The Spanish Steps are in Rome

It's often difficult to write about experiences mid-experience. How can one be truly present and in the moment whilst continually drafting the next story in his or her mind? (Listen. I'm just going to use terms such as "whilst" because I'm pretty sure they're very impressive. If I'm wrong, I don't want to be right.) Honestly, how? Shut up. It's impossible. That's why I can't find ways to inject moments from my life that everyone has been begging me to write about until long after they've passed.

Remember when everything mattered so much? When the whole world was surely paying very close attention to you, especially whether or not your legs were too hairy? Remember?

I found myself, eight or so years ago, sitting on the Spanish Steps in Rome, Italy, Tiramisu Gelato dripping down my hand and wrist, chocolate in the corner of my mouth...my mouth gaping just enough...watching the children splash each other in the fountain at the bottom of the steps. Of COURSE I was watching children play in a fountain in ROME. I swear I'm not being overly sentimental. These are the kinds of things that happen in these places. It is ridiculous.

So I'm sitting there, sticky, mouth breathing, chocolate all over my face, just like that kid in junior high that was in love with me...the one I could NEVER take seriously because the amount of chocolate on his face was never his first order of business when it came to impressing upon me the level of his admiration, which, for me, was a death sentence. Because what my face looked like...the number of boogers in my nose, the placement of my hair, was far more important than how delicious the chocolate  I was eating was, or how gorgeous the day was. GOD IN HEAVEN those things meant so much in those days. The terror of looking a little out of place outweighed everything I loved/wanted to love about life.

Of course it's not until we truly understand the power of that weight that we can live without it. And we have to respect that power because, as Dr. Ellie Satler so eloquently states in one of the greatest films of all time, "You never [have] control. That's the illusion. I was overwhelmed by the power...But I made a mistake too. I didn't have enough respect for that power and it's out now." What else is Jurassic Park if not a tale of the Everyman, struggling to control the outcome of his existence? We proudly state, "I have found a way to achieve happiness through meticulous attention to detail!" Except instead of being happy, we just hate everyone, especially ourselves, and we invite our friends to the party only to have to watch them be hunted down by our demons, ripped to shreds in a tropical storm, or blinded, paralyzed, and eaten alive by tiny lizards. Spoiler alert, the old guy dies in the book.

The weight is a gift, and as soon as we acknowledge it and respect it, it lifts from us. And we find ourselves on the Spanish Steps in Rome, covered in chocolate, giggling at kids in a freaking fountain. And it's AMAZING.

OR...we never give it any respect, and we get hunted and eaten by a Velociraptor.




*I may have taken a few things from that quote out of context so as to bend its meaning to my own will. You're cool with that? Right?

*Also, see any comma splices? Let me know. Thanks in advance!

Chapter 1

That's right, folks. This is officially the first chapter of the REST OF MY BLOG. For this new volume of work, I promise to stay positive...er...funny. I promise to try to find the silver lining...without being annoying. I promise to be just cynical enough to impress upon you, my readers, just how important it is to understand how unimportant MOST things are. I promise to be honest, without being dismal. I promise to tell jokes. I promise that I am, if nothing else, incredibly ridiculous. Seriously. I'm kidding.

I now live in Chicago, IL. It has yet to be winter. If any of my posts seem particularly Chicago-centric, please understand that it's not that I think my city is more interesting than your city. I don't. I am leery of jokes based on things that happen to someone "because" they live in New York or LA...as if saying you live in a particular city automatically makes you the expert teller of jokes about....basically everything. Everyone experiences life the way they experience it, and one way isn't actually better or more fulfilling than any other way. I have lived happily in Texas, Memphis, Georgia, London, and Pilsen. My life in Chicago is different, but not funnier or more exciting. I am still me. Except I can ride my bike more easily, and I'm pretty sure I don't have enough tattoos. Also, I may have to wear more clothing than you do during the winter. But, it's whatever. No big deal. 

Finally, and I swear this is the only time I'll be annoying/emotional. I am probably happier than I have ever been in my life. It's sad, but true. My worst fear has come to fruition. I've been terrified that, after years of struggling desperately to keep my head above water, I would eventually stop struggling and start enjoying myself. Heaven forbid my inner monologue start saying things like, "oh man. I don't want a boyfriend! I'm so happy. I  just want to hang out with people and listen to them and get to know them. There's no rush. I love working. I get to go to work, enjoy the shift, and make enough money to live a life that I'm perfectly satisfied with (my credit's pretty bad, though). AND I'm good at what I do. I'm actually talented. I'm not kidding. I know it. I know how to do what I do, and I know how to do it well." That's pretty much what it says most all of the time. It also says things like, "I feel no shame. I love who I am, where I am, and what I'm doing. I have a rockin' bod, great taste in pretty much everything, my face is a work of art (even my crooked nose), I have a fantastic sense of humor, and my brain is hungry for more. Don't even get me started on my brain."

Sorry...? Except...Should I really apologize for finally finding a mountain of self worth deep in the recesses of my soul? Why am I apologizing for that? My joy is 0% derived from anyone's pain and 100% derived from my desire...nay, QUEST...to be content and to love myself. Anyone can go on the same quest. Anyone can find it. You can find it. I found it. I mean...seriously....I found it. ME. 

Finally, and here's that cynicism I promised, life isn't easier. Yeah. Sorry. That, I am truly sorry about. I can't say it's easier, or that it's been easy. It's not and it hasn't. My brain isn't always so nice. I still have days when my brain says things like, "ugh. I'm lazy. What's the point of not eating all of the cookies? My Thighs!! Thai delivery is going to take more than AN HOUR!?!? LOVE DOESN'T EXIST!!!!!!"

The only thing I can say with full confidence to you right now is that life is BETTER. And, honestly, that's enough.

So...um....lemme tell you some jokes...