Just A Lil' Bit's Enough

I just got a reason, and just a little bit was enough of the feeling that

something is going better instead of the already notorious negative trend.

I am quarter a century old and learning something completely new, just when I was starting to think that I was running out of possible new experiences. Even the 'never have I ever' started to be boring, I would get drunk so easily on my lack of new firsts. 

But voila! Never have I ever biked. Sunday it was my first time ever getting on a bike, and after half an hour of failed attempts to maintain my balance, despite the lovely encouraging smile and hoorays of my ad hoc teacher, I thought I would never be able to do it. Another half an hour later, I was slightly getting the hang of it and actually pedalling quite shyly. 

Today, second time ever on a bike. Proved once again that I am as selfsufficient as one can possibly be when it comes to learning something. It's like denying myself part of the victory if I ask for someone's help (although at times I should be screaming for it). Why do it differently this time? Some football court square meters, sixty minutes, a million micro heart attacks and two million bruises later, triple the ego, I can actually pride myself with pretty decent biking skills for a newbie.

Saddest or best part of this, or both at once, is that I cannot even remember when was the last time when my motivation and my pride skyrocketted together like this. So I am going to do what I do best, extrapolate, blow everything out of proportion, make a huge deal of a random humdrum act such as biking and infer that things can be going in a good direction once I decide to keep rolling. 

I have to give this blue and purple bike that I am so fullheartedly riding a name. A little bit of blue melancholy, a little bit of purple craziness, what if I just call it Life? Mine.

Anything could happen

I guess we know that's just what humans do.

Crave for a little change and challenge, and get the full package instead. I mean, who would have imagined that only a few days and some hundred km away everything would be so overwhelmingly different?

I have to say, judging by some random sane standards, new does not necessarily mean better. I have the food, a cold house and the bipolar weather (at least) to vouch for that. But different probably does. The people, the paved roads, the lightheartedness, the stupid stoopwafels.

Cheers to the different, right? This time I choose to be not only foolishly but fully in, and whilst letting go of everything ever possible, I will hopefully start getting something in return, whatever that is. I would bet on my own self, who knows when and  to whom that was lost. 

Cheers to the different I said, with a glass of Zinfandel rose while searching for summerly NY flights, just to prove that despite all the rush of change I can still belong, even if in bits and pieces and not rightfully so.

Sensor based heating when indeed so much need to move (on), clean slate, a singing secretary, hundred square meters and a heart to fill, cheap love, a little imaginary (?) mouse for company since pets are not allowed, a blue and purple bike, big windows, innovation, a beer, two beers, three beers...I guess that from now on anything could happen.

(And now I know the truth that anything could happen. And though I think I need you, I guess it does not really matter.)

Extraordinarily Ordinary

Worst thing you could possibly ever do to someone: go ahead and make them believe they're exceptional. Exceptionally good or outstandingly bad. Happened, eeerm, to a friend of mine, to be misled , on and on, in concentric and vicious circles, from trivial to core levels. True story, thus now she's learning stuff the hard way and paying the dues for not knowing how to take in the averageness.

Let's imagine this little bitter story. Say we have a baby girl who happens to walk and talk 'exceptionally well' when 1 year old. While the parents are a bit bummed for not having some gags and stutters to laugh about, they say, damn, we did well, this is a good one, one hell of an exceptional child. Say the girl goes on doing some unusual stuff for her age, drawing, singing, reading, being adorable, conquesting the adults, being first in class and shit. Say she learns from the ones around her she is doing some amazing things, thus she must be exceptional. Also say she starts to learn and value the taste of this outstandingness, to the point where it does not suffice for her to be exceptional on her own, but also by comparison.

Say she goes on and on like that, living her life and making her choices ruled by this god of exception, and that everyone is very happy to feed on that. Say she cries for any less than maximum grade, and suffers for every person she has chosen and does not love her exceptionally. Say she cannot bear to accept minor success, mild pain or mere happiness, because one must be extraordinary, no matter the price. That the only thing she is sure of is that over the top is always better than fair. And that life is only worth living from a certain degree of comparison upwards.

Say that she is just learning the hard way that averageness is an option, even if it is not. And that there are times when you cannot be exceptional...if you are not.

Failure junkie

There was a time when I had learned the hard way that one has to enjoy every day they get to live and breathe. I had conceded that one has to appreciate every experience, be it positive or negative, to the fullest, and always get something [the most] out of it. It sounds like extreme motivational crap, but at the time I had reasons to think it was true. After taking in and spitting out all the anger and frustration, I had reasons to think for a while that I was the luckiest. I had dodged a bullet, so I needed not trip on the trivia, be unhappy or dissatisfied for the most insignificant reasons. Because then the significant stuff span in a completely superior sphere.

But of course that any experience, no matter how significantly good or bad, fades away with time. Did I hear someone say time heals everything? They were right. So I started to forget. And to calibrate the significance of all happenings to my current status. And now being confident that there is a tomorrow, of course I can make a huge deal about my nail polish chipping. Or a genuine drama because French does not stick to me once and for all.

Thus I went back to being an addict for failure.It's like running around in circles and always finding reasons to be malcontent, of course making everyone well aware of it and if possible also spreading a sense of guilt all over. It works like this. You think you want something, work for it, scream and shout. It eventually happens, but maybe not exactly when you wanted it or with some minor adjustments. Then you don't want it anymore, set your mind to having failed, just because, well, you can.It doesn't even matter if some things work out for the best, there's always something that does not happen just perfectly. And you, being addicted to dissatisfaction, will choose to cling to that instead.

That I complain a lot, well, it's common fact. People around me always try to remind me that there's some things that are not even worth complaining about. That I am selfish and should think about those who are really having a hard time before going all bitchy about some meaningless shit. I am aware of my selfishness, and I can even be sympathetic to other persons' misfortunes. But on one hand I cannot do anything to change that, and on the other I had my own share of big misfortunes. Now I just face my own small unhappinesses tailored to my small existence. Which are by no means less significant, which trouble me more than necessary, it is true, and into which I dive fullheartedly, like the failure junkie that I am.

Ça va? Hell no.

I grew older and fancier all of the sudden. I left behind the old famous pair question-answer "-How are you?-Fine" for the classier "-Ça va?-Oui." However, a trivial question is the same no matter the language. And lying, even if in French, is still lying.

The overcrowded trains that are always late and smelling funky, Ça ne va pas. Neither do the complicated subway hallways, forever scenting like piss.

The lilliputian apartments with see-through bathroom doors, Ça ne va pas.

People reaching a whole new level of inefficiency and rudeness, Ça, for sure, ne va pas. Likewise putting on hold the idea of making local friends.

Having to clench your teeth and force yourself to get out of the bed in the morning, not looking forward to anything, Ça, for sure, must be wrong. Always having the impression you are wasting people's time, but mostly yours, again, awkward.

Being sucked in by a completely messed up system, which drains away your positive energy and motivation, I must say, Ça ne va pas. Suddenly finding Africa to be an appealing option, what about that?

Despite of all the tasty pain au chocolat and sparkling tours, my honeymoon period is done. And I just learned the hard way that you cannot force any kind of love on people, and I am for sure not in love with this. So, just like I always answered "Fine" with a huge smile on my face or a nervous laugh, I keep saying "Ça va bien", even if it most definitely doesn't.

Apologies, for Losing my Cooling

Making excuses can become a vicious hobby. If you are preoccupied with developing your career, it may in time even turn into a full time job. Should you want to go and surf a little bit the scholar side, you might as well get your PhD in the art of being apologetic. And you reckon it's okay, like with all your other nasty habits, you think that if all the others do it, more or less, it is for sure acceptable and why not somewhat normal. But what happens when making excuses becomes a way of life, the only one you acknowledge? When you're so far off in this soothing routine that you start making excuses even to your own self? Say you reach that awkward moment when you are so caught up into finding an excuse for the frustration, or the unhappiness, or all the things happening (or not) in your world that it soaks up all your stamina. Say I reached it.

I personally make excuses, I'd even say I mastered an expert level. You'd imagine, since I so like to excel in everything I embark upon, with a slight preference for the destructive. I feed them excuses back and forward. Sometimes because I am lazy, sometimes cause I am introverted or weak or afraid. Other times because I am a too naive, and despite all odds still a believer. I make excuses equally for and to myself, unbiasedly for and  to the people around me. But so much conciliatory feedback and forth has got me fed up.

I know it should be as simple as this. If you suck at doing your job, it is probably because for some sort of twisted reason it is not the right one for you. If one does not make you equally peaceful and thrilled, it is simply probably because they are not the right one for you. If someone doesn't write or call or <insert random action> you back, it's because they don't want to. If people are constantly cold or mean, it is not because they are damaged or twisted and they secretly need you to fix them, it is just because they don't care enough to make an effort. So they probably don't deserve any effort back, not even the one to make an excuse for them.  If you are not happy with something, it is probably because you are doing it wrong, and not because all the planets aligned in order for you to be miserable. And yes, I cannot only imagine, but also know, that most of the time, making an excuse is easier than standing up to any kind of discomfort. But also I, the ultimate excuse junkie, can vouch that (more often than just) sometimes this string of easiest choices and this tray of appealing apologetic cupcakes ends up in a huge pile of debris. Okay, maybe this was a bit too figuratively put. Or too culinary?

For what is worth, as I conceded before, life is too short to remove usb safely. Or to keep making excuses when it gets down to your own hapiness. Eeerm, apologies, but can we try for a little while no alarms and no surprises, and no more excuses, please?

Unless they are the really good kind.

Everything is Changing and I Don't Feel the Same

So I say I wander my own land. I've chosen, more or less, to wander here, stating  not to fear the distance, the loneliness, the novelty or the change. And it's true, distance gives me perspective, loneliness (although extremely rare and momentary) gives me time (though not so much as I expected and needed) to introspect and quietness (if I ignore my neighbors moving furniture all the time) to think about my own self, novelty is amazing by its own nature, change however gives me mixed feelings.

See, unlike some people who have a huge list of golden rules and principles (and good for them!), I don't have too many stable lifelong beliefs (and yes, I know saying that is redundant, we already set in stone my bipolarity). But on the tip of my tongue these days happens to be one of them, which is of course the trigger for this odyssey (or more like soap opera) episode.

I often say (and also strongly believe it) that people cannot change fundamentally, of course, without completely excluding that one exception that confirms the rule, which to my defense, I did not yet have the chance to encounter. I agree, people might be influenced by their fellows (sometimes friends, more often than normal enemies [drumroll.... inception, parentheses within parentheses, just to briefly touch on our dysfunctional habit of putting in more effort to impress people we don't like than people we like, doing and trying things we wouldn't normally do] to try another type of music, to adopt a funkier styling or to smoke a cigarette. This range of different endeavors, scaled according to their importance, say 1 for tasting a spicy pork roll when you don't really like pork and 10 for moving in with your friend's friend, who you happen not to stand (not sure if I got the grading accurately but you see my point), can depict some fleeting behavioural adaptation, but, who are we kidding, not a veritable change of character. So, bad news to all the dreamy girls out there who are dating jerks and still hope they will change in time. Mmmnope, they most definitely won't, so if a nice guy is what you want, just find one that is already nice.

Now that I clarified the 'never-changing paradigm', of course there's a corollary, actually the topic I wanted to develop to begin with. Despite their characters which are bound not to change, people are experiencing  ever-changing circumstances, feelings, relationships. And this is what worries me, the dynamics of all these elements that I cannot control, which even if not fundamentally changing me or my significant others, do have a huge say on how our course of events develops.

I guess there is no unique approach and probably no generally accepted good way to act upon change hitting us. Some people shut up about it, choosing to disappear in the tenebrousness of the change that was imposed on them, to ignore the mess and to run away from taking responsibility (a neverending run if you ask me). Some book a ticket last minute and they go back in time, to indulge in what used to be before the change (a momentary run if you ask me). Some others slap the change in her face with some more change, giving up on any trace of balance (reckless behaviour if you ask me, the one I personally embrace most, resulting in blonde hair for example).

See, I don't know if  anyone gets my point, these guys don't . The essence is there if we change the song name though. Everything is changing. And I don't feel the same.