It's Not You, It's Me
On taking a break from people.
As melodramatic as it sounds, I don’t like all people.
I’m a good 20 percent of all the people that I know kind of girl — the older I get, the more that number shrinks. Tomorrow I will be 36 and I think that number will be a solid 19%.
I haven’t written in a long time because, life.
Today, I made the heroic move of waking up at the ass crack of dawn to go for a run through my LES neighborhood, come back home, shower, and fall right back to sleep. It’s been a few days of anxiety, rescheduled shrink appointments, rescheduled and rebooked flights, and last-minute attempts at normalcy.
I’m not in a great place — anyone who is close to me sees it and is waiting patiently for me to get my shit together — you are the beloved 20% and you know who you are.
A few weeks ago, I lost a job I really cared about. It was out of my hands the day I started and in retrospect, there’s nothing anyone could have done to stop that train from crashing. The process that followed has taught me to be resilient, and to navigate hard decisions with very little feeling. It can be as black and white as you want it to be, and a good lawyer is always necessary.
On Saturday, I made the terrible mistake of consuming way too much alcohol, stewing in my feelings, and saying some very hurtful things to someone who is very important to me. There really isn’t much I can do except feel like a piece of shit every time I look in the mirror. Why do we hurt the ones we care about the most? Where is the handbook on not being an asshole every time you open your mouth?
And then there’s family drama so crazy, I jumped on the next available flight out of Minnesota. All this to say: this girl wants to hide.
Sitting at Ludlow Coffee Supply in the heart of LES and watching all the trendsetters walk up and about barely clothed and heavily tattooed, it dawned on me that I needed to take a serious break from people. Guys, it’s not you, it’s me. I’m a bull in a China shop with all my feelings and anxiety and it’s best that we separate until I come up and cook something, or take a thirsty selfie with all my boobs on display (because this is how we will know that sanity has been restored).
*and on the topic of boobs, I’ve been asked to publicly declare that I did NOT in fact get a boob job in Torino and these tits are 100% natural thanks to pasta, Barbera, and loads of avocado salads.*
I’ve learned a thing or two about taking responsibility for your life. We like to take full responsibility when things are going great. When we get the girl we want, when we land that account, when sales are up and when our friendships are thriving. We rarely want to claim any responsibility when things go south.
Personally, I feel like claiming responsibility in the less than glamorous times is the key to winning in life — when you don’t blame others for your fuckery and when you can take your fuckery without beating yourself up too much, you become a master of YOU.
It’s also like beating your opponent to the punch — what else will they pull out of their bag if you already had it the whole time?
I am my own master.
Things are great because I make good decisions, and things are bad because I make bad decisions. Everything that has happened to me in the last month - I have played a part and I simply could have done better.
So I’m stepping back in order to reset and build myself back up so I can make better decisions. Call it a ‘self-time out’ of sorts. I’m also fully admitting that I don’t like all people and that well, not all people like me. And that’s just dandy.
You’re not for everyone, and life’s too short for dumb conversations with someone wearing a long sleeve head-to-toe neon look and asking you if Italians will survive the Delta variant.
How about asking for a refund from the shopkeeper who let you walk out of a Manhattan store looking like a glow stick at a rave in 90-degree plus weather?
Make better decisions.