Living Life Shame Free

Imagine it, if you will, walking around without the crushing weight of wrongness, of deadness, of stale old lived in life, mocking you like a favorite outfit you've been forced to wear for days and now wreaks of body odor and wrinkles in all the wrong places.  Imagine knowing life without the desperation to prove yourself in a constant tug of war (to others, to yourself, to notions of whatever the good thing is or has been defined as), touching it in a way that is at once childish and innocent, truly interactive, and also knowledgeable,  aware of everything but the layer of cynicism that we often hold over ourselves in a coup not to feel, for the sake, always, to stay away from our previous failures, to hide it is who we are and run away forever.  Imagine not doing it relentlessly and with suicide-level zeal.  Imagine if it were just the case that you could be seen as human, instead of one-dimensional, and that this richness pervaded your own view of others too, and you might frolic into a dance of conversation and sharing bliss with those you felt least like you before.

Descriptive Accuracy Doesn't Equate to Pliable Feasibility

Why is it that we fool ourselves into thinking that approaching a comprehensive and exhausting pronunciation of exactly what it is that we suffer from might in turn script a policy of prescriptive highlights and blow outs?  (What is it that the salon in our heads offers us half off?  Decomposed rodenticide laced corpses?!)

Okay, side point.

Main point: why the fuck do we think that once we've got a handle on it that the handle will allow us to manipulate it?  At all?  Why is it that we're just as mindlessly obsessed with rationalizing all of our actions to the cohorts of people who are forced to be friends?

Here's my secret.  Gossip is relentlessly pointless when you are not part of the circle.  It holds negative weight.

And still.  And still, we ascribe endless loops and call them intentional meanderings, with a cross here and a supplication there, and we expect people to believe us; we expect them to capitulate to our own idolized notions of reason, however corrupt and obsequiously selfish.

I don't even know where life exists anymore.

Higher Status Friends

Almost all of my friends are/were higher status than me at some point in my life, and many have pulled into seriously high positions that I can't really hope to obtain.  Yes, I can dream of obtaining, but at this point I simply don't have the confidence for the game, and I definitely don't, because of my erratic training, such as it was, don't have the hard skills.

It is as much my fault as the fault of anything external.  I don't blame myself too horribly.  This isn't about blame, or shame, or anything like that.  I'm just saying that it is humbling to realize that wasting one's 20s in a haze of ambition and multi-headed energy was not the best way to do it.  I don't necessary wish I had what I was running from for so many of those years.  But the good parts of having it wouldn't be bad!

My higher status friends are all very modest.  But they are in another league.  I can't compete.  Everyone has fallen off with everyone else because of continental drift anyway, but I can't help, at times of righteous self-loathing, to propel my sputtering self into a realistic dichotomy, kick myself in the ass, and try to scrape up the crust of dessicated and used up happiness that has nestled itself into the crevices of my so-called life.

And when I do suck on that bit of solidified grease for a few moments, I realize that I'm alive because of it, and that when I stop comparing it to everything, perhaps I can find more flavor than at first seemed evident.