Perfection

Today I took a yoga class and, during shavasana, found myself staring at a vent in the ceiling that was designed in a basic grid pattern; vertical and horizontal lines all spread the same distance apart.  It got me to thinking about the concept of perfection.  I began to speculate on how much time and effort was actually put into the construction and installation of that vent all to create a product that ran in a perfectly calculated, even and precise grid.  I realized that, in spite of how well calculated each of those little squares were, they could not possibly be perfect.  The metal becomes dented and warped, the little squares start to expand.  It made me start to wonder what the meaning of perfection really is.  Say a computer can create a perfect design, meaning that every calculation, every picture, is exactly as it was intended to be, but how can it be perfect if it wasn't created by the human hand.  With out the sense of connection that comes with personal, physical effort, is it really worth anything at all? 

So what is perfection?  If it's as far from precision as it is close to the raw, unwelcome flaws of humanity, does it really even exist?  I've always put so much pressure on the idea of being perfect, but never quieted my brain long enough to realize that I was constantly trying to meet the standards of an invisible, abstract entity separate from my own beliefs and comprehension.  Seems to me it's all a matter of opinion, in which case, I'd say perfection may be everywhere.  This girl farted during core training today at the end of a yoga class, I'd say that was perfect.  Or the lilacs growing from our neighbors tree and hanging over their wooden fence, just long enough to make it possible to smell them as you walk by.  My mother's laugh.  The way nature and classical music always seem to move so synchronously together, as if they weren't two completely separate entities.  And how my step dad has started to set his phone alarm to remind him to call me every Monday at the same time, that effort and love is impeccable, even if we don't get to talk, the existence of it alone can not be tarnished by anything, because it continues to make me smile.  And Hope, hope is always perfect, no matter what discouragements it might collide with, hope can always be met with open arms.  I know what perfection is.  I am surrounded by it. 

Removing the Kosher Pickle from My Ass

My friend Swank, from Shmeckles, just dropped by with four new CD's for me of some of her favorite indie bands.  She's actually a really awesome person.  I was kind of put off by her a few days ago when I took her out for dinner for her birthday.  We were talking about our weeks and I mentioned that I spent my day off exhausted and feeling kind of funky and wound up watching a ridiculous amount of Friends episodes and she responded by saying "that's kind of gross."  Then later I was telling her about my financial situation and how I need to get out of debt before I can take out anymore loans for this restaurant idea that I have and she started laughing and said, "what are you gonna do, just work at Shmeckles for the next 10 years until you get it paid off!!!???" 

I know she didn't mean any harm by it, but I couldn't help but feel a little insulted.  I sometimes forget that I'm dealing with a woman who's still in her 20's, who's family helped her through school so she doesn't have to deal with debt and who can now quit her job and focus on her dream of being a potter as a direct result of some rich relatives.  I think I'm too hard on people sometimes, especially those that are younger than I am.  I forget that our 20's are meant for cockiness, the belief that anything is possible, and the feeling that your way is the only way to live.   I was always so caught up in my own self-doubt I think I missed out on that a little, but why ruin it for the rest of them.  It's a time I would never go back to but it's also a time for learning and humility.  The human experience is so diverse and interesting, nobody deserves to be put in their place or told what they're doing is wrong, it doesn't work anyways.  The more I've taken that route the more alienated from those around me I've become.  Why dismiss a dear friend because of a few petty insults?  Plus, I think she was right about both matters, slothfully watching Friends when I could be writing or making music and trapping myself into the belief that my only option and path to happiness involves another 5-10 years at a job I hate is unproductive.  Maybe I could use some of that 24 year old spunk and moxie.  I'm starting to think I may have a few full sour, Kosher Shmeckles pickles lodged up my ass somewhere, perhaps it's time to get those dam things out.  

Emotional Baggage and the Burning of the Shoulds

Is there some kind of code people have to crack in order to discover the standards of normalcy?  Perhaps some secret club you have to be initiated into if you want to feel like an accepted part of society?  I watch people around me; some of them look happy, others serious or sad; families that sit in silence while they eat; couples that engage in the kind of conversation and body language I find myself grateful not to be a part of.  Like the dude next to me in the tight tee shirt joking about how long the food is taking and how he’s determined to get a free meal.  Then there’s the young family, with their toddler sitting next to them playing with a toy phone.  Do other people look around and wonder if they’re doing it right?  Am I the only person who thinks I should be happy every minute of the day? 

How is it I still struggle with this?  The worst is trying to understand the kind of relationship I actually want and the kind of relationship I actually have.  Hunter has always been my best friend, but never really knew how to be a boyfriend.  Flowers and romantic dinners have always gone by the wayside.  In the end I suppose that’s all that matters, I mean, having someone to talk to and share your dreams with, someone who knows you and respects you for who you are.   But I look at other relationships or even those bullshit ones in movies and on television, and I sometimes doubt us.  I find myself wondering if I’m selling myself short by not demanding more than what we have or if I’ve watched way to many god dam romantic comedies.  Perhaps it would help if I stopped talking to my little sister, who’s new boyfriend showers her with candy and flowers every chance he gets.  I’m lucky if I can get Hunter to put his dirty dishes in the dishwasher half the time.  The fact is I don’t think he knows how to treat a woman on that level, I’m not sure he ever had much of an example out of his own parents.  Don’t get me wrong, I’ve never met a kinder, more intelligent, more decent human being, but when it comes to chivalry, he’s missing something that always seems to come so naturally to other men.  I obsess about how things are supposed to be with us and wonder if this constant wavering state of uncertainty isn’t as bad as I think it is, or if his lack of chivalry is a characteristic that’s completely overrated anyway.  Would things had been different if I had just let Hunter come to me; to take his time and move at his own pace, instead of coming forward with my feelings the second I realized they were there?  When I was living in Long Beach, one of Hunter’s, now ex-friends, told him I was boy crazy.  I was so insulted back then, but now I suppose there was some truth to it.  I was attached to the idea of the perfect relationship, being loved and valued, having someone in my life that I could call my best friend.  But I suppose the biggest truth and greatest humiliation in what he said is the “boy” part.  Hunter’s friend was spot on about that one; I have spent my life chasing after boys.  I’m 30 years old and Hunter just turned 26.  He was 24 when we started dating.  I’m not going to fall into some wicked, depressed state of morbid reflection over the whole thing; I’m not a pedophile.  But I do think I’ve spent my life trying to avoid men who reminded me of my dad.  My father was not a bad man, but he definitely engaged in inappropriate behavior.  I grew up watching him sexualize every woman around him, including me.  He constantly was hitting on girls that were my age, sometimes younger.  I was lucky if I could get a friend to spend the night at our house, he made everyone so uncomfortable, something about him just always seemed driven by sex.  I remember feeling weary around and avoiding anyone that even appeared to have a man’s build.  I always felt safer around thin, scrawny looking guys, like they would never put me in a position that would make me feel the need to escape.  Hell, it took me 8 years of knowing my stepfather before I was finally comfortable enough to get in the car alone with him, and he’s a wonderful man.

It’s amazing how these little experiences shape who we are; how our idea of what’s normal hangs like a cloud over our daily comprehension, spreading like fog over our ability to make even the simplest of decisions.  I talk in WE but I really don’t know anyone out there that struggles with these feelings, or maybe the normal ones are just smart enough to keep it to themselves.  Not me, I publicize it to the world and wonder why it’s so hard to make friends. 

Observing those around me, I notice how few people really feel the need to smile for the outside world and if the stage family I always philosophized about was really only my own.  I always thought the people around me were so unhappy, but here I am grinning ear to ear for the sake of the rare few that might give a dam and inside I just feel completely unsure of myself. 

My life is nothing but a compilation of shoulds layered one on top of the other; a slowly growing wall around my periphery, making it impossible for me to make objective, healthy decisions for myself.  Questions like "what I want" and "what I need" are tainted with the many shoulds that leave me feeling hopeless and muddled .  If the sun is shining I should be out, if it’s raining I should be watching an inspiring documentary on Einstein or Maya Angelou.  If there’s lightning I should write poetry.  If I’m broke I should make art.  If I’m in a relationship I should make love.  If I’m single I should be empowered.  If I’m strong I should stay the fuck away from gluten, dairy, and sugar.  If I’m rich I should take guitar lessons, build a website and spend my days people watching in Golden Gate Park.  If I’m 30 I should be confident, not care what my mother thinks, be too productive to take naps and be everything that I wasn’t in my 20s.  But I’m not.  And the world continues to rotate on it’s axis, with or with out my idea of success.  So in the end, none of it really matters, neither the desperate need for perfection or the fears that always seems to come with it.  We’re all alone with our past and the knotted strings of dysfunction that interlace its materialized existence in our lives.  As far as I’m concerned all the ‘shoulds’ of the world should really just be thrown into a pile with Hollywood, Hallmark, cosmopolitan magazine, every member of The Tea Party and perhaps the 85% of my brain that clearly doesn’t function properly and we should all just have a big old should-burning bonfire by the water.

Shmeckle's

What is it about restaurant employees that make them so crazy?  Every restaurant I have ever worked at has left me surrounded by odd, dramatic, needy or eccentric people.  Is it the restaurant environment that makes them that way or are the crazies just magnets to working in the service industry?  Perhaps a little self-evaluation may help in answering that, although I'm not really in the mood for rigorous honesty at the moment, at least not about myself. . . .

I work at a Jewish deli called Shmeckle's.  That's Yiddish for penis and not the name of the restaurant at all.  It's not a bad place to work, the managers treat us really good and the money is reliable.  The clientele is rough, "this matzo ball soup tastes nothing like the matzo ball soup my mother made me, it's too salty and you can hardly call these matzo balls!" or "This pastrami is nothing like New York style pastrami and just by looking at it I can already tell that this is not 6 ounces!  You need to talk to the owners about not being so greedy.  Not to mention, there is a little crack in the center of this plate, I could get salmonella poisoning from this.  I know it's not your fault honey, but you should talk to the chef about this problem.  Also, they didn't trim the salad leaves properly, look at this, they left the stems on this arugula."  My favorite was when a couple bought 3 latkes to take home with them and than came back the next day with all 3 of them untouched because they didn't look like the latkes the women's mother used to make for her.  I fantasized about shoving those latkes in a place that women's mother had never been to. 

I work with a 50 year old dead head with 10 years sober named Need, a Mexican knock out and compulsive liar named Jalapena,  a 7' tall homosexual giant named Andre, and a vaingloriously cocky and flamboyant bohemian Potter named Swank.  There are quite a few others but I just wanted to provide you with some examples of the kind of people that are contributing to my east bay experience.

Need is like a big, huge 5 year old boy with wrinkles around his eyes and a mouth-full of profanity.  When he makes a joke that is funny, he will repeat it to you for the next hour, jabbing you with his elbow and chuckling incessantly, hoping to get another round in.  "That was pretty funny what I said huh, 'you can't get around me that easily', ha ha ha, that was pretty funny, eh, you can't get around this belly, ha ha ha, pretty funny right?!"  Other times I don't bother laughing at all, which brings forth even greater consequences because than, he not only laughs repeatedly, he tells the joke over and over again and eventually decides to just explain what he meant in the event that I didn't get it the first 5 times he told me.  Sometimes I just feel sorry for him, but mostly it's annoying.  The worst is the way he talks to people who speak English as a second language.  When he communicates to the Mexican support staff, he insists on doing it in broken English with a Spanish accent.  "Roberto, Needy needs more cola, more cola for Needy, lemon and lossa ice por favor, no need straw, have one on table." He does this with the customers too, it's like watching a train wreck.  I can't imagine what some poor Japanese family that's visiting the U.S. for the first time must think when they have a fat American server in their faces shouting random verbs and nouns at them.  I don't get it, do Americans think that if they speak to someone in bad, improper English, it will be more comprehensible?

Sadly, I can't help but picture Need walking around at home with a can of PBR in his hand and a diaper on, blasting Casey Jones and chasing after his poor wife yelling "did you hear what I said?  That was pretty funny wasn't it?  Did you get that one?  Aren't you gonna answer me!?"  At least she's not from out of the country, I can't imagine what the sex would be like, "ooh, Needy like you do tha, you is sooo good, you like when Needy do tha?  Ya, you wan Needy do more like tha?"  Ouch, I think this has gone far enough.

Tomorrow should be interesting, I'm on the floor with both Need and Jalapena.  I've got an overgrown 5 year old on one side and Shmeckle's little Mexican Pinoccio on the other.  Wish me luck!

Singing in the Rain Amidst the Unwanted Self

The other day I went to a meditation center in this little mountain town called Marin, where Jack Kornfield was speaking.  For those who have never heard of him, he has written a variety of books on Buddhism.  It was actually a really awesome experience in which he spoke for 2 hours on self-awareness and other related topics.  Of course, in the midst of this very spiritual experience, I found myself sitting next to a peculiar woman who went on a rant about her money-grubbing niece and than refused to let me sit in the seat next to her so that I could see the speaker better.  Later, I made the mistake of telling her that I had to go to the bathroom and she responded with an extensive dialogue about camels.

I tend to attract insane people into my life and I always wonder why.  I'm beginning to realize that I see myself in them and that it bothers me.  I guess those people are a lesson for me.  Until I can forgive and, possibly, love the person that I am, I will continue to attract representatives of my unwanted self.  My mistakes and past behaviors hang over me like storm clouds, and I stand under them, fearfully, waiting for the lightening to strike, desperately trying to shiver away the icy awareness of who I was and who I could easily be.  Perhaps if I open my arms and invite it, it wouldn't seem so cold; so despairing; so dangerous.  There was a time when I loved the rain; dancing, walking, skipping.  There was no place in the world that I would rather be than underneath the cloudy night sky on wet pavement.  Now I sit on my couch and look out at it, grateful to be inside.  When did everything in life become so intimidating?  My goal for this week is to open my arms to to the world and yell "bring it on!"