Crap. This is hard. Suddenly adjusting to being a middle child. Modesty. Swallowing pride. Not being the bright, shiny, new thing anymore. Dealing with being average. It’s been kind of a demoralizing week.
And I keep wondering, what is the thing that I’m going to be best at? If not this, then what? So far, all I can think is that I’m really good at being a dufus. I’m willing to go to lengths that others aren’t. I’ve gotta figure out how to work that into an income generating operation.
So my thing. I think for a lot of people it’s their job. And for even more people, it’s their partner. If nothing else, they can be really good at loving this person, being with this person. Supporting this person. Like John Cusack had it right all along in Say Anything. What if that’s not it for me, either? What if I’m just average all the way around?
The thing I seem to be best at right now is making a fool of myself to make other people feel better. I want to be a clown/revolutionary. How do I make that happen?
And I know that this year for me is supposed to be about letting go. Letting go of expectations. Letting go of want. Starting over. But it’s hard not to get drawn in. To not want the bright, shiny, pretty. It’s hard not to be swayed. Seduced.
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former librarian, nudist, and vegan, perpetual student, and failed truck driver, a.r. smith is the author of lots of little dittys in her head. part fiction, part memoir, part rant, more than anything, this blog is about hitting bottom and coming home. giving up hope, and gaining freedom. trying to carve out a little breathing room. becomming fearless.
she lives in the Hoosier state with her dog, Hustler, who continues every morning to wake her with a smoosh to the face and a bright shiny lick to the nose.
she lives in the Hoosier state with her dog, Hustler, who continues every morning to wake her with a smoosh to the face and a bright shiny lick to the nose.
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