Archive for hope

My Management

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , on June 7, 2015 by jezzywolfe

Sometimes, things we do by chance are not just a coincidence. We don’t know it going in, but at some point, that revelation is made. 

Never fails to shake me, it does.

I’d had a long day. Not a bad one. But I needed to relax for a bit. So I cued up Netflix. I tend to watch a lot of comedies, but tonight I decided to pick something random and give it a shot. 

I picked Management.

Management stars Jennifer Anniston and Steve Zahn. I hadn’t heard of it before. Now that I’ve watched it, I’m sure it will air repeatedly on cable, cause that’s the way it works for me. I was antsy going in, and about ready to lose patience and turn it off. I’m glad I didn’t.

It’s a sweet romantic indie film, has that ‘I might air in an art house theater but never on the big screen’ appeal. The soundtrack was equally as quirky. It worked with Zahn’s character, who has grown restless working at his parents’ motel, so he follows Anniston back and forth across the country, trying to win her over. They are leagues apart. Doesn’t seem like the story would have a good ending.

His mom dies. She marries her ex. The whole story feels like a handful of people sharing the same life from different cubicles. It’s all very… lonely. 

But Zahn makes a true friend. And through that friend, joins a Buddhist monestary to find what’s missing in his life. He stays for months. He heals. 

Maybe…

He’s having a talk with his elder, who praises his progress, but then tells him that he still dwells. He hasn’t let go. He is ‘stuck’. His elder says, 

“Let go. Move on.”

I think I lost it, then. 

Not for Zahn’s character. He’s obviously going to be okay. I wouldn’t have loved the movie so much if it had a sad ending. I’m a sentimental fool.

But at that moment, I heard that for myself. And broke down.

Everyone bears their crosses. We all carry them differently. I let mine weigh me down so much I can’t see the horizon any longer. I fight for things I cannot grasp, and never will, as much as I hate admitting it. I can try to fit those molds, and do a damn good job, but in the end, I’m left holding heavy bags filled with burdens I don’t need. Insecurities I could do without. I feel like I’m not good enough. Insecurities about my appearance, my virtues, my value, my feelings…

Fuck it. I’m done.

If I can’t be good enough for them, then maybe my mission is maligned. Maybe that’s their flaw, not mine, if they can’t see who I am. I take their rejections as a personal character assessment, rather just their biased opinions. 

Because I haven’t taken the time to figure out who I’ve become. I’m not the girl who graduated high school with the romantic notion of being a starving artist. I’m not the clerical business suit looking to divide and conquer. I might still be a singer, if I could get past the fears, but that’s tied down by that rejection I still haven’t learned to ignore.

I could pour all this into a tragic heroine and write some epic Harlequin saga. But pouring myself into a story doesn’t alleviate my demons. It won’t numb the pain. It only memorializes it.

I need to be my own friend first. I need to light this match.

Let go. Move on.

It’s time.

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L’absence rend le coeur plus affectueux. Mais il vaut mieux pour faire oublier le cœur .

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , on May 30, 2015 by jezzywolfe

And so it goes. 

When habits become destructive, and distractions become painful, sometimes it’s best to know when to walk away. That’s a hard thing to do, especially for me.

I’m a stubborn cuss. I don’t like giving up, not when I know what I’ve invested into a situation. But sometimes, every hoop I set on fire and cartwheel through will still not be enough to garner the rewards I seek. And as desperately as I’d like that not to be the case, it is out of my hands.

If my best isn’t good enough, does that mean I’m not good enough? Am I really subpar to everyone else? I spend a lot of time convincing myself that I have a right to feel equal. That my intellect and emotions are not annoying drivel to be ignored. I’m not stupid, you know. My jokes are not coincidental… if I’m playing the butt of your jokes, you can damn well believe I was aware of that going in. I’m not afraid of your laughter. I’m not so uptight that I don’t know how to let go. I am THE QUEEN of letting go, in fact. 

The problem arises when I realize I’m the only one laughing. It’s not because I’m ill-mannered or uncouth. I’m not a degenerate. This is just how I cope. I look for humor. I seek laughter with the edges of a panic attack creeping in. I seek the comfort of a soft voice and memorable laugh. And when I find them, I commit them to memory and hold onto that like a plastic glow stick. Eventually, it fades. But while it glows bright, it is magical. I hold on to the useless glow stick long after its expiration, hoping that some chance fate will revive its glow. In that way, I am always the optimist.

But the glow sticks I’ve been clinging to are a dull haze. There’s no light to be found there. I can either seek new glow sticks, or just adjust my eyes to the dim and move on without them. What is life without that glow? Where is the warmth I need to fuel the optimism I survive by? 

So there it is. I carry these plastic tubes. They used to light my way. I loved these glow sticks. They were magical to me. They were my breath, my life, my laughter. But they don’t glow any longer.

It’s time to let them go. 

I just hope I can forget how much they meant to me.