So here we are. A whole week into 2011 and my life continues to be a gong show. With each passing year I think/I pray/I hope with all my might that I will magically transform from an ugly duckling into something a wee bit more graceful. But I continue to uphold my position as the fool in residence to much aplomb. A prime example of this continued foolishness was on display during New Years Eve. 2011 wasn’t even an hour old when I tumbled down my friends stairs and put my head through the bannister giving myself a lovely mild concussion. Which I seemingly brushed off until I was incapacitated and became the evening’s poster girl for ridiculous choices involving champagne and high-heels. Despite my shocking incompetence at walking and self-restraint, I refuse to dwell on this episode as yet another moment in my screwball comedy life. I’m going to look at this unfortunate (albeit hilarious) beginning of the year … as the universe knocking sense into my thick skull. Yes it may be a lame attempt at repackaging my folly with dime-store philosophy but I’m convinced the only way not to let regret eat away at my morale is to repeatedly tell myself it was a symbolic tumble.
I wrote in a post in March last year that I was a “fool” in the Shakespearean sense…what I specifically said was: “Entrenched but detached. I listen but I am rarely heard…But every now and then I have a moment of discernible clarity and profundity…Beset by the wonder”. Perhaps I should have said wander in replace for wonder. Both are fitting.
I know that I entertain people and I make people smile but I so rarely feel legitimately listened to. I don’t expect people to stop and give me their undivided attention every-time I open my trap. In fact I don’t even blame people for not taking me seriously. I can’t deny the fact that I so often feel that I’ve painted myself into a corner as a self-deprecating freak show. How pathetic is that? At 22 I’ve become a caricature beset by repetition and an inability to believe in my own adventures. I’m always sizing myself up against my wildly talented friends’ accomplishments. I’m perpetually unsure of my own skills. Unable to embrace my own idiosyncrasies and intelligence. Fearful that my voice isn’t unique enough to rise above the rabble of others perched atop their own home-made soap-box.
I know that I fear reality and the pins and needles it inevitably stings you with. I know I’m an angry person with so much to say I don’t know where to begin. I know I don’t believe in myself long enough to take action. I know very well that very few people realize this about me.
There’s nothing wrong in making people laugh, it’s one of my greatest joys, but there’s something wrong with humour when it’s an intentional diversion…an awkward detour that conveniently white washes neuroses and anxieties.
But back to the New Years Eve tumble. It’s the symbolic kick in the ass I needed to forego this beleaguering foolishness. It is extraordinarily tiring to be this petty! I have faith in this year. I usually consider New Year’s resolutions a waste of time but this year I think I need one. 2011 is going to be the year of decisiveness, of follow through and faith. I realize this is the tackiest and most cliche thing I could possibly say. But life is too short not to be tacky. I know I’m not going to be graceful any time soon. I’m never going to be demure or subtle so there’s no use wasting anymore of my life wishing and hoping to become an understated ingenue. I will continue to make foibles but lets just hope with a little bit more tact.
My life is a gong-show. I know this. I will embrace it but that’s not all there is to know.
To borrow from the profound television program, MTV: Diary … “You think you know me … but you have no idea”.
2011 is going to be a banner year. I have a good feeling about this one.