Say Nice Things About...September and My Adolescence

I sat on this for a couple of days, feeling a bit insecure to talk about my insecurities. But since it has a happy ending, then maybe it's something someone can relate to in a positive way. 

For many years, I have been under the impression that, unlike most people, I do not like autumn. I roll my eyes when people proclaim happily that "It's 'sweatshirt' or 'good sleeping' weather." (I still do not understand what is so wonderful about having to wear thick bulky clothes instead of tank tops and shorts.)

This October has been so warm and breezy and sky-blue perfect, however, that I realized that it is only September who makes my bliss a hit or miss. September is the cicada-song skeletal scrap of succulent, sonorous Summer. 

Every September when the wind whistles through the brittle leaves, my brain short circuits to my muscle-memory emotions of the 70s and 80s and the anxiety that returning to school created for me. (Around the Aughts--05, 06, 07, I short circuited to the emotions I felt leading up to and following the divorce. 08 and 09 were marked by Overinvolvement and Undersatisfaction.) When the dry warm September winds kick up the dust, and grass crunches beneath my feet, I feel that familiar sense of dread all over again. 

Why was I anxious in school when I was a fairly good (if not always motivated) student? I felt like I was starting most years alone, without benefit of a clique. "Will I make friends?" was a question that always left me fraught with nerves. No, I didn't change schools a lot, but I somehow meandered in and out of friendships and relationships on at least a yearly basis. 

By junior high, best friends from elementary school turned into cheerleaders, and by high school, jr. high pals turned into serial-daters-of-upperclassmen (read: doting and long-suffering jock's wives by the age of 15--Y.U.C.K.), and my lack of connections to help them in their social upward mobility would be grounds for dismissal. (One example: a junior high best friend cited the following reason for not wanting to hang out with me in the hallowed halls of high school: "You don't have very nice clothes." (This was not completely true--I simply did not badger my mother to spend her hard-earned salary for an updated wardrobe every two weeks, and I, gasp, wore the same clothes often.) 

I also dealt with a fair share of users--girls in a trendier social circle would suddenly want to befriend me and spend the night at my house. This happened the summer after my brother "feathered" his hair and got bulky from playing football and turned into something a reluctant stud.

I saw through these bitches instantly. Sometimes, my brother's friends would show off by running up to me and picking me up, literally, or they'd affectionately put their arm around me. My friends would watch and smolder and want to know how I knew them. I thought nothing of these high school mating rituals. Of course they were showing off just to get the attention of freshman/sophomore girls who were supposed to go all ga-ga for them. And they did. And then they'd suddenly want to hang with me, only they didn't really give a crap about me, and I always knew it, and sometimes called their bluff, and I actually enjoyed that part! 

I seemed to make better choices my Junior and Senior year, but nevertheless, it seemed I was mostly a free agent and clique-less, and that might have been by choice. I do remember a certain feeling of independence taking root in me. I couldn't quite define who I was because I was many things, and perhaps sticking to just one set of friends felt like limiting possibilities of discovering whom else I could be. 

I did have some great friends in high school--Katie, Melissa, Michelle, Sue, Frank, Jessica, Jennifer, Maureen, Jay, Tim, Tom and some wonderful times. Despite spelling out what caused me anxiety (people), there were key friends who made my adolescent years happy and unconventional, and they accepted me the way I was.

It is worth considering the source of anxiety, however, to possibly re-wire my brain. It's human nature to remember the bad things, because it's the bad things that cause us to evolve, and if not evolve then at least protect ourselves from suffering again. 

A recent and unexpected note from aforementioned friend Sue made me re-think the years that have brought this nuclear half-life of September Anxiety. She wrote of a shared high school experience so differently--friends, learning, movies, dances, activities, riding bikes, going to the beach. I did all of these things too and often had fun doing them. But she speaks of them fondly. I do not. It is possible that I was not as anxious, lonely, or sad as I had previously thought? 

The truth is, I often *chose* to go places alone or to opt out of activities where "everyone" would be. I always wanted to see what else was out there. If I look at my adult life, I see that I was merely embarking on my journey of my life *becoming* a journey very early in life--I was an explorer, and you can't explore if you stay in the same surroundings! But exploring can be lonely and daunting. Perhaps the undertaking of exploration caused its own brand of anxiety that I have lumped in with social anxiety.  

Looking back, I now see that I had exactly as many friends as I wanted. And despite not making the school annals for having perpetual boyfriends or making the list for "best dressed", "Most Popular," or "Prettiest," the truth is, my social standing was pretty damn good. 

By the time graduation came around, I found myself invited to "open houses" of friends who hadn't really spoken to me in any meaningful way in a number of years. I went to a few, but one stands out in particular. I had a best friend in junior high. Oh my goodness we had so much fun together. But she so easily brushed me off like dust on her feet when social politics ousted long-standing friendships. She was a friend I sort of fought for. I'd had other girls do this to me, but I never thought she would. But she did. And she was none too subtle about it. It hurt for a long time but I moved on. She took the path of "wifey" by the time she was a freshman. When her jock "husband" graduated, she seemed alone and like her life had hit a pause button. Every once in a while I'd see her witnessing me with my friends--those moments when we were especially having a great time, and I'd see something cross her face, a subtle shade. Once in a while, she'd approach me to tell me how happy I looked. But we didn't rekindle the friendship.

As I was leaving her graduation party, she chased after me. She stopped me and started crying. She told me she was sorry that she didn't appreciate me and that I was the only friend who was ever true. I knew what she meant even though she didn't say it. Her best social-climbing girlfriends whom she chose over me all seemed to take turns betraying her by sleeping with her boyfriends, and this devastated her. 

At this moment, I didn't really feel a lot, except for pity for her. I was no longer upset that she had ditched me or jealous that she had so many boyfriends. Instead I realized how much she missed in her adolescent years. I never got to experience that feeling of being swept off my feet by an older guy. She never got to experience pure fun with true friends.

I see her sometimes when I go back home. She wound up marrying her jock boyfriend. They are both very kind to me and always happy to see me. She values me in a way she never did growing up. This is not such a bad way for things to turn out, is it?

A few years back, I was entertaining some of my adult-phase-of-life friends in my hometown for a beach and winery weekend. For some small town kicks, we decided to go to a local karaoke bar. I moved away before I was old enough to drink legally, so I have never bar-hopped in my own town. I figured it would be fun. I'd be an outsider, wouldn't know anyone, and that would make it fun. Nope. It wasn't long before I was recognized by my best friends from elementary school who all became cheerleaders and subsequently by contract could no longer associate with me. The irony sunk in quickly--I was in that karaoke bar as a spoof. They were in there because that really was their life now--being aging queen bees in a small town bar. They loved high school, and it will always be the highlight of their lives. I don't envy them so much anymore.

One of them pulled me aside and apologized, flat out apologized for the way she treated me, stating that she always felt bad. Again, I was stunned. Did I gloat? No, of course not. I told her not to worry, that I never thought about it (pretty much true, but not completely). The truth is, the apology did mean something to me. It is not easy to apologize. She didn't have to do it.  Despite her actions to the contrary, she did value my friendship, and she still thinks  of it fondly. And she was a big enough person  to admit it. Perhaps she felt safe to open up to me because I am the kind of person who is easy to approach truthfully.

I am now suddenly proud of the person I was. 

I also recently saw a best friend from high school with whom I never had a falling apart or harsh feelings. She went to a prestigious university out of state, and I joined the Air Force. We both got married, and we lost touch. Social media helped her find me decades later, and on a whim, we wound up visiting her while we were on a road trip this fall. 

Our lives took such different paths. She got a first rate education and made all new friends and married a well-to-do attorney in Northeastern city. I went military, married a military man, divorced a military man, and moved to a big city in the Midwest, pursuing a more artistic and less conventional life. And yet, over twenty-five years later, it was like being in high school again, sitting in her kitchen late on a Saturday night, eating popcorn and talking about our night and our friends and where our lives might go. 

It was a great visit, and it was good to be reminded that I sought out good people in life. Later she sent me a text that was very meaningful to me. Very simple words. "It was so good to see you again. I had forgotten how down-to-earth you are and how easy it is talk to you." 

Those aren't really words that people fantasize about at a young age. Instead you fantasize that they might say, "successful, pretty, exciting." But being praised for being authentic and honest and easy to talk to you is about the best outcome that a bright, confused, easily-hurt, and constantly-searching young girl could hope for.

So, September, why do you try to put me in a tail spin every year? You were simply part of the scenery that contributed to my larger journey and helped me become who I am. And I'm pretty good with who I am.

Where It Lands, No One Knows

I've meandered a bit. I've pondered. I've wandered. I wondered. I've said little. Felt little. Shared little. 

I've had apathy of a malaise proportion. 

I actually wrote a blog all about how apathetic I am.

Now, isn't that ironic and impossible?

How can I write so much about how much I'm not caring?

Well, I am caring. Sort of. I'm just not feeling.

I tried to write about just how sad I am that I'm not feeling anything, but you wouldn't believe how hard it is to do that.

I tried to write something clever. Common.

I tried to write something true. Lies.

I tried to write something funny. Dumb.

I tried to write from my heart. Cement.

I tried to write from my head. Rubber cement.

(I can't think of rubber cement without thinking of Ron Jaworkski in the fourth grade, making fake boogers out of rubber cement, and his little chant: "Round and Round the Booger Goes, Where it Lands, No One Knows.)

I tried to write what I was feeling, but how many ways can I describe confusion and apathy? I also felt guilty about feeling confused and apathetic.

You know what that is?

That's pathetic. (And vaguely Catholic.) I knew that was pathetic. So I kept it inside.

Maybe I'm getting all Gino Vanelli on me, living inside myself.

What is more pukey?
His hair?
His voice?
His emoting: (living inside thisssss hell.)
His backup singers?
The synthesized music of the late 70s early 80s.
It's funny how back then I didn't notice how all the songs sounded the same. Listening to this now, it sounds exactly like the Commodores song, After the Love is Gone. Oh hell, here it is. What could be worse than me writing about how much I don't feel lately?

Oh guess what? It's Earth, Wind, & Fire.

I escaped my apathy malaise by watching a lot of subtitled subtle films. Now I wish I had kept track of them, just to list them, because I have this notion that watching a foreign film is almost as damn intellectual as reading a book, depending on the book. (That bio by Greg Allman notwithstanding.)

I also got cast in a play and went to rehearsal every night for six weeks and studied my lines every night. The play is "Extremities," and it's a good play and a fine production. Getting good at my lines and my characterization helped me rekindle my creative desires, at least as an actress. It also helped me get some confidence back that I hadn't even realized I had lost.

I did some hash runs. I went to some art gallery openings. I went to some plays. I went to some concerts. I hosted some dinners. I spent time with friends.

And I said goodbye to someone very special to me. A friend, an artist, an actor, a singer. Only he wasn't around to hear it. My friend committed suicide. I couldn't process the loss. I couldn't listen to his music. I cried. I wept. He's not coming back. And that was his choice. I'm making a different choice. I'm fighting through. "If you're ever going through hell, keep on going." Churchill, I think.

I started writing many times, but I'd get only a few sentences out before the onslaught of self-loathing for feeling anything but grateful about my life of privilege.

Well.

I lost my job.

I suppose that was the biggest surprise of all.

Actually, I still have it until May 3, after which point someone from India will have it. My manager who configured this reshuffling was disappointed that I could not muster more joy for the department in cutting their budget and celebrate their fortune. The directors and managers now get bonuses for outsourcing. I guess I wondered he much he got for me. A gift card to St. Elmo's?

So I really am going on a new journey now. It's not one I want. But I don't get a choice, and there's only so long I can dwell in that.

I got laid off seven years ago. It was the worst time of my life. I have a fear of feeling like that again, and I think that's why I'm using apathy. As a weapon. Against myself. Only it doesn't hurt. And that sort of defeats the purpose of weapons.

Instead I should use sex as a weapon.

One night I got home from rehearsal late, and I had no intention of going to bed. I decided to stay up all night and watch movies. I watched "Reality Bites." I thought it would be "all ironic or whatever" of me. Twenty years later, I hate to admit it, but what a whiny ass movie! To make matters worse, I was so tired I had to go to bed. I got up and went to work. Sort of. I logged in from home, put a rock on my keyboard, and mowed my lawn then took some things to Goodwill.

I decided to do the responsible thing and have all manner of medical appointments--eye, dentist, pap, mam. My pap came back irregular. I had cysts on my uterus. I cried a few tears over that, possibly long term health issues coupled with not having any insurance. I didn't know which was worse. Then my mam came back with irregularities. This was too much. But another mam and an ultrasound revealed nothing malignant, so I am in the clear. I had the cysts frozen off this morning. I am in the clear for now. I won't have to figure out how to pay for treatments without insurance. That is good on both counts. That gave me a new lease. When you think you're losing your good health, you don't think much about other things. You think about people you love.

I thought of my nieces and nephews and mom and dad and Earl and Larry and Michigan.

That's how I know what matters in my life. If I ever doubt, I'll just remember what came to mind when faced with potential bad news about my health.

I thought of living. Of simple things. 

And I wondered if I could just give up this rat race. Just have simple things. This might be part of the journey and it might not be by choice.

But I'm at the height of my earning years, and it looks like I might be starting over.

I haven't been able to say that or articulate it. I've only felt it, and it felt like dread, so I turned off my feelings.

Because, I am afraid to admit that like Ron Jaworski's fake booger,

Round and round I go,
Where I land, no one knows.