humans are funny

Category: life lessons

  • A decade is ten years. That’s a long time.

    It’s April 8th, 2010.
    I have one month left of my twenties.
    Holy.
    Mackerel.

    I’ve spent a lot of time hiding the fact that this day was coming. I omit the year whenever I can. I respond “I’m in my twenties” when people ask my age. Because, for most of my life, I’ve dreaded May 8th, 2010. I’ve dreaded the wrinkles, the chest freckles, and all the expectations that I failed to meet. But here I am, facing them all. And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

    And, actually, I don’t really want to.
    Because the twenties…. well, the twenties were brutal. Incredibly fun and inappropriate, but difficult. They say the twenties are all about figuring yourself out. But they don’t usually say this until you’re turning thirty. Upon my twentieth birthday, I wish someone would have said, “You’re gonna try a bunch of shit in the next decade. And some of it you’re going to absolutely love. And some of it is going to make you feel either disgusted with yourself or sad or confused or just plain mad. But you have to go through this stuff so you can see what you’re all about. So do it. And don’t look back. But try to learn from every situation.”

    But nobody said a word about that. So I found myself waking up in random hot tubs and crying in showers and screaming all the way to work. And I didn’t understand what it all meant, so I just kept waking up in random hot tubs and crying in showers and screaming all the way to work. But I didn’t take the time to learn from all that stuff until I recently took the year off to mull it all over. Here’s what I could have learned:

    20 – I turned 20 in Spain. This was around the time that I drank too much street calimocho and threw up in my boyfriend’s mouth. No lesson learned then, but upon further review, I should have seen: I needed to control my alcohol. And that the guy who simply wiped his chin and took me home was a keeper.

    21 – I got kicked out of a strip joint on Sunset Blvd for being a belligerent eye-roller and taking off my top, even though I was simply a patron and did not possess any of the assets required of a stripper. Should have learned: To control my alcohol. And that I should cross off ‘stripping’ from the list of back-up plans (still have yet to do that).

    22 – Freaking out about my steadily climbing grad school debt, I finally stopped drinking to focus on getting a job. I focused a lot on that and only that. So it all went by in a flash. I only remember wearing slutty outfits and having a panic attack that showed itself in chronic foot itch. I was in South Beach! Should have learned to balance.

    23 & 24 – I lived in London, Sao Paulo, NYC, and SF. Should have noticed I was more interested in traveling than advertising. WHY didn’t I see that then!?

    25 – The chronic foot itch came back on the first day of my first job. All I could think about was the year’s lack of spring break. Should have realized that this job was a mere stone on the path to something bigger. Like most things are.

    26 – Moved in with a boyfriend after knowing him three months. Should have learned to NEVER move in with a boyfriend after knowing him three months.

    27 – I shot lots of commercials and actually enjoyed myself with clients. Never trusting myself, I cowered in the corner and became the girl who always said, ‘I don’t know. What do you think?” I should have realized I’m actually good at my job.

    28 – I slaved away for 16 hours a day doing more than I could handle. Should have learned how to say no. And that being married to a job (especially one that doesn’t really help many people) wasn’t how I wanted to live my life. Oh wait, I did learn that. So I…

    29 – …traveled alone and finally learned all these lessons all at once. But most importantly, I learned to listen to myself so that future lessons won’t take another round-the-world trip to sink in.

    In honor of these confusing yet exhilarating years, I will spend this last month of my twenties reliving them all. I plan to get totally wasted, travel, fall in love quickly, work feverishly, and perhaps take my clothes off in a strip club. And I will also go skydiving and make an eggplant parmigiana because I want to. Yes! This will undoubtedly be a great month. I will let you know if I make it to 30.

    The year was 2000. I wore my jeans up to my bellybutton. My haircut looked like a mushroom, and I drank tequila for sport. And then I wondered why I couldn’t meet a decent guy.

    Ok, yes I had mushroom hair, but do you see that six-pack? Hot damn. I still thought I was fat. Could have learned to love my body and use it to my advantage. Sigh.

    2008. Better hair. No more padded bras. No more tequila. Getting closer. Plus, I finally realized that relationships are the most important! That’s when I left everybody I knew to go traveling. I swear it makes sense kinda.

    This is the face of learning. Sometimes it takes a wooden pillow and a mosquito net to get the brain to make sense of stuff.

  • Lessons from someone who knows stuff.

    I’ve always wanted to know stuff.
    Unfortunately, I don’t.
    I mean, I know stuff… But it seems I’m one of those jacks of all trades and masters of none. I hate it. It irks me. I want to be the expert witness they call to the stand to verify something only my keen eye could verify. Or the specialist they call to get a witty and informative quote for a magazine article.

    But so far, nobody has needed an expert in the art of plucking ingrown hairs from my leg or in making log houses out of spray-painted straws, two areas in which I’ve been known to excel.
    So I’ve been patiently learning a teeny bit each day, cradling the hope that this new knowledge will eventually congeal and become something.

    The trip was quite a something. I met lots of knowledge as I skipped around continents. I’m still no expert in any area, but I learned a lot. About life and people and humanity. And I decided to share it. Here you have it… words of wisdom from someone who kinda knows some stuff.

    I learned…

    …that all people are the same no matter where they were born. Really. We all judge, love, die, urinate, eat, hope. We’re all yearning to be better. Some of us wake up to alarms and some of us to roosters. But, really, we are all the same.

    …that most religions are the same. They each answer that annoying question about what happens after life and are based on being good. Really. Hindus, Jews, Catholics, Muslims, Buddhists, Mormons, Jains…. I heard each of their spiels and was shocked at the similarities. To me, it’s like choosing a basketball team.

    …how to say no… how to have an opinion… how to ask for what I want. When those in the tourism industry are eyeing you like a lion licking his lips, you better ask them to throw in a Taj Mahal snow globe. You’re paying for it anyway.

    …that we are all so lucky and we don’t know it. Advertising and society make us think we need more and more and more and that this more has to be from a certain designer. But, really, we don’t need much at all. I think it’s crazy that some kids in the West cry because they want Elmo for Christmas and some kids in the East cry because they want more than rice for dinner. Crazy!

    …that traveling alone for a long period of time is like turning off your life. No bills. No phone. No commitments. No job. Nobody you know. Nothing to do but listen to yourself. I think it’s something that everyone needs to experience.

    …that my body is not infallible. Damn! I am athletic and never thought I would feel like I couldn’t do anything. But F! My feet and knees were used to sleeping under my desk. Then I made them get lost around unknown cities for 9 whole months. They hate me.

    …that I love writing this blog. Love it! I received encouragements and emails from so many strangers and old friends and worried parents and pissed off Malaysians. I can’t describe the feeling of knowing people are rooting for you. It’s amazing. And I thank you all so very much for being there with me. I will continue writing about how humans in the US are funny, especially the ones in advertising or the ones that interview me for jobs for which I have no business applying.

    …that the people who stamp passports take their jobs way too seriously.

    …that I’ve deprived myself way too much. Before the trip, I would never think of ordering dessert. Now I not only order it, I eat it slowly, and enjoy every single bite. I’m so lucky to have the privilege.

    …to look around! I couldn’t believe that the tribes living in the Papua New Guinean mountains didn’t realize their homes were swathed in absolute beauty. But as I was telling this to someone, she pointed to Venice beach, a place that I take for granted. I saw a cluster of palm trees and it all became so clear.

    …that the best times come from the experiences you were most reluctant to have. So now I try to say yes to everything. I try not to let fear be a factor in any decision. Ever.

    …to master Sudoku puzzles. What a great way to sharpen the brain fibers.

    …that being away from everyone you know forces you to see everyone you know in a new light. I feel closer to many of my friends and family now than I did before I left.

    …that everyone’s priorities are different and that’s ok. We’re all just different but neither is better or worse.

    …to trust myself. Standing by a decision and not looking back saves loads of anxiety.

    …to ask questions. People love to answer. It’s the best way to meet.

    Here’s a sunset to help you contemplate.

  • Well, your bomber jacket is nice.

    My office sent me to Milwaukee to look at a print ad and check its color. Yes, Milwaukee. Yes, to look at a color. It seemed like it would be an easy task, but of course the color was wrong and I needed to stay up all night to fix it. While driving through the Milwaukee back roads at 4am to go check the color again, I clenched the steering wheel, pissed that this was my life. I felt tears approaching my lids and anxiety holding my jaw taut.

    The color never got to be perfect, and I left Milwaukee feeling like a failure. Well, half of me felt like a failure and half of me felt like I was stuck in a joke. Or a Mike Meyers satire where everyone in the film is creating a huge deal out of something so insignificant. Miserable and scared of how my bosses would view the color fiasco, I got to the airport only to find a problem with my flight.

    Right when I felt like my body would implode from anxiety, I walked passed an Indian man. He was round and bald and cloaked in a brown bomber jacket. I could see he was bald and the throng of busy travelers could tell he was bald, but the man himself could not see he was bald. Perched atop his head was what looked like the puff of hair that usually lands in the trash after I clean out my brush. He’d poised this tumbleweed directly in the center of his shiny dome in a desperate attempt to convince the world that he was not one who could be classified as bald.

    At the sight of this man, my brain could do nothing but make me laugh, and laugh I did for a good two minutes. Not at him, but at the fact that all humans have “problems” that seem so huge to us in the moment but in essence aren’t so important. While I could tell the man that his baldness was really not worth the fretting and styling and grasping at a last-ditch solution of puff-piling, he could probably tell me that the color of the print ad would not be my demise.

    Thanks, bald Indian man. I know you don’t think I’m talking to you because you don’t classify yourself as bald, but thanks anyway.