Email: 8.9.10

"Dear Stranger,

It's hard to write this.  Not hard as in too painful, the kind of pain that makes your chest heavy and eyes move slowly, but hard in this shit is just too difficult to start.  Like an essay for a class about a topic that you don't care about.  Like proofs in geometry.  At least, I remember proofs being hard.  Maybe a better word would be difficult.  This is difficult to write.

The only time I get self-conscious is when I become self-aware.  You know self-awareness?  The supposed human-specific trait that separates us from animals?  I say think of your favorite song, and, even though the song will not be physically playing, you can hear it in your head?  Or I say think about how you look right now from a bird's-eye view, and you could picture it, in your head?  That's self-awareness.  And whenever that randomly happens to me, I may be at work, at the gym, on a date (especially on a date), or hammered drunk in the backseat of a friend's car, I become self-conscious, even borderline embarrassed.

There was no point to that paragraph, just thought I would let you know.

I should tell you what I am afraid of, I suppose.  I am afraid of being average.  Makes me seem kind of pretentious, doesn't it?  Maybe I should try and be more specific.  I want to change the world.  I do not want to slave and drudge and hate my job until I reach retirement age and then leave it all alone.  I do not want to live in a simple house with nothing to look forward to after work except a cold beer, the game, and weekends (although, every now and then, that would be pretty nice).  I want to be remembered.   My father gave me some advice, "Whatever profession you choose, you work until you are the best in the world at it."  That is good advice.  But the pressure that indirectly puts on me scares the hell out of me.

Back to being average.

I don't want to just get married and have 2.5 kids and a dog and live in the suburbs somewhere.  I want to be excited.  I want to live adventurously.  I want to have stories to tell.  I want to be...interesting (like that dude in the Dos Equis commercials, only, like, way better, somehow).  I am afraid that if I don't hurry up and figure my shit out that I will end up not having reached the full potential of my life.  And, I mean, shit, we only get like, one of those, right?

That self-awareness comes into play with the very irrational fear of inadequacy I just admitted to you.  Sometimes (usually when I am driving home from work) I become self-aware about my current state and it gives me a pseudo-anxiety attack.  And I get scared.  It's not like I know what I am doing, right?  Each decision I make is no better than an educated guess based on absolutely no precedence.  But this feeling has a bi-polar switch to it.  If I get lows, I get highs as well.  Sometimes I get self-aware and I feel like I could strangle the world with my bear hands (that's not a typo.  Literally.  "Bear" hands).

But I cannot pretend like my life is just a trial after a tribulation.  It's not.  Both my parents are alive and in good health still (knock, knock), my older brother is my best friend, I have many good friends that I will probably know for the rest of my life, I have a decent job in a good area.  Then why the self-awareness freak outs?  People I confide in, such as yourself (I like to imagine you as someone that could be described as "innately inconspicuous," am I close?), say that everyone goes through stages like this in their lives.  Maybe you are going through such a stage yourself, in which case, this letter is very serendipitous.  Maybe you're not, in which case, um, you can file this under the "whiny bitch" pile and be on your way (you're such a jerk for doing that, by the way).

I also cannot pretend to be extremely deep or existential (I feel that makes letters like this seem contrived.  I am not going to try and stitch together vague metaphors about the world or human existence.  Those people seem boring.  Does that make me a dick?).  Maybe I just like good, optimistic stories about something funny rather than a sad sermon on how fucked we all are.  I like to think I am a useful member of society just because I care.  There goes that pretentiousness again.  Damn, I think I may really be a dick.

I judge people.  I say horribly racist and filthy things.  I think inappropriate thoughts.  I like to drink too much.  I curse.  A LOT.

But I open doors for strangers (+1 if you smile at me.  And if you're a cute girl, well, it's a done deal).  I say please and thank you.  I smile and say hello to strangers (such as yourself) on the street.  I love my family and friends.  I listen when you talk.  I read.  A LOT.  I enjoy running around like a little kid with a cape on.  I like thinking big thoughts.

I also talk way too fast.

Which is why I typed this.

Now, please, tell me a funny story.  I got one after you.

Sincerely,"

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