I feel confident walking in my suede gray booties, sitting down at a table and using the language I’ve learned in three years of graduate education, and tossing my (yes, I washed it, and yes, thank you, it is natural) hair – that is until I twist my heel going down stairs, fumble over an answer to an unexpected question, and get my hair caught in those damn little buttoned keyholes on the back of every dress right now. Confidence, you elusive beast, I am ever hunting for you, trapping you, losing you, and lamenting you. Because of this, I live for the unflagging confidence of Myleik Teele – she’s successful, self-made, and honest. Her podcast, My Taught You, is where I go when I need to hear something new in the genre of self-help. This past week, she posted a podcast on things to leave in 2017. She (confidently!) reframed the end-of-year list as What We Learned instead of What We Liked. Always a copycat, I decided to make my own list of what to leave in 2017.
The Instagrammable moment
I love to ‘gram. I love to ‘gram my voluminous feline, Florence, my archival finds, my baby pictures, my silly pals, my brother’s Emmy, sunsets, paintings, and Oprah. However, in some of my most precious moments this year, I sat with friends slumped over in rumpled post-work work clothes, or without make-up eating breakfast tacos, or with wet hair drinking a less-than-picturesque, but necessary, tequila soda. I cried happy tears into instant coffee, I put my feet up in neon pink, paint-covered Jesus sandals, and I felt grateful in my pajamas. My valuable life experience doesn’t always fit a square frame with a Clarendon filter, and as I’ve realized that, I’ve been trying to capture the aesthetic with the app, but gather the emotional someplace else (can I say in my heart? Oprah would). I’m still looking to communicate and crystalize special somethings in Instagram, but I am also trying to limit my ‘gram envy of people with robust Insta stories, clean latte art, and the perfect winged liner. May the rest of their messy lives be as charming as mine!
This one’s a doozy. I’ve learned so much about being my own best friend. Practicing positive self-talk like, “Okay Emma, you can do this, because you are so smart and also beautiful!” has been a great starting point. I give myself a lot of credit, which is easier because I have surrounded myself with people who openly support me. I know when I’ve succeeded at work, when I’ve painted an especially creative painting, and when I’ve been kind and helpful. Unfortunately, positive self-talk usually speaks at a reasonable, conversational volume, while self-blame is blasting its message, Mad Max style, from a wall of amplifiers. I blame myself for fading friendships, for small mistakes, for big mistakes (those happen too), for conversational missteps, and even for not being able to fix other people’s problems. This is something I want to shoot from a cannon back through the first 17 years of the 21st century, leaving me free and clear to live the next 83. But how? I’m going to grab a megaphone and talk back. Taking a moment to have an inner dialogue is not something I do frequently enough. Accepting that I’m not perfect, but that I’m working my ass off, and telling the Mad Max monsters to back off, is how I’d like to spend my 2018.
Living in the future
Okay, if that one was a doozy, this one is a hurricane. I’m a planner. I spent 2016 planning for a new apartment with my returning long-distance someone. I spent 2015 planning for a new job. I spent 2014 planning for a new career. I have spent the end of 2017 pining for a shiny future, if only to distract myself from the American hellstorm raging around me. I think of this as one of the best parts about me: I’m prepared, I’m hopeful, and I’m usually armed with the best party supplies, or housing spreadsheets, or updated résumés. But it also speaks to my tendency to steamroll present moments and to feel bored in the calm before the shiny future. So how best to stop the steamroll? My powers of observation. In this moment, I’m thankful for my mod orange couch and the drool-encrusted pillow where Florence has made her home. I see the painting of a dog’s pink tongue, cookbooks with new adventures for weekends, a cake dome I won in a raffle – all little treats that are alive in this present moment. Goodbye to a life lived in a time machine. 2018 is all about using my senses to enhance my present happiness.
I am great at seeing this in other people, but am I any good at stopping them in myself? I woke up an hour late, I forgot my eggs, and no one has fixed the thermostat in a week. I’m pissy to my gchat friends, I skip a key point in an email, and I forgot ibuprofen. The first two hours of my day could easily snowball into a cranky evening. Yesterday, I realized that stopping and putting a tiny bit of sugar in my mouth, or texting an emoji to a friend, or looking up a Leslie Knope gif, easily derails the Crap Train. Sometimes setting a timer and crying for five minutes is just the thing. Crap Train service discontinues December 31st, 2017.
This has been a big one for me in the last couple of years. I have a ton of friends, a ton of hobbies, and yet I still find myself curling up on the couch after dinner, an unread book on the ottoman, scrolling my phone and sighing dramatically (I’m fun). A wise flagpole sitter once said, “If you’re bored, then you’re boring” and OUCH, maybe so. I’m compiling a list of things to try during the Boring Hours of 7.30 to 9.30 at night. These things include: baking projects, freewriting, bath time, podcast reviews, sending mail, making crafts, and inviting friends to do things more frequently. Boredom, I’ll see you in hell (after 2017).
★ ★ ★ ★
Farewell to 2017, I hardly knew you. May I look back on you as a period of resistance, persistence, endurance, occasional celebration (I see you, Doug Jones), knowing thyself, and, I guess, growth. In the eternal words of Danny Devito, 2017, retire b****. 2018, you’re up.