Good Morning, World 🙂
You know what’s good for you? Discomfort. Get some.
There are many personality flaws that I can deal with. Seriously.
Do you have a short temper? No problem. Are you sensitive to criticism? We all have our days. How about gluttony? Are you a gluttonous fuck? Out of all the terrible things in the world you could be, being a lover of sandwiches isn’t the worst roll of the dice.
But if you burst into tears the moment you encounter an idea that doesn’t match your world view, just flip the hourglass and start counting the grains now, because you are not an adult, and I can’t deal with you.
Let me give you a hint: The only thing getting in your way of functioning is you.
Not your anxiety disorder, not your weight, not your bowel condition, not your claudicant leg or your PTSD, not the patriarchy, not white privilege, not the government, not your therapist, not your fucking dog. You, mother fucker.
Take some ownership of your life.
Phew, wow. Where did that come from?
Rest assured, dear World, you probably weren’t the catalyst for this rant. I read an astoundingly dumb tweet this morning, so unless you were busy posting about how hard it is to function with mental illness, these remarks are not directed at you. In fact, the person who placed this tweet before my eyes is highly unlikely to read this blog, unless they’re busy keeping tabs on me. Good. I hope you tune in every day. Be sure to hit that like button, while you’re at it, and thank you for the views 😉
But this friend of yore will probably never see this entry. They’re busy pity-mongering on social media about how much their job sucks, how much their life sucks, how much this computer program sucks — GIRL POWER! — how much body shaming sucks, how much everything just sucks sucks sucks and it’s all so hard.
And it’s a good thing that everything is so hard, because how the hell are you going to prove yourself if life is easy for you?
You know who I’m not impressed by? Paris Hilton. Kim Kardashian. Any of these orange-smeared pop-culture silicone bots who haven’t ever gotten their hands dirty with a long day of work. People who have had a life of luxury laid out before them, complete with the adoration and attention of countless eyes over every element of their existence.
The odds of you being born with the “good fortune” of having such an identity are astronomically low, but they still exist, and someone has to win that lottery. Well done, fellow homo sapian. You sure spun that wheel of chance.
But if you’re anything like me, you’re an anxious, neurotic, introverted, flawed, self-conscious, shy, second-guessing primate with a crazy family and an even crazier internal world. You have every reason to sit around and play videogames, eat junkfood, and bemoan your mental health issues all over cyberspace, and I imagine we all have a good excuse for such indulgences. We’re all fucked up, every last one of us, and we’re part of a legacy of genetic imperfections and situational hazards that have somehow amalgamated into the conscious, thinking mind-salad that is ourselves.
Welcome to earth, baby.
That is no excuse to shy away from discomfort.
No matter what your starting point is, you won’t get anywhere if you only seek to surround yourself with ideas, activities, and people who make you feel comfortable.
You’ve already charted that corner of the map. You know exactly what’s there, which is why it feels good to go to your little “safe space” of RPGs and takeout Chinese food. Nothing can disagree with you in your little hidey-hole. No one can use words that make you slam your ears closed, or express ideas that go counter to the agreed upon narrative of your group identity, or crack the wrong jokes, or laugh at the wrong jokes. God forbid, right?
Seriously, have you ever tried to keep up with you? You have an ever-expanding list of offenses that your peers must not commit, lest they be ostracized with radio silence. Well buddy, I don’t enjoy keeping friends whom I can’t be myself around. I’m not your Sim. You don’t get to choose my personality traits, my opinions, my choice of words, or my taste in humor. You can’t control me, just like you can’t control the world. If even the knowledge that I disagree with the feminist worldview is enough to bring you to tears, how the hell do you expect to handle the hardships of living?
Stop running away from things that make you uncomfortable. Figure out what you’re afraid of, then come up with a plan to conquer that shit. Set goals that challenge you, and smash them.
Do something different.
But don’t whine on twitter about how hard everything is, because quite frankly, you ate food today. You have an internet connection. You live in the first world with a nice therapist lady to guide you along your path to mental wellness, and if you’re really feeling stressed, you can toke on a bowl of some choice weed from the comfort of your air-conditioned house. You are one of the most well-off people to have ever lived, and you could do so much good for the world if you would stop whining about what’s wrong with everybody else, develop some fucking grit, and start taking a more responsible path.
In the spirit of not whining about other people, I’m going to end this rant here.
I’m going to call the student loan people to straighten out my payment plan, even though the thought of making this phone call makes my throat close up with anxiety, because for some reason, talking on the phone is a a nerve-wracking experience. But guess what? Fuck anxiety. Fear doesn’t get a vote. I’m making this phone call even if my hand shakes and my voice cracks. I’m going to make this phone call even if I have to pace back and forth with a stress ball in my hand, doing lunges to dissipate the adrenaline of having to talk to another human being.
What are you running from today?
Let’s not. Put that off until tomorrow, World. Let’s put on our best fake smiles and get shit done. Let’s get uncomfortable.
Except for you, lame person.
You can run away now.