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From sisyphus:

Was it worth it? Why (not)?

There’s something kind of cool about being asked if it was worth it by someone going by the name Sisyphus. I mean, really. As we know, Sisyphus is that guy who was stuck in the underworld, having to roll a boulder uphill (and then reaching a certain point and having the boulder roll to the bottom of the hill) for eternity. This is either a total bummer or the key to happiness, depending on whether or not you dig Albert Camus. (“The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.”) So I suppose that however Sisyphus would answer this question about worth would depend on whether or not his heart is filled by the struggle, but I imagine that while rolling a boulder up a hill for eternity, the question of worth probably crossed his mind a time or two.

That is, of course, if Sisyphus were real. Though I’m sure that the person going by the name Sisyphus who asked me this question is real, because I doubt that myths can type.

Anyway, it’s quite an open question, isn’t it? I mean, was what worth it? I could pick anything. The amount of choices I have is overwhelming, to the point that I’m not sure if I can narrow myself down to one specific thing. I’ve made millions of choices over the course of my life. Some were wise and some were… not. But if I am the sum of my choices, then… well. They all were worth it somehow, weren’t they?

(I suppose you have to imagine the wry grin that accompanies the question closing out the above paragraph.)

I tend to be both impulsive and an overthinker. Somehow it works. I weigh my decisions very carefully up to a point, and then I tend to jump at things. Sometimes when I’m in the middle of things, I might wish that I’d chosen differently, when I have those moments of “Why the hell did I ever think this was a good idea?” But in the words of Lady Macbeth, what’s done cannot be undone. Unlike Lady Macbeth, however, I haven’t let regret drive me mad. Yet. I do wash my hands a lot, though. I’m a bit OCD. (Everyone who knows me just laughed and said “A bit?”)

The thing is, I’ll never know, when it comes to major life decisions, how my life would be different if I’d chosen something else. Deciding at literally the absolutely last possible minute to go to Albion College instead of any of the other schools where I’d been accepted opened the door to me spending four months in Italy looking at art and drinking wine and occasionally making out with random dudes, and it wasn’t the most practical choice for off-campus study (if I’d been practical, I’d have done something that might’ve led me toward a post-college career), but hell. Italy. And if I hadn’t been impractical and gone to Italy, then I might’ve ended up with a job right after I graduated and then I wouldn’t have been able to spend that time camping in Poland and then I wouldn’t have met who is probably still the nicest guy I’ve ever known (who is also ridiculously good-looking), and nothing ever came of that because, well, he lives in Poland, but I smile when I think about it and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. And I also wouldn’t have ended up with that miserable newspaper job, and if I hadn’t had that miserable newspaper job, I wouldn’t have ended up interviewing that guy who turned the tables and interviewed me and offered me a job on the spot (thereby allowing me to quit aforementioned miserable newspaper job), and if I hadn’t quit that job later on because of the psycho hose beast who made me cry every day, I wouldn’t have done that year in AmeriCorps and worked with those amazing kids, and then I wouldn’t have moved to Ann Arbor to learn Arabic just because, and then I wouldn’t have come back to help out my grandmother (who at the time seemed like maybe she wasn’t going to make it much longer, but she did, that tough old bird), and then I wouldn’t have gotten that job that I eventually got laid off from, and then I wouldn’t have had The Long Unemployment, and then I wouldn’t be where I am right now. And you know, I like where I am right now. It’s pretty good.

So, yep. Worth it.

From Rah:

Do you believe your beloved “walks”? Kinda like Kanye’s “Jesus Walks”. And if so does this give you solace and comfort or other such feelings.

I… don’t know what this means.

I think it’s because of the word “beloved” which… um. I don’t use this word for anything. I know that other people use it, like at weddings: “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today, something something blah blah” because like I really pay attention at weddings. And there’s that movie where Gary Oldman (you know, I love Gary Oldman) was Beethoven, Immortal Beloved, and also there was that one Toni Morrison novel, Beloved, and Oprah turned it into a movie starring Oprah. And I’ve had to write a lot of papers about Toni Morrison novels, you guys. Did you know that the first sentence of a Toni Morrison novel encapsulates everything that the novel will be about, but you can’t know that when you first read it, because hello, you just started the book so you don’t even know what it’s about yet? It’s true.

Oh, also, back in the day when I was a kid and my family used to go to this church, and there was this song, which I am singing to myself right now. I forgot that this song existed until just a minute ago, but let me tell you — those old school choruses that we had to sing in church never really go away. And the fact that I’m singing “Beloved, let us love one another, for love is of God, and everyone who loveth is born of God and knoweth God. He that loveth not, knoweth not God, for God is loooooooove. Beloved, let us love one another. First John, 4:7 and 8.” (And yes, you do sing the chapter and verse there at the end. It’s part of the song.) I’m going to have that in my head for days now. THANKS SO MUCH.

I am now hung up on childhood church memories. I used to think that building was so huge, but I went back there a couple of years ago for a funeral, and I think somebody shrunk it. I was taller than the coat rack. I used to have to jump to be able to touch the hangers. I’m not really sure why I jumped to reach the coat hangers, but I think it was one of those things. “See if you can reach these!” You know. Kids. Also, when the sanctuary was empty, we used to race under the pews. We’d army crawl underneath them, starting at the back pew and moving up to the front, then we’d turn and race to the back. Those are my main memories of that church, other than I used to get in trouble for talking too much. Go figure.

I know that’s so interesting.

So. Um, Kanye West? I just listened to Kanye for direction, which I think is the first time that’s ever happened. I still feel directionless. But even though Kanye and I would differ on Beyonce fandom, I also think that Taylor Swift is overrated, and furthermore, I set my alarm to Top 40 radio, because nothing is guaranteed to get me out of bed faster than having some horribly bad song blasted at me early in the morning, and so I’m familiar with this Taylor Swift song, and I don’t know what it’s called, but the theme of it is all “I’m so way better for you than your girlfriend because I totally get you, man” and I think it’s supposed to be sweet, but instead it just reminds me of this creepy girl in high school who was obsessed with my friend’s boyfriend and used to say that she would be better for him because she understood him and… well, she said other stuff too, but it was crazy, and it wasn’t endearing, it was just bizarre and sad.

I obviously took a bus to Tangent Town.

But is it really a tangent if you didn’t have a point when you started? Very important question, that.

So anyway, I don’t know, man. I’m not sure what constitutes a beloved (a ghost? a god? a soulmate?) and I guess this is a case where my brain goes hyper-literal and I can’t move beyond that. It happens sometimes, and I believe that has to be one of my more endearing qualities. Of course.

I’m sure this has all been very enlightening.

Stacy Lynn Sprouse, January 9, 1981 – November 23, 2005

It’s been four years. So many things are different now, but one thing stays the same: I still miss that girl, but as ever, I am thankful that she was a part of my life. This anniversary is always a hard one for me, bringing with it memories of that early morning phone call on Thanksgiving when everything changed. I’m already having a rough time today but I’m trying to get it together before I have to leave for work, even though I’m sure that spontaneous crying fits would go over exceptionally well in the office. Anyway, I’m not sure how eloquent I can be right now.

Last year, I wrote this:

The thing that crushed me over and over again is that on the day she died, I kept meaning to call her, I thought about it several times, and I never got around to it. I have finally forgiven myself for this, for putting off the chance to tell her I loved her one last time, but while I would have given anything to have learned this lesson any other way, the fact remains that I know it now. So, no matter how trite it seems, how busy you are, how nervous it makes you, don’t put off the chance to tell the people you love that you love them. It’s good for them to hear it and it’s good for you to say it. And not to be depressing, but there are no guarantees in life and you never know when you might run out of chances. So don’t squander the chances. Take them. Every single one. While you may not have known Stacy, I did, and I honestly can’t think of a single better way to honor her memory than by adding a little love to the world. So if you have any love in your heart, please give it to someone else today.

And I still mean it.

Today is a writing day, but that writing isn’t going to happen here. I still have this book I’m trying to write, see, and I don’t get time to work on it much lately, what with having an actual job now and all, so now that today is a day off and I have an uninterrupted stretch of time, I’m going to write write write.

Hope you’re having a fantastic Saturday, kittens.

From ykw:

What’s your biggest turn on?

Hm. There are all all kinds of things that are deadly attractive — wit, intelligence, warmth. Gentlemanliness. (Is that even a word? Firefox says no. But I think it has to be.) “The Cinnamon Peeler” by Michael Ondaatje. “The Rain” by Robert Creeley. “Soneto XVI” by Pablo Neruda. The theme of those last three would be, I suppose, words used well. Once, a long time ago, on a former incarnation of this blog that no longer exists, I wrote a post about terrible pet names, or terms of endearment that are in no way endearing, and I remember in the comments, there was a tangent about being called “Darlin’” and how that is impossibly hot. If I recall correctly (and there’s no way to check, so you just have to take my word for it), I didn’t even bring it up, but I agreed — it is impossibly hot. I remember a post Sarah Brown wrote about this word, and I agree that it has to come naturally, that it can’t be a matter of saying “I would like it if you called me ‘darlin’” because then it’s inherently false. When it comes to pet names, I usually get stuck with “princess” which does nothing for me, really, but it seems to happen a lot. Is this a tangent? I suppose. To bring it back to the point, I can hear the impossibly hot version of this word in my head, drawled just slightly. Of course it doesn’t have to be impossibly hot, the word “darlin.’” It can just be friendly. But in the right context, in the right way, it’s practically deadly.

I’m sensing a word theme.

I suppose that really, when it comes down to it, it’s a combination of things happening simultaneously that lead to a reaction of “Yow.” But if I’m going to pick one thing, then, I guess I’ll abandon my word theme and say it has to be hands. Masculine hands. Because, um, heh. Because. You know how you might be having a conversation with someone and then you notice something (like, say, hands) and then your mind wanders a little sideways and you end up thinking “Well, damn”? It’s like that.

Biggest turn off?

Smarminess. It’s so gross. Also, ill-fitting pants.

From Greg:

What sound or noise do you love? (There’s also an implied “and why?” in there, if you didn’t notice.)

I wonder how many people pick rain. I do love the sound of rain. Especially when I’m in that dreamy half-awake/half-asleep state of being and there’s no reason to move out of it toward fully awake, though I could, or I could go back to being fully asleep, or I could just listen to the rain for awhile. I love the sound of rain in moments like those.

But I’m not going to pick rain. Too obvious. I love the sound my dog makes when she’s having some kind of crazy excited fit and she’s running around in circles because she cannot contain herself. Her joy is contagious and I can’t help but laugh. Though to be honest, it may be that insanely adorable goofy face she makes while she’s running around in circles. It is the face of pure joy. It’s so much cuteness, I can barely stand it. So if it’s her goofy face that I love, then I guess it’s not the sound. By the way, even though she’d finished running around in circles when I took this photo, this is (an aerial view of) the face, with added bonus tail wagging:

How many pictures of my dog am I going to post here this month? I don’t know. But I love that critter. She kills me.

So, okay. You know what sound I love? I’ll tell you. I love when it’s quiet at night and I’m reading a book — I love the sound of turning pages. It’s this beautiful little whispery sound. So soft, and yet so precise. (Yet another reason why actual books printed on paper are awesome.) Why do I love the sound of turning pages? I suppose it would not be good enough if I just said “Because.” Though I’m tempted, because I’m like that. The thing I love about it is that reading a book is so much more than just reading words on a page. That’s obviously a key part of it, but reading a book is an experience that’s physical as well as mental. There’s a tactile pleasure to reading a book, to holding it and turning its pages, and I really like that. So I guess the sound of those turning pages is nice because it adds another level to the physical experience of reading.

And yes, I know I said I love the sound of turning pages when it’s quiet at night, but I don’t suppose I have to be so particular about it — the sound itself makes me think of Sunday afternoons. You know what my absolutely favorite part of the week is? Sunday afternoon. There is, I suppose, a bittersweetness to Sunday afternoon, with it being the lead-in to Sunday night, which is the end of the weekend and all. And a Sunday afternoon, especially a rainy Sunday afternoon, is like the ultimate time for curling up with a book. And making a big pot of soup or something. Yes indeedy.

There’s a Sunday afternoon feeling, if that makes any sense at all, and that feeling can happen at any time, not just on Sunday afternoons. I might be on a tangent, but I don’t think so. The sound of turning pages is a Sunday afternoon sound, and I love it.

That works, I think.

From my wifey:

I am existentially lost. What should I, Emily T, your former roommate and current wife, do with my life, career-wise? What are some realistic goals I should set?

Did you know that I’m married? I am. I have a wife. Her name is Emily. I know I’ve told this story before, but I feel like I need to repeat it once in awhile just because it might be a bit confusing, since I’m single and I like boys, and I also have a wife.

It’s like this. Emily and I met in an English class, and I thought she was a cool girl. And then we had some more classes together, like that one geology class taught by The Twilcher, and we were also on the staff of our college’s fine newspaper. I hated that newspaper so much, but I had a lot of fun with the staff. And anyway, Emily and I were in this class about the Renaissance and we read a lot of really exciting stuff, such as conduct literature, so it was a swingin’ good time. And somebody was doing some kind of project about Renaissance wedding vows and they needed volunteers to get married. And this is the most romantic thing ever. Emily was all, “Oooh! I want to be the bride!” and then she turned around and looked at the lone guy in the class, Chad, and then she turned to me and said “I don’t want to marry Chad. Come on, Jamelah, we’re getting hitched!” So we went up to the front of the class and had a wedding. I had to be the groom, and I got a serious case of the giggles when I had to pledge to honor my wife with my body. Also I had to give Emily my ring and when the wedding was over, I asked for it back. Because I love that ring. It’s a silver band and I still wear it every day. So, we were wife and wife, set to live happily ever after. And then the next semester, we were roommates in Venice and we couldn’t move our beds more than six inches apart or we couldn’t open the closets. And in Italy, they have two bed sizes — singolo and matrimonio. Well, we were practically in a matrimonio anyway, and when I would talk in my sleep, Emily would tell me to shut up, so really, just like married people!

And we had an anniversary party in Venice at Cafe Blue (if you are ever in Venice, please go there — it is the best bar) and Emily gave me a lighter with a bottle opener on the end that she got in Aberdeen, and even though the lighter doesn’t work anymore, I still use the bottle opener for beer. Great present.

So we’ve been married now for… gosh, almost a decade! Wow. That’s crazy. And Emily is the best wife ever. You better recognize.

Okay! So, now that I’ve explained our romantic history, I will answer your question. Wife, it’s like this. I don’t know what you should do with your life (other than to continue being awesome), but I have a feeling that you know. For some reason, and I don’t know why this is, but it seems pretty stupid, really, it’s often hard to come out and say “This is what I want.” Like saying it — whatever it is — is somehow both selfish and stupid. But it’s really neither of those things. There’s nothing wrong with wanting things, after all. I lived a long time believing that it was good enough to know what I didn’t want, but it’s not. While it’s important to know what you don’t want, you can’t live your entire life defining your desires in the negative. Like in my case, I knew I didn’t want to be a reporter, I didn’t want to marry that one guy, I didn’t want to work at that soul-crushing job anymore. But while I could define what I didn’t want, I had a hard time stating what I did want.

Maybe it’s because over time we learn that what we want changes. What I wanted when I was 20 is not what I want now, and there’s always this uncertainty, because what if I pick the wrong thing? You don’t want your life to be like the end of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade and have some old knight look at the pile of dust that used to be you and say “[S]he chose…poorly.” I mean, really. That would suck. But the truth is that it’s not so dramatic. Life manages to be both short and long, and I think the only constant is that everything changes.

When it comes to deciding on goals, I am not the most practical of people, and I find that this is making it difficult for me to give you a set of realistic steps you should take. I tend to fly by the seat of my pants, and sometimes this works out really well for me, and sometimes I end up broke and unemployed for months upon months, so yeah. So while I wouldn’t necessarily recommend quitting your job right now unless you happen to have another one lined up (or a trust fund), I think if it’s not making you happy, then for your own sanity, you should take steps to get the hell out of there. It’s amazing what it can do for your attitude when you know that something you don’t like is only temporary and you have the end in sight.

Spend some time being really honest with yourself and thinking about what it is that you really want, and then, no matter how cheesy it sounds to do this, write it down. Everything. Big and small. Because seeing it in writing makes it more real. And keep that list handy, if only to remind yourself that there are things in the world other than what you have now.

If you’re looking for a job change — either a total career switch, or the same type of thing that happens to be somewhere else — research some options and then see if you can connect with people who might be able to help you get where you want to go. (A possible way to do this is through finding volunteer opportunities that may be related somehow — volunteerism is not only wonderfully do-gooder-y, it is also great for networking.) Start dropping into conversations that you’re looking. A lot of people may be able to direct you toward something but they may also have no idea that you’re looking for direction.

I feel like there are stories I could tell, but at the same time, I don’t feel like I’m necessarily an example of anything. Maybe in some ways, I’m more of a cautionary tale. But I honestly believe that we know ourselves better than we think we do, and when we feel lost, it’s because we stopped listening to ourselves and started listening to a lot of external “you should do this” or “you should do that” and then everything gets muddy. And while it’s not that other people can’t give advice or offer encouragement, remember that you know better than they do what you should be doing. In short — trust yourself.

I don’t know if I’m being helpful or not, but life is a funny thing, and sometimes we end up having to take really odd, circuitous paths to get somewhere we want to be. Just know that you’re smart and talented and super cool, so believe that wherever you jump, you’ll land on your feet.