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It starts with the beginning of a brand new year. For people who indulged too much over the holidays, this means an end to the guiltless consumption of chickens stuffed in ducks stuffed in turkeys (it’s called turducken and it’s real), and the beginning of joining a gym so you can buy into the Richard Simmons lie, the supposed promise that your legs could ever be as toned and oily as his, or that silky striped short-shorts are available en masse.
For those of us who are pretty much the same weight all the time and pretty okay with that—isn’t it cool how I sound like a zen person who never even wrote about a weight-conscious protagonist in her first book?—we’re thrust into reality in different ways. There’s less sweat and less “trying to like kale” involved in this latter case, but it’s equally likely to exhaust you and stimulate your gag reflex.
I’m talking about those of us who managed to embrace our dreamer selves in the year just past, floating under the radar of “I’ll settle down and straighten out in 2014, don’t worry.“
And now, my friends, it’s January 2014 (dun dun dun!—>it’s hard to convey dramatic music in text, which is why I regard writing as the most inferior of the arts; I wish I’d learned to play the piano, but this is what I’ve got, so I will pimp it like a hooker with an enormous bosom).
While living in Paris last year, I was surrounded by dreamers all the time. They would come and go but the theme of our journeys was the same; we’d left something secure for the quest of something different, which manifested itself in many ways: inspiration, enlightenment, and a high concentration of connecting with incredible people.
But then we all left that world, and hanging on to our inspiration HERE makes us seem like we’re “koo-koo for Cocoa Puffs.”
Luckily the new year offers up a slap to sort us out, along with the encouragement of family, which most recently sounded like this: “Send your resumé to a bank; even if you don’t like the job at least you’ll be making money.“. Right, the money lie. It’s so much worse than the Russell Simmons lie, because unlike the oily toned legs of a sixty-five-year-old man, the signs of money are everywhere. Don’t let that statement confuse you; I’m a huge fan of money. I mean how the hell do you think I got to Paris in the first place? On well wishes and group hugs? I even cheer whenever the Canadian dollar drops in value, because my book royalty checks are in US currency (hopefully by cheering heartily for Canada in the Olympics I can right this wrong).
Yes, I’m a huge fan of cold hard cash, but the difference between some of it and a lot of it is usually happiness. Some people make a good amount of money and are also really happy. I mean of course they are, because it’s not like their constant Facebook updates about how happy they are represent a lack of satisfaction that can only be cured with the validating power of the “like” button, of course not!
But forget the ones who have it all…what about the ones who have to choose? How do you choose between doing what you love for most of your awake hours, vs. doing what’s expected of you so you don’t make people uncomfortable because your path isn’t easy to explain? Or easy to brag about? Or easy to not be embarrassed by? (again, I am referring to the hooker career choice).
I am now at the six-hundred word mark of this post, and I’m wondering if I’ve inadvertently written a glowing endorsement for prostitution.
I guess what I’m trying to say is, there’s no balance and routine and security to being a dreamer, so the sensible thing to do is just stop, especially when you’ve already had a taste of what it could be like; that should be enough, ya know? Hang on to the memories, kid!
Or you could be insane and keep reaching for insane goals, because there’s one thing you know how to do better than any other thing, and expressing yourself in that way, and connecting with others in that way is essential to your existence. So you just keep going, even when there’s no clear path, even when you know there might not be many more days to do this if something big doesn’t happen, and even when it means you might go back to a job you don’t like at some point, while you brainstorm revisions to your strategy for happiness.
Well, I have to go now, ’cause I’ve got big honkin’ plans and there’s lots and lots to do.
[You may now decide which path I've chosen and imagine what happens next:
1. bank teller
3. lady of the night]
Yeah turduckens are huge here in the south down in Arkansas, it’s absolutely mad. Great post thought!
Thanks, and maybe it’s on my bucket list to try it sometime?…maybe not
haha, thanks for the reblog! :)
Don’t mention it!