Apologies, Clarifications, Etc.

I would like to try to be more clear about the recent "Revelations" post.

First off, I am genuinely sorry because I feel as though I may have offended or hurt some people who read this thing, particularly close friends, none of which I intended and I will try to clarify a bit of that.

I was also probably too vague while writing this thing and upon further review, it turns out I probably didn't present what I felt at the time as well as I meant.

I would also like to respond personally to some people, but this is just kind a blanket statement here.

Let's give this a go...

The first thing to touch a nerve is my discussion of "simple" and "complicated" things. I wish there were better terms to describe what I was going for, since these terms seem to carry a sense of condescension or superiority with them.

I am truly envious of the "simple life". I don't mean in any way that it is less than or mediocre. I think it is beautiful. I think it takes courage to raise families and grow roots. I think it takes high quality people to make commitments and stick with them. I'm discovering I'm not there yet and might not ever be. I fall short in certain categories and that makes me completely unfit for some of these simple pleasures. I'm also discovering that I seem to go out of my way to make things complicated. Someone commented on the other post, "Are you sure that you're not choosing the simple puzzles and marking them up until you've convinced yourself that they're the difficult ones?"

Valid point.

I considered that possibility right after posting that one. In all the situations in my life that "Sudoku" seems to apply to, there might only be one common denominator, right?

Me.

These things don't escape me. Nor does the fact that these blog writings are frequently selfish and entirely self-centered. I guess that's kind of the point sometimes. I wanted a forum to get all these thoughts out so they don't bounce around in my head all night and all you lucky souls get to listen to it and realize just what kind of person I can be when I'm left alone to my thoughts. Welcome...

Back to the topic, I wholeheartedly believe I complicate my life. I go out of my way. I make every issue more difficult than it needs to be and am totally incapable of making decisions most of the time.

Time to jump this train of thought back and forth a few times...

I feel restless. It was pointed out that I have settled in San Francisco and am no longer wandering. In fact, that point has been made repeatedly by a wide variety of people since I landed here six months ago. And it's entirely true. I have set up shop here. For a variety of reasons. I feel good in San Francisco often. This is one of the more interesting places I have been. The people are highly volatile and regularly crazy, which has a certain appeal. But I also realize why I rarely meet people raised here. It is near impossible to maintain here for a seriously long period of time. This city will drive you mad. It's lazy. It's bizarre. It doesn't follow "the rules". Most people I meet love this place, but they are self-described transients and are unlikely to live out all their days here.

My time here has been made easier by the steady flux of people from around the globe coming and going everyday. I am constantly surrounded by people who are entirely foreign to me. It makes me feel like I'm moving without ever actually going anywhere (I should listen to my own advice: Never confuse movement with action...) That has made it easier to stay here. But it wears on me, slowly. And now the itch is there again. I have complicated things here and, in some ways, made a bit of a mess with my situation.

Again, it seems to be something I'm good at. Maybe I should list it on my resume: "Able to take perfectly good, happiness-producing situations and run them into the ground with constant over-analyzing, chronic self-doubt, and bizarre/inappropriate bursts of self-importance. Self-starting go-getter!"

You'd hire me, right?

I wonder why anyone is still reading this at the moment. I can barely tolerate myself sometimes...

So, yeah, I'm going to run again. Time to venture out. It has built and built.

I had another important realization the other day. See, I used to keep On The Road tucked away, stored in a box and out of easy reach of my grubby little hands. Cliche as it may be, that book had a truly strange effect on me. Every time I would pick it up and start flipping through, this overwhelming sense of wanderlust would course through me and I would itch to leave. I had a conversation with someone when I worked at Chestnut about this and how I had to keep myself away from that damn thing. She encouraged me to just pick up and leave. I was almost entirely fresh out of college and was young (still am, I guess...) I said I couldn't because of a career and maybe future school and a relationship and blah, blah, blah... Well, almost 4 years have gone by and those things didn't really quench that thirst. So, I pulled the book back out, threw it in my backseat, and started this trip. Back on track though, the realization was this: I know why I was putting off getting a passport all those years. My dad told me to get one, over and over again (although his advice was less based on travel and more based on his belief that I should be able to bail out of this damn country whenever things end up getting ugly, which they probably will, but that's neither here nor there...) The procrastination occurred over and over again. I would tell myself it was too much trouble (turns out it wasn't, I filled out the paperwork in 20 minutes and waited in line for 10 at the post office). I would tell myself the fees were too high (and then would go out to dinner or movies or out with friends and spend almost as much in a couple days). I would tell myself I was too busy that day (and then would take a nap or stare at a TV absentmindedly or check my email for the thousandth time).

All bullshit.

I finally applied and got it. And now I realize why I put it off.

Now I just want to leave. Once it arrived in the mail (with a 3 day process time!) I suddenly truly realized that I could go wherever I wanted, whenever I wanted.

And can't stop thinking about it. Now I know this is why. Like hiding that book from myself, the passport was the same thing. Do I have the money to travel? No. Not really. Am I going to be totally irresponsible and do it anyway, because I have this drive in me to do this that is not easily explained but totally overpowering? Absolutely.

See how I complicate things for myself?

This is not exactly what I had imagined or hoped for myself, but hell, it's me and I am accepting it. I'm the closest to happy this way.

Another part of the realization is that I find a lot of enjoyment in being partly miserable. Maybe I'm just choosing to be lazy rather than work to put an end to some of this misery. Maybe I'm an emotional masochist. Doesn't really matter. The result is the same and I kind of like it. Another part of complicating things. I put myself in situations that are likely to cause me some heartache. Even when given a way out, blatantly, I choose to dig in and keep myself there, prolonging that feeling. Maybe it's because when I was a kid I used to shove my tongue into the empty spot where one of my teeth fell out. Or because to this day I still have a fascination with touching my own bruises or pushing my tongue against the roof of my mouth when I have burned it. Reminding myself that I'm alive when I find myself uncomfortable. Or maybe it's because I want stories to tell. I guess maybe I find stories about heartache and loss and loneliness infinitely more exciting than happy stories. I recently told Dave I was on a quest to have as many stories as I possibly could. Maybe I just want something for people to talk about at my funeral (as morbid as that sounds when I actually write it out). I want the messed up stories for people to tell. I'm literally afraid of not having enough interesting stories to tell. Is that crazy?

So, I'm going to head out to create some more.

Yes, I know I could do this at home, with roots. I just get uncomfortable.

Again, blah, blah, blah...

I am the common denominator.

I am the problem.

I am OK with it.

I miss and love you all back home. I am really bad about keeping in touch and seem to be getting worse. I think part of it is the realization that I have kind of settled here for now and I feel like it's kind of disappointing. Without further adventures, what do I really have to say? What stories to tell?

"Gee, today I was at Trader Joe's and customers were really self-centered and stupid. I fantasized about walking out but didn't. Because I'm broke and need that crappy paycheck. I worked 60 hours this week and sometimes feel like I'm back in the same cycle I was in a year ago. Isn't that exciting?"

The moral of the story is Nick is still suffering from a bad case of terminal uniqueness/loneliness/fantasy-living with no real hope of recovery.

Touch my bruise.