April 12, 2011 § 3 Comments
Remember those “Choose Your Own Adventure” books? The ones where there was a bit of plot and then you, the main character, chose your path throughout the story in a series of multiple-choice questions until you either “won” or were eaten by a dragon in a lava pit or something? I always cheated when I read those. Always. I’d flip ahead and see that picking B. meant I’d be filleted by a thousand tiny swords from behind the booby trapped picture and instead, I’d pick C. Anyways, what I am getting at is that I think this was some kind of foreshadowing of my total inability to make a decision as an adult-type person.
I don’t make decisions as much as I sign legally binding contracts so that I am eventually forced into a certain path. See J. circa one year ago, when I was actually a soon-to-be-recent graduate. I thought I’d move to Toronto (long story) and then that didn’t really work out (longer story) so I was pretty torn between moving home (person I loved) and staying here (possibly achieving some semblance of actual person-hood). Naturally, I subletted pretty much the first apartment I looked at and signed a lease. Then I left the realtors’ office and cried and cried until I got a nosebleed and then I cried some more. The rest, they say, is history. Things really, really sucked for a while and I cried to the point of nosebleed many times over but then I also met all you lovely people and things really, really stopped sucking and turned out more than okay. So, when the time came to make another decision and choose a graduate school, I was all “eeney, meeny, miney, renewing the lease on this apartment and installing curtains.” Because it’s great; I have friends I love, and my home state is all snuggled up there on the west coast of Massachusetts, and I don’t have to disassemble my dresser and make it any more broken than it currently is. So why, why, why I ask you, must I constantly worry that there is a choice C. or D. that is secretly the right path and that I’m just building to the part where I’m eaten by the abominable snowman? Am I selfish to wish I, like so many others, had fewer and/or no choices and is this why I then necessitate this possibility by making other, indirect choices? (i.e. not really choosing a grad school, but renewing the lease on the apartment in the city which only one grad school is based) Is this why people join the Peace Corps?
Anyways, I picked this picture of these pandas because I think mostly, I get hung up on this idea that there is supposed to be more. Fuckin’ Maslow and your heirarchy of needs pyramid and your stupid self-actualization, I blame you. Isn’t just being a person and discovering that the pants you put on have a giant hole in the ass long after you left the house hard enough without the overwhelming sense that the life you’re living isn’t existentially good enough and maybe you could be the type of person who never discovers mysterious holes in anything (except for possibly at the beach when they are filled with treasure) if only you could try a little harder and if you only knew exactly what you were trying for?
Think, and then keep thinking, and then overthink to the point of total exhaustion so you fall over, which is a little like jumping but not quite.