I’ve started applying for jobs in Reno because why not. It’s where we plan to end up after Tyler graduates and it’s not a horrible place to live. It might even be above average.
We visited for NYE and had a solid 3-star food experience (contrary to the inflated 4.5-star Yelp average across what appeared to be the entire goddamn city. wtf), coupled with a lust for the nearby trailheads. AllTrails promised a good time if we’d had the time.
I have an interview sometime next week with the police department as a “Communications Specialist,” aka a Dispatcher. I’d be the person to help direct the police force. It sounds fun. Engaging. Something I would be really good at, considering my perfectionist nature. Is this a job where my emotional detachment might be an actual asset? Perhaps. It pays well, especially considering the relatively low cost of living and no state income tax, and I think I could wrap my life around shift work if I absolutely had to.
And it automatically disqualifies applicants who have any kind of drug history. Finally, I get some points for never going off the deep end in life. I’ve still never even seen drugs. I also don’t have any tattoos or weird piercings. I feel like the special fucking millennial snowflake I always knew I was. I said no to drugs and I didn’t leave a physical trace of the otherwise poor life decisions that were my early 20s.
But I’m at a point where those are the things I look for in a job. Stability. Ability to pass a drug test. I want the benefits and predictability. I want that pension. Let me just go to work, do my job, come home and stop dreaming about what could have been. I even started watching Game of Thrones recently. I’m melding with the masses. Systematically adopting the kind of complacency The System requires.
I texted my sister something along the lines of how I’ve finally sold out and stopped dreaming big for myself. I’m ready to wear a suit and sit in a cubicle. She retorted that no, I’d finally decided to make a living. That’s the power of reframing. This isn’t selling out. It’s buying in.
That’s kind of my theme for this year. Total surrender and acceptance and realism.
Yesterday I had ice cream for lunch because I’m not perfect and I never promised myself otherwise. I’m rolling with the punches. I’m trying to. I’m forcing myself not to regret these kinds of decisions.
Do you make extreme resolutions around the new year? I do. But not in 2018. My resolution–besides maintaining my Yelp Elite status–is to practice moderation.
That is why I am committing to just one green smoothie a day this week, not a week-long green smoothie starvation cleanse. Or a year of green sludge. Green smoothies are gross and we all know it. But our freezer needs a cleanout and I ate ice cream for lunch yesterday.
It’s why my workout regimen is less than an hour at the gym, 5 days a week, and not an hour a day forever and ever amen. Slow and steady. My new theme. Or is this extreme moderation?
It’s why I’m ok having the occasional glass of wine or vodka soda extra lime, not vowing teetotalism for life. Who lives like that without also having some sob story? I didn’t drink for over 5 months in 2017 and I was better than you for it, but it got to the point where I had to seriously ask myself what I was doing. I’m not fucking better than anyone. I’m not above having occasional fun.
Being an extremist isn’t helping me. It’s stressing me the fuck out and making me feel like I suck at life for wanting a glass of pinot and a nap.
It’s why “vegan” and “vegetarian” are not labels that describe me anymore. Moderation. It’s the one practice I’m adopting this year. I ate a lamb burger 2 days ago and I’m not sorry. Except for that poor lamb. I probably won’t actually do that again because I really do think our industrial food system is highly abusive and unethical. But that lamb burger was good and I didn’t beat myself up over it. I’m about as close to being vegetarian or vegan without actually talking about it.
So 2018 will be my year of calming the fuck down and taking it easy. Forgiving myself. Accepting my humanness. It’s tiring to fail so hard at perfection. It’s exhausting being so hard on myself.
I do not need to wake up at 5AM every day this year and I do not need to put any other pressures on myself.
The trick is remembering to hold this compassion for myself.
Yet, as I say all of this, I am secretly kicking myself for not having yet gone to the gym today. It’s almost noon and I am still in my pajamas. At least the bed is made and laundry is switched. But what am I doing with my life? Fuck.
I’m refreshing my net positive Poloniex account, congratulating myself on my good luck in having invested in Ripple and Stellar before you did. Luck. Very good luck. That’s what I am doing with my life right now, but I assure you that I know nothing about what I am actually doing. Another theme?
For the official record–and yes this is totally off topic–but I should probably stop swearing. Sometimes I have that thought but then I remember an article I read about people who casually swear are viewed by others as more trustworthy, likable, and authentic. Social points for using offensive language? I can’t afford to stop.
It’d be so simple to write some flowery bullshit about the New Me, who forgives myself and finally drops the heavy cloak of perfectionism, but people don’t change like that. Not so fast. A lifetime of all-or-nothing behavior doesn’t just disappear. And thinking the change will be automatic is another example of that kind of thinking.
If 2018 is my year of slowing down and being nice to myself and accepting the fact that I am not actually better than anyone or some special snowflake, then I will require a lot of reminding. People do change, but we’re also just kind of who we are. But how can I accept this, while also nudging myself in a new direction?
My current solution is to keep writing this out. Allow myself to be vulnerable on my not-so-secret-blog and not regret every time I share. Keep tempering my extremism. Hold patience for my inevitable fuckups along the way.