to use the concert ticket as a control mechanism, refusing to turn it over unless I gave him the opportunity to explain why he’s fucking my friend.  Which, I don’t know, just isn’t really anything I’m interested in listening to.  Call me crazy.

Bless his heart even more, he then tried to contact my friends who were planning to join us at the concert, and act as if nothing at all was wrong and we’re all still going to the concert!  Good times!  Wheee!  I guess he probably didn’t assume that they’re the first people I called when this all went down.  Duh.

I was briefly concerned that I may not ever see my ticket again. . . but I guess my friends are bitchy enough to get the job done for me, and it arrived in my mailbox the Tuesday before the show.  No card, no letter, no post-it note apologizing for being such a douchebag.  Just my ticket.  Beautiful!

I bought boots.  I agonized over what to wear.  I watched the weather very, very closely to determine whether jeans or a skirt would be most appropriate.  I slept an extra 2 hours the night before, and I drank plenty of water.  This was going to be the big finale to a summer of awesomeness and I was going to hang in there like a champ (and also kick the ever loving fuck out of him if he had the nerve to come anywhere near me).

My friends, who, incidentally, are the best friends in the history of the world, in case I haven’t ever mentioned it before, were equally excited.  We tailgated.  We got there early.  We drank like pros. 

Oh, by the way, he texted one of them to see what the plan was.  Seriously.  He really did.  He sincerely, BLESS HIS HEART, thought, the day of the concert, BLESS HIS LITTLE HEART, that there was some way humanly possible that he was going to hang out with my friends when I was somewhere in the vicinity.  Sweet boy, that one.

Whether he came to his senses (highly unlikely), or just didn’t find us (unlikely), or gave up when I advised him to stay away via text (most likely), luckily for him, I did not see him at all at the show.

Instead, I blissfully danced my little heart out for hours and hours on end with a friend of a friend (and some strangers from time to time).  Much to my surprise, we were the only people dancing.  For hours.  Bumping into people over and over again, laughing and carrying on, having a grand time of it.  Why wasn’t anyone else dancing?  It made no sense, but we didn’t care.  We were having a complete blast (you know, the kind where your face hurts from so much laughter).

Our friends started fading fast, and by the time Willie came on, we’d lost one pair and were quickly losing another.  It wasn’t looking good, but I was still full of energy and my dance partner wasn’t slowing down anytime soon.  We saw our friends off and reveled in our badassery (that’s right, it’s a word), returning to the deck to two-step until they kicked us out.

That’s when the magical, universe driven, fabulousness occurred.  Out of the pure thin air appeared a staffer with two backstage passes.  He says, “You guys are having more fun than anyone here.  Wanna go backstage?”. 

*jaw drops*

Uh, ya think?  Who doesn’t want to go backstage?! 

I mean, I reiterate, I’m not a big Willie Nelson fan.  The day, to me, was way more about good times with good friends.  The music was secondary. . . and honestly, not that important to me.  So, it’s entirely not fair that I got to go watch Willie’s set from 5 yards away, leaning against the sound board. 

But, then on the other hand, maybe it IS entirely fair.  Maybe that’s what happens when you get thoroughly screwed over by someone who really would have enjoyed being whisked backstage at a Willie Nelson concert. . . and then you get whisked backstage at a Willie Nelson concert with the friend of a friend who kept you entertained all night long. . . and if the boy hadn’t been such a sincerely humongous fucking douchebag, he would’ve been there with you instead.  It really gives some pretty solid meaning to “it’s his loss”. 

It also really proves that I’m taking the whole living well thing to heart.  Hello?  That was the best night ever!

I have video. . . and I’ll work really hard on learning how to load it here for you.  Someday. 

The end.

The best revenge. . . blah blah blah

In recent conversations with one of my favorite guys in the history of the world who mysteriously disappeared for a year and finally resurfaced a few weeks ago, all sorts of magnificent, life altering little sayings have been exchanged.  Yeah, that’s how we roll.  That’s why he’s one of my favorite guys in the history of the world. . . because every time we talk, I walk away with tiny snippets of the conversation permanently lodged in my brain, leading me to be slightly more pensive in my actions and words.

The one that is annoying the ever loving piss out of me right now is, “The best revenge is living well”.  Because, sure, that sounds great. . . but I can’t help but feel like the better revenge would be kicking someone really, really, really, really, really, really, really hard in the shin with the heel of my new cowboy boots.  It just seems wildly more satisfying than “living well”. 

It seems so incredibly satisfying that I can’t stop giggling about how good it would feel to issue one, full-forced kick to the shin.  Just one.  Just one solid kick and then walk away.  I’ll admit it, I’ve even been practicing my shin aim.  Hiii-ya!

I wouldn’t ever really kick someone really, really, really, really, really, really, really hard in the shin with the heel of my new cowboy boots because I have no desire to spend time in jail for breaking someone’s shin (can you break someone’s shin?  Because THAT would be satisfying!).  But, I’m just saying, it really sounds a Hell of a lot more satisfying than living well.

If I have to settle for living well, however, I have to say, I’m issuing the best revenge anyone has ever seen.  So, take that!

In case you’re desperately wishing you had someone with which to have magical, thought provoking conversations, here are a couple more tidbits that have stuck:

Fear is not the same as respect.
If I win, do I win?

I could go into detail about both . . . but I think you’re all better off creating your own thoughts on the matter(s).  Besides, I’m too busy living well.

“I don’t want this to affect our friendship”

It’s been a long time since someone has said this to me.  Wait, actually, I don’t think anyone has previously ever said it to me.  I guess I’ve been luckier than I was giving myself credit for all these years.

Here’s what I know about the phrase: I don’t want this to affect our friendship.

It’s never good.

If someone says to you, “I don’t want this to affect our friendship”, what they’re really saying is, “I have done, am doing, or am planning to do something that’s really going to cause you a lot of pain.  I know it’s going to cause you a lot of pain.  I knew when I did it or decided to do it that it would cause you a lot of pain, and I did it or am doing it or will do it anyway because what I want is more important than your feelings.  I want you to overlook my selfish, immature, incredibly insensitive, disloyal behavior. . . and any pain or other bad feelings this is causing you, and continue to be my friend as if nothing happened because, again, what I want is more important than your feelings”.

Ironically, the use of this phrase is usually a very quick path to the end of said friendship.  Which is so funny because aren’t you listening?!  That’s exactly what they don’t want to happen, silly! 

And, then you somehow become the bad guy for ending the friendship.  That seems entirely fair. 

The crazy thing is, it’s easy to feel like the bad guy.  Friend fucks you over, friend attempts to justify fucking you over, friend expects you to tolerate being fucked over, you refuse to tolerate being fucked over, friend wonders why you’re so upset because they said they didn’t want the fucking over to affect the friendship, you’re the jerk for letting it affect the friendship.

I almost fell for it.  Almost.  I almost felt bad for potentially hurting the feelings of people who had no regard for mine whatsoever.  And, then I realized that I do that.  I take my friends’ feelings into consideration.  I think about the consequences of my behavior, and I do whatever I can to avoid hurting people.  Even if it means making sacrifices that I’d rather not make. 

What an interesting concept. 

I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ll just go ahead and limit my social circle to those people who have the strength of character to have the same regard for me.  Thanks for playing.

Huge misunderstanding

When I requested a time machine, I think you misunderstood the point of that request.  See, what I was suggesting is going back a few months and making better decisions such that we didn’t wind up where we are now.

What I was not suggesting was going back to high school.

We clearly had a miscommunication on that point, because since I’ve been a grown up, I’ve never been treated with such blatant disregard (and disrespect) . . . and I’ve certainly never been so furiously stabbed in the back.  So, the only reasonable conclusion I can draw is that you were confused and you thought I meant we should all go back to high school and act like idiotic 16 year old assholes whose only concern is where their next piece of ass is going to come from.

I’ll be sure to be more clear in the future.

I sincerely hope it is worth it.  I sincerely, with all my heart and soul, hope that what you’re doing is worth the pain it’s causing.  Because this. . . this is the kind of shit you can never take back.

Psych!

As it turns out, I’m having a pretty difficult time getting back into the blogging thing.  I thought it would be therapeutic and wonderful and give me the outlet I needed to get through some of my temporary attitude problem, but I was wrong.  I don’t want to tell you stuff anymore! 

That cute little lapse in judgment that allowed me to let down my walls didn’t exactly turn out favorably, and now those walls have been repaired and are more structurally sound than they were before.  Sound enough that I don’t even want to blog about my shit because I’m not letting you in, Internet! 

My heart’s been waging wars with my head for weeks now, and finally, my head is starting to win some of the stupid fight.  I’m pretty sure the whole trusting people with my emotions thing is something that just isn’t going to happen for awhile. 

So much for getting back into this whole blog thing.  So much for venting and getting it all out of my system and feeling better through writing. 

Maybe I’ll take up boxing.

Nike + iPod

If you are not familiar with the whole Nike + iPod thing, go get familiar with it.  Now.  Right now.  NOW!!!  I would make out with Nike + iPod if it were pysically possibly to make out with Nike + iPod.  I am that in love with it.

I’ve spent a very long time thinking about investing in this whole bit. . . but repeatedly convincing myself that me + iPod would be the demise of my financial stability because. . . uuuum, at a buck a song and capacity for thousands of songs, it’s not unlikely that I’d spend every last dollar I have on music.  And, that really just isn’t necessary.

Until!  Life throws an entire really shitty month at me!  And, retail therapy is pretty much the only way out!  THEN, I’m justified in throwing $300 into the intial investment and countless dollars, one at a time, on music that makes me smile and run faster and love life more than I ever have before!

I am not even kidding when I tell you that I ran 3 times today.  Because I love Nike + iPod so much that I can’t stand NOT running.  It’s insane!  It’s probably going to lead to massive injury!  It very well could land us homeless and hungry!  But, for now, it’s making me very, very, very happy, and really, right now is all that matters. 

The point is, this is the best thing that has ever happened in my lifetime, and I think you should try it, too, and tell me how much you love it.  And, then write Nike and Apple a letter to let them know that I should be receiving commission for convincing you to buy it.  And, then run.  A lot.  And, track it online.  And, join challenges with me.  And, buy power songs to make you run faster.  And, be really, really, really happy all of the time because you’re on a constant runner’s high because you’re running at every possibly opportunity because you love Nike + iPod so much you can’t stand not to!

Yeah, this might be a little out of control. . .

Month long pity party

For most of September, I went ahead and indulged in the most ridiculous, gut wrenching, heart twisting, painful pity party I can ever remember throwing.  It seemed entirely reasonable, given everything that September continued to throw at me. . . a broken heart, a dead uncle, a grieving father, fleeting thoughts of moving back to Indiana, numerous injuries, and children who seemed to have conjured up the devil himself.  The broken heart came first, and hit me hard, and the rest was a wicked downward spiral from there.

I didn’t intend for the pity party to last so long, but it seemed like every time I started to catch my breath, something else would come along and kick me in the chest, rendering me entirely useless for another few days, until I’d pick myself back up and start to heal. . . and then get kicked again. 

Sometime in mid-September, I just threw my hands in the air and accepted the fact that the whole month was going to suck.  And, so it did.

It’s hard to justify an entire month of sadness, especially when there have been far more seemingly difficult times that I’ve endured much more gracefully.  But, despite sincere efforts to force myself out of it, the actual physical pain associated with my broken heart was a constant reminder that I couldn’t convince myself to ignore. 

I struggled to find the lesson in September.  I told myself over and over again that God wouldn’t give me more than I could handle and that I would come out of this stronger than I was before.  I did everything I could to convince myself that this, too, shall pass.  And, for several weeks, I was afraid it would just never end.  Especially when people started saying, “WTF?  This is not you.  Snap out of it”. . . and my response would be, “I don’t know how”. 

I was starting to hate how vulnerable I had allowed myself to be.  I was starting to hate how much weakness I was allowing to show.  I was retreating from everyone to avoid letting them see me struggle with the pain I was in because I’m too proud to be seen as anything less than strong and unbreakable.

Somewhere in the chaos, in the midst of the hours and hours of conversation my friends endured, in between the millions of tears I cried during the month, and the countless hours I spent furiously trying to find a fix for everything that had gone wrong. . . I realized that I had let go of years of disappointment and pain and had allowed myself to have faith in something that I had no control over.  For the first time since I was 16 years old, I had allowed someone to be close enough to me to hurt me. . . and I trusted, however foolishly, that any pain that resulted would be worth it in the end.

That’s a pretty big deal for a girl who has spent her whole life refusing to trust men, and absolutely refusing to fall in love.  And, someday (not today, or tomorrow, or probably any of October, really), I bet I’ll be glad to know that I’m capable of loving with reckless abandon. . . because, truth be told, I really didn’t think I was.

It sucks that the timing of the situation happened to immediately precede a series of remarkably shitty events that shredded my heart into even tinier sharp pieces that stabbed my chest with every breath, but, now that September’s over and nothing shitty has happened in October, I’m pretty sure I’ll find a lesson in this.  Or at least come to believe that I’m stronger for having weathered the storm.

For now, I’m trying to appreciate that the tears are falling less spontaneously and the ache in my chest is really only noticeable at night.  I’m recognizing that I have an unimaginably loving family of friends who will patiently hold me together when I fall to pieces. . . and who will pretend they don’t even notice it’s happening.  I’m demanding that October bring some peace. .  and desperately hoping to hold onto some of the naive optimism I somehow managed to unexpectedly find before everything toppled over.