5. “Do you guys serve anything other than Starbucks coffee here?” (Point of clarification for those hiding under a rock: I work at Starbucks.)
4. “I'm in emergency mode! Where's your bathroom? I gotta go! Bad! The guys across the street wouldn’t let me use theirs!" followed by another customer, "You get all kinds here, don't you?"
3. Two old ladies standing in line; one says to the other, "Well the only word I can think of to describe her is skank!"
2. In response to a co-workers comment, "communication creates bonds between people" my favorite regular customer replied, “Bullshit! Sex and near death experiences create bonds."
1. A customer walks in and as he's ordering, his co-worker walks in behind him and says, "Did you get the package I sent to your office?" He seemed confused as she tried to explain exactly which package she was referring to. Then he suddenly got it, "Oh you mean the hard package?"
Monday, April 26, 2010
Sunday, April 25, 2010
The Anti-Compliment Movement
Have you ever noticed the fastest way to learn about something or someone is to give a compliment? It’s also the fastest way to walk into a conversation you never wanted to have and learn way too much about something you never wanted to know.
While working at Starbucks one day, a lady came up to the counter, I took her order and rang it up with the usual semi-formal conversation:
“So how’s your day going?”
“Well, thanks, and how about you?”
“Good, thanks, that’ll be $5.49”
Then there’s the obnoxiously awkward pause as she digs through her purse to get her wallet, then digs through her wallet to get her money, which she just can’t seem to find.
Trying to break the silence and hide my annoyance with her, I noticed that her wallet was kind of cute, so I said, “Hey that’s a really cute wallet.”
I expected her to say thank you, and then pay me for her order and we’d all move on with our lives.
Instead, she took it as an opportunity to give me the full run down of everything that was in her wallet, pointing out just how many different spaces there was to keep everything organized.
I had honestly had more bizarre things happen at work, so I tried to rush this along and wipe the deer in the headlights look off my face as she finally handed some money.
“Wow, that’s pretty awesome.” I said as I took the money, gave her the change and tried to look over her shoulder at the next person in line.
Completely oblivious to any social cues and clearly overlooking my lack of interest, she continues her tour-of-my-super-organized-accessories as she puts the wallet into her purse.
“You know, if this wallet had a place for all my pills, I wouldn’t even need this purse. I actually almost got the purse that matched the wallet but it was bigger than this one and, well, this one is just so perfect. See,” she puts the wallet in the first compartment, zips it shut and proceeds to open the next section of her purse, “my wallet fits perfectly in that front section and in this one I keep my tissues and pens and lipstick; you know, the essentials. And this one here,” she opens the back compartment of her purse, “is, of course where I keep all of my emergency supplies like my pills and what not.”
I wouldn't have been surprised if she pulled out a freaking schematic and gave me a copy.
At this point I’m pretty sure the look on my face said, “Whoa lady, all I said was cute wallet!” I would have just said that out loud but the fact that it just kept flowing out of her mouth one thing after another after another after another about all the dumb crap she keeps in her purse and exactly where she keeps it, rendered me completely speechless.
As she puts her purse on her shoulder and begins to back away from the counter, practically backing into the next customer in line, she begins a whole new tangent; “You know my doctor says I should really switch the shoulder I carry my purse on, you know, because it puts so much strain on one side. But I’ve just always carried it on this side for so many years!”
Holy crap, lady, shut the hell up! Your drink’s been ready for like an hour! Go get it!
And then there are those people who take your compliment as an open door to just violate all kinds of social rules of personal space and boundaries.
There was a regular customer at Starbucks who was a great lady. She was older and always talked about her kids and grandkids, where they lived, when they’d visit. She was always very pleasant and I looked forward to seeing her several times a week.
So when she came in one early afternoon, my co-worker and I gladly joined in conversation with her about how lovely the day was and how we couldn’t wait to get off work and enjoy the weather. You know, typical conversation.
Then, in what was to be rendered her poorest judgment yet, my co-worker complimented the customer’s perfume.
“Oh! Thank you! It’s Gardenia!”
As she rambled on and on to my co-worker, I tried to keep a smile on my face while having an entire inner dialogue that went something like, “Oh sweet Lord, I hate that scent. It smells like old lady farts and gives me an instant headache. Plus it reminds me of my ex-fiancé’s mom and that’s just never good.”
All of the sudden I look over at my co-worker, who has a horrified look on her face, and see the old lady with a bottle of perfume she had taken out of her purse, holding it in the air, and as if in slow motion, I watch her finger pump the perfume right onto my co-worker.
The lady picks up her drink and leaves, probably delightfully thinking she just blessed the world with one more Gardenia scented fan.
“She just sprayed her perfume on me. She just pulled it out of her purse and sprayed me! She didn’t even ask; she just sprayed me!” My co-worker was mortified.
Who does that?!
People you give compliments to, that’s who. And because of that one, unfortunate compliment, we went the rest of the day reeking of old lady farts.
What’s the moral of the story, kids? Don’t give compliments. There’s a reason why people aren’t nice.
While working at Starbucks one day, a lady came up to the counter, I took her order and rang it up with the usual semi-formal conversation:
“So how’s your day going?”
“Well, thanks, and how about you?”
“Good, thanks, that’ll be $5.49”
Then there’s the obnoxiously awkward pause as she digs through her purse to get her wallet, then digs through her wallet to get her money, which she just can’t seem to find.
Trying to break the silence and hide my annoyance with her, I noticed that her wallet was kind of cute, so I said, “Hey that’s a really cute wallet.”
I expected her to say thank you, and then pay me for her order and we’d all move on with our lives.
Instead, she took it as an opportunity to give me the full run down of everything that was in her wallet, pointing out just how many different spaces there was to keep everything organized.
I had honestly had more bizarre things happen at work, so I tried to rush this along and wipe the deer in the headlights look off my face as she finally handed some money.
“Wow, that’s pretty awesome.” I said as I took the money, gave her the change and tried to look over her shoulder at the next person in line.
Completely oblivious to any social cues and clearly overlooking my lack of interest, she continues her tour-of-my-super-organized-accessories as she puts the wallet into her purse.
“You know, if this wallet had a place for all my pills, I wouldn’t even need this purse. I actually almost got the purse that matched the wallet but it was bigger than this one and, well, this one is just so perfect. See,” she puts the wallet in the first compartment, zips it shut and proceeds to open the next section of her purse, “my wallet fits perfectly in that front section and in this one I keep my tissues and pens and lipstick; you know, the essentials. And this one here,” she opens the back compartment of her purse, “is, of course where I keep all of my emergency supplies like my pills and what not.”
I wouldn't have been surprised if she pulled out a freaking schematic and gave me a copy.
At this point I’m pretty sure the look on my face said, “Whoa lady, all I said was cute wallet!” I would have just said that out loud but the fact that it just kept flowing out of her mouth one thing after another after another after another about all the dumb crap she keeps in her purse and exactly where she keeps it, rendered me completely speechless.
As she puts her purse on her shoulder and begins to back away from the counter, practically backing into the next customer in line, she begins a whole new tangent; “You know my doctor says I should really switch the shoulder I carry my purse on, you know, because it puts so much strain on one side. But I’ve just always carried it on this side for so many years!”
Holy crap, lady, shut the hell up! Your drink’s been ready for like an hour! Go get it!
And then there are those people who take your compliment as an open door to just violate all kinds of social rules of personal space and boundaries.
There was a regular customer at Starbucks who was a great lady. She was older and always talked about her kids and grandkids, where they lived, when they’d visit. She was always very pleasant and I looked forward to seeing her several times a week.
So when she came in one early afternoon, my co-worker and I gladly joined in conversation with her about how lovely the day was and how we couldn’t wait to get off work and enjoy the weather. You know, typical conversation.
Then, in what was to be rendered her poorest judgment yet, my co-worker complimented the customer’s perfume.
“Oh! Thank you! It’s Gardenia!”
As she rambled on and on to my co-worker, I tried to keep a smile on my face while having an entire inner dialogue that went something like, “Oh sweet Lord, I hate that scent. It smells like old lady farts and gives me an instant headache. Plus it reminds me of my ex-fiancé’s mom and that’s just never good.”
All of the sudden I look over at my co-worker, who has a horrified look on her face, and see the old lady with a bottle of perfume she had taken out of her purse, holding it in the air, and as if in slow motion, I watch her finger pump the perfume right onto my co-worker.
The lady picks up her drink and leaves, probably delightfully thinking she just blessed the world with one more Gardenia scented fan.
“She just sprayed her perfume on me. She just pulled it out of her purse and sprayed me! She didn’t even ask; she just sprayed me!” My co-worker was mortified.
Who does that?!
People you give compliments to, that’s who. And because of that one, unfortunate compliment, we went the rest of the day reeking of old lady farts.
What’s the moral of the story, kids? Don’t give compliments. There’s a reason why people aren’t nice.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Finding Home
She’s So California
I had never kayaked before. I had never flown before. I had never been to the Oregon coast before. I decided to do it all in one weekend. Turns out, it was all amazing.
I watched the sun come up from inside the LAX terminal, wondering what exactly I had gotten myself into. I boarded my flight and watched life as I knew it shrink down into a miniature existence and then vanish. It was all I could do but listen to the shallowed air flow steadily in and out of my lungs, concentrated and slow, mostly in effort not to panic and demand we turn back.
It is amazing how emotion can take over the human brain and memories become a total blur. Somewhere between boarding that plane and reaching my destination, I landed and re-boarded and rechecked and landed again. It was a whirlwind.
I hit the ground running in a town where geese on the runway hold up flights and I get into a stranger’s car (sorry mom). We met up with about six other strangers, loaded up our kayaks and hit the lake. It was a gorgeous day, perfect weather and calm waters winding around the hills.
As we spread out across the lake I could still hear a couple guys behind me having a conversation… about me.
“So how do you think she likes it so far?”
“I think she’s having fun… but I don’t know, she might be too much of a city girl.”
I chime in, “Hey I can hear you!”
They are a funny bunch here, I thought to myself as I smiled and drifted with the current.
It was a long flight home at the end of that weekend. Change was coming quickly and I had a decision to make. Do I stay? Do I go? Do I refuse to budge, hold tightly to what I know and risk drowning under the rapid currents of change? Do I have what it takes to embrace this moment and move forward towards something new?
As I landed back home in LAX, I felt strangely out of place, realizing that I had one foot in and one foot out. Eventually I put both feet out in front of me, picked up my packed bags and drove away.
She’s Gone Country
I remember growing up in a small central California town called Madera; only about four hours but worlds away from Los Angeles, where I would spend a great part of my life growing into adulthood.
Madera was a small town tucked into the center of California, with nothing to claim but a hot valley of immigrant field workers. We had the 4H club, the FFA (Future Farmers of America), and the annual county fair that was the pride and joy of the community. Every one of my siblings has some type of award ribbon for an art contest or a bake off or something they entered over the years in those county fairs. My fourth grade best friend had a rodeo in her back yard for her birthday one year. My favorite Christmas gift as a child was white cowgirl boots with leather fringe along the sides.
There were two elementary schools in town, one junior high school and one high school. People were born, raised and buried in that town. If anyone left, it was to college, after which they would promptly move back to town, buy a house with their new spouse and start the cycle all over again. It was down home country and that’s how we liked it.
The first sixteen years of my life are buried deep in the heart of that little town.
LA or bust
Everyone has their coming of age story; the awkward stumbling from childhood to adulthood or some twisted variation thereof. My coming of age story was written on Highway 99 as my family packed up decades of belongings and memories and drove to another world 240 miles south.
Madera and Los Angeles could not be any more different, nor could either of them want anything less to do with each other. Northern and southern California might as well be two completely separate, rival states.
Change has never been my forte, and I can’t say that I was the most excited about this one. However, the second my feet hit the sand I was in it to win it and jumped in head first. I was a sun tanning, beach bumming, SoCal girl before I knew it.
This is where my life was formed as my own. It’s where I truly found myself and found friends who became family.
My 18th and 21st birthdays were celebrated there, turning the two most important corners into adulthood, of course. I loved and I lost, then loved again. I moved out of my parent’s house. I got engaged, I got un-engaged. I went to college, I dropped out of college, I went back to college. I had a few go-rounds with a few jobs, moved around with a few friends. I lived as hard, as loud and as fast as I could.
Those were the hardest and most defining 11 years of my life, to date.
Flo-Town, This Is Our Town
“So, why did you move here again?” He asked, as if I hadn’t told him the story three times already.
“I just wanted a change. I had an opportunity to move up here, so I took it.” It really didn’t seem that complicated to understand to me.
Besides, it seems that half of California had moved here years before me. I figured this town would be used to it by now. I suppose the half of California who had moved here were all over the age of 65 though, so a 27 year old girl from SoCal kind of stands out here.
Over a year later, people still ask me that question. Today, as a matter of fact, I got the same quizzical look, followed by the same questioning as to what exactly it was that I like about this place.
Having already asked myself that question and wrestling with the answer, I just smiled and replied, “I love the small town feel. It reminds me of where I grew up; my childhood. Except that it’s on the coast, which I also love! I’ve met some amazing people here and made some pretty awesome friends. I really do love it here.”
All at once, I felt my life and my heart congruent with one another. I am genuinely happy with where I am, both geographically and figuratively, and I know exactly why. It is a contentment that I have only seen glimpses of before. It is a contentment that does not ignore the difficulties or heart ache that come with the realities of life. But it is a contentment that comes from embracing the realities of life and finding the courage to smile back.
I remember the moment I sat in the LAX airport, watching the sun come up, wondering what I had gotten myself into. And when I think back to the moment I returned to that airport, feeling slightly out of place with one foot in and one foot out, I am glad that I choose to put both feet out in front of me and make my way forward.
There is a water tower that stands high on the outskirts of town. When I first moved here, I would drive around with my friend and her son, exploring Florence along with surrounding areas along the coast (or “esploring flo-town” as he would say because he couldn’t pronounce ‘explore’ and we had nick named the town ‘flo-town’). Every time he saw that water tower, he would know we were in Florence and he would say, “This is FloTown, this is our town!”
It still makes me smile to think about the little moments like that; the ones that crept into my heart and slowly opened my eyes to what was in front of me.
Madera is where I was born.
Los Angeles will always be where I’m from.
Oregon feels like home.
I had never kayaked before. I had never flown before. I had never been to the Oregon coast before. I decided to do it all in one weekend. Turns out, it was all amazing.
I watched the sun come up from inside the LAX terminal, wondering what exactly I had gotten myself into. I boarded my flight and watched life as I knew it shrink down into a miniature existence and then vanish. It was all I could do but listen to the shallowed air flow steadily in and out of my lungs, concentrated and slow, mostly in effort not to panic and demand we turn back.
It is amazing how emotion can take over the human brain and memories become a total blur. Somewhere between boarding that plane and reaching my destination, I landed and re-boarded and rechecked and landed again. It was a whirlwind.
I hit the ground running in a town where geese on the runway hold up flights and I get into a stranger’s car (sorry mom). We met up with about six other strangers, loaded up our kayaks and hit the lake. It was a gorgeous day, perfect weather and calm waters winding around the hills.
As we spread out across the lake I could still hear a couple guys behind me having a conversation… about me.
“So how do you think she likes it so far?”
“I think she’s having fun… but I don’t know, she might be too much of a city girl.”
I chime in, “Hey I can hear you!”
They are a funny bunch here, I thought to myself as I smiled and drifted with the current.
It was a long flight home at the end of that weekend. Change was coming quickly and I had a decision to make. Do I stay? Do I go? Do I refuse to budge, hold tightly to what I know and risk drowning under the rapid currents of change? Do I have what it takes to embrace this moment and move forward towards something new?
As I landed back home in LAX, I felt strangely out of place, realizing that I had one foot in and one foot out. Eventually I put both feet out in front of me, picked up my packed bags and drove away.
She’s Gone Country
I remember growing up in a small central California town called Madera; only about four hours but worlds away from Los Angeles, where I would spend a great part of my life growing into adulthood.
Madera was a small town tucked into the center of California, with nothing to claim but a hot valley of immigrant field workers. We had the 4H club, the FFA (Future Farmers of America), and the annual county fair that was the pride and joy of the community. Every one of my siblings has some type of award ribbon for an art contest or a bake off or something they entered over the years in those county fairs. My fourth grade best friend had a rodeo in her back yard for her birthday one year. My favorite Christmas gift as a child was white cowgirl boots with leather fringe along the sides.
There were two elementary schools in town, one junior high school and one high school. People were born, raised and buried in that town. If anyone left, it was to college, after which they would promptly move back to town, buy a house with their new spouse and start the cycle all over again. It was down home country and that’s how we liked it.
The first sixteen years of my life are buried deep in the heart of that little town.
LA or bust
Everyone has their coming of age story; the awkward stumbling from childhood to adulthood or some twisted variation thereof. My coming of age story was written on Highway 99 as my family packed up decades of belongings and memories and drove to another world 240 miles south.
Madera and Los Angeles could not be any more different, nor could either of them want anything less to do with each other. Northern and southern California might as well be two completely separate, rival states.
Change has never been my forte, and I can’t say that I was the most excited about this one. However, the second my feet hit the sand I was in it to win it and jumped in head first. I was a sun tanning, beach bumming, SoCal girl before I knew it.
This is where my life was formed as my own. It’s where I truly found myself and found friends who became family.
My 18th and 21st birthdays were celebrated there, turning the two most important corners into adulthood, of course. I loved and I lost, then loved again. I moved out of my parent’s house. I got engaged, I got un-engaged. I went to college, I dropped out of college, I went back to college. I had a few go-rounds with a few jobs, moved around with a few friends. I lived as hard, as loud and as fast as I could.
Those were the hardest and most defining 11 years of my life, to date.
Flo-Town, This Is Our Town
“So, why did you move here again?” He asked, as if I hadn’t told him the story three times already.
“I just wanted a change. I had an opportunity to move up here, so I took it.” It really didn’t seem that complicated to understand to me.
Besides, it seems that half of California had moved here years before me. I figured this town would be used to it by now. I suppose the half of California who had moved here were all over the age of 65 though, so a 27 year old girl from SoCal kind of stands out here.
Over a year later, people still ask me that question. Today, as a matter of fact, I got the same quizzical look, followed by the same questioning as to what exactly it was that I like about this place.
Having already asked myself that question and wrestling with the answer, I just smiled and replied, “I love the small town feel. It reminds me of where I grew up; my childhood. Except that it’s on the coast, which I also love! I’ve met some amazing people here and made some pretty awesome friends. I really do love it here.”
All at once, I felt my life and my heart congruent with one another. I am genuinely happy with where I am, both geographically and figuratively, and I know exactly why. It is a contentment that I have only seen glimpses of before. It is a contentment that does not ignore the difficulties or heart ache that come with the realities of life. But it is a contentment that comes from embracing the realities of life and finding the courage to smile back.
I remember the moment I sat in the LAX airport, watching the sun come up, wondering what I had gotten myself into. And when I think back to the moment I returned to that airport, feeling slightly out of place with one foot in and one foot out, I am glad that I choose to put both feet out in front of me and make my way forward.
There is a water tower that stands high on the outskirts of town. When I first moved here, I would drive around with my friend and her son, exploring Florence along with surrounding areas along the coast (or “esploring flo-town” as he would say because he couldn’t pronounce ‘explore’ and we had nick named the town ‘flo-town’). Every time he saw that water tower, he would know we were in Florence and he would say, “This is FloTown, this is our town!”
It still makes me smile to think about the little moments like that; the ones that crept into my heart and slowly opened my eyes to what was in front of me.
Madera is where I was born.
Los Angeles will always be where I’m from.
Oregon feels like home.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Today's Deep Thought
I fall all too easily into passivity. Today I am reminded that my life is mine to take control of.
The thought came from a distinct realization that I was having fun. I was laughing again. A co-worker even commented that I seemed incredibly chipper today and that he liked it. It made me smile and realize that I haven’t allowed myself to fully engage my own life lately.
I’ve been so swallowed up in heartache that it began to isolate and paralyze me. Not that I wasn’t doing things that are in and of themselves enjoyable, in fact I have been forcing myself to do all the things I know bring me happiness. But I wasn’t allowing myself to be happy in them.
It’s not as if I do not feel sorrow today. I am still saddened by several things that have been weighing on my heart lately. The difference is that those things are not defining me today; they are not tied around me like a straight jacket.
At the end of the day, I cannot do much about the things that sadden me. Generally, I just let them have control and passively wait for them to go away. I don’t want to do that any more. If I can do something about any of them, I will stand up and do it, or I will make a choice to leave it alone. But no longer will I choose to let it control me.
Well, not today anyway.
I’ll reconsider all this tomorrow.
The thought came from a distinct realization that I was having fun. I was laughing again. A co-worker even commented that I seemed incredibly chipper today and that he liked it. It made me smile and realize that I haven’t allowed myself to fully engage my own life lately.
I’ve been so swallowed up in heartache that it began to isolate and paralyze me. Not that I wasn’t doing things that are in and of themselves enjoyable, in fact I have been forcing myself to do all the things I know bring me happiness. But I wasn’t allowing myself to be happy in them.
It’s not as if I do not feel sorrow today. I am still saddened by several things that have been weighing on my heart lately. The difference is that those things are not defining me today; they are not tied around me like a straight jacket.
At the end of the day, I cannot do much about the things that sadden me. Generally, I just let them have control and passively wait for them to go away. I don’t want to do that any more. If I can do something about any of them, I will stand up and do it, or I will make a choice to leave it alone. But no longer will I choose to let it control me.
Well, not today anyway.
I’ll reconsider all this tomorrow.
Monday, April 05, 2010
Top 10 Reasons NOT to date me...
10. My farts stink. Bad.
9. My bathroom is dirtier than an adolescent boys locker.
8. I am hopelessly clumsy.
7. I will get bored with you way too quickly.
6. I care more about sports than any girl should.
5. Unless you like take out, I'm not cooking for you.
4. I will laugh at all the wrong times & embarrass the shit out of you in public.
3. I'm moody, and unless you can make me laugh, you won't snap me out of it.
2. Unless you're actually funnier than me, you won't make me laugh.
1. You aren't funnier than me.
9. My bathroom is dirtier than an adolescent boys locker.
8. I am hopelessly clumsy.
7. I will get bored with you way too quickly.
6. I care more about sports than any girl should.
5. Unless you like take out, I'm not cooking for you.
4. I will laugh at all the wrong times & embarrass the shit out of you in public.
3. I'm moody, and unless you can make me laugh, you won't snap me out of it.
2. Unless you're actually funnier than me, you won't make me laugh.
1. You aren't funnier than me.
Friday, April 02, 2010
Dakota Skye
I just watched the movie Dakota Skye. It’s about this teenage chick who has the ability to know when people are lying and, what’s more, to know the truth. She is “involuntarily blessed with what everyone else spends their entire lives trying to find,” as she puts it.
The movie was a little weird, but I liked it. It went for that edgy, artsy, memoir feel, which I appreciated.
At one point Dakota is standing at the top of a cliff with someone who asks “if you were to jump off this cliff, would you rather hit the ground facing down or facing up? Would you rather face down the whole time and see then end coming, or face up staring at the sky so you never know when the end is coming?”
I wrestled with that question the entire movie (which was kind of the point, as that was the underlying thought process of Dakota).
A great deal of my life has been chock full of fake.
“How are you?” (Truth: I don’t even remember your name but I’m going to smile and ask and hope you lie right back to me.)
“I’m great, thanks!” (Truth: I’m getting divorced and my children hate me. I think I might kill myself tonight. But I don’t think you have any clue who I am, so I’m going to smile and lie to your face and hope you walk away soon.)
It happens. We call it being polite. It’s what we do. Whatever.
I mean, do we really want to know anyway? Are we willing to get that vested in another person? Let’s face it, most of us aren’t.
When you walk up to order coffee and inadvertently ask “how are you?” and before you can skip ahead to “I’d like a grande latte” do you really want to hear “well I woke up kind of depressed because there’s just so much I hate about my job and I just went through a break up, but the weather is fairly pleasant today so I’m in a better mood. What can I get for you today?”
So maybe the fake questions and the fake answers are just best.
Personally, I always want to know. I want to know the truth because I’m so used to being lied to that it’s pathetic and has made me cynical and bitter. My whole life I have always thought it better to know. Even as a child, I begged for truth. I asked my mom if Santa Claus was real. Her diplomatic response was something like “well honey some people chose to believe in him and if you want to that’s okay.”
“Mom, really, I don’t care. I just want to know the truth.” I swear to God I was probably four years old.
I have always thought it better to know.
Until recently someone decided to spew random personal information and for the first time in my life, I thought “now there’s something I would have been better off not knowing.” Irony at its finest moment.
Even still, in retrospect, I changed my mind. Because that one piece of truth opened my eyes to so much else that I needed to know and to realize in order to see the whole picture. Was it a picture I liked? Is that what I selfishly wanted to believe as truth? No way. Not at all. But would I rather know? Absolutely. I will jump off that cliff facing the ground.
And isn’t it odd how one bit of truth can shine light on a whole scene we never knew excited. One truth always reveals more than a single fact. Honestly, it’s usually not the single fact that fazes me so much as what it implies, what all it reveals, the deeper truths it unveils. Those things, the deeper things, are what cause paradigm shifts.
Sometimes the truth sucks. But I’d choose it every time. Because at the end of the day, at some point, fake always crumbles, it fades, it gets found out. And quite frankly, it gets old and weary and transparent. And there is nothing worse than someone who is so transparently fake.
It is what it is.
I chose to jump facing down.
The movie was a little weird, but I liked it. It went for that edgy, artsy, memoir feel, which I appreciated.
At one point Dakota is standing at the top of a cliff with someone who asks “if you were to jump off this cliff, would you rather hit the ground facing down or facing up? Would you rather face down the whole time and see then end coming, or face up staring at the sky so you never know when the end is coming?”
I wrestled with that question the entire movie (which was kind of the point, as that was the underlying thought process of Dakota).
A great deal of my life has been chock full of fake.
“How are you?” (Truth: I don’t even remember your name but I’m going to smile and ask and hope you lie right back to me.)
“I’m great, thanks!” (Truth: I’m getting divorced and my children hate me. I think I might kill myself tonight. But I don’t think you have any clue who I am, so I’m going to smile and lie to your face and hope you walk away soon.)
It happens. We call it being polite. It’s what we do. Whatever.
I mean, do we really want to know anyway? Are we willing to get that vested in another person? Let’s face it, most of us aren’t.
When you walk up to order coffee and inadvertently ask “how are you?” and before you can skip ahead to “I’d like a grande latte” do you really want to hear “well I woke up kind of depressed because there’s just so much I hate about my job and I just went through a break up, but the weather is fairly pleasant today so I’m in a better mood. What can I get for you today?”
So maybe the fake questions and the fake answers are just best.
Personally, I always want to know. I want to know the truth because I’m so used to being lied to that it’s pathetic and has made me cynical and bitter. My whole life I have always thought it better to know. Even as a child, I begged for truth. I asked my mom if Santa Claus was real. Her diplomatic response was something like “well honey some people chose to believe in him and if you want to that’s okay.”
“Mom, really, I don’t care. I just want to know the truth.” I swear to God I was probably four years old.
I have always thought it better to know.
Until recently someone decided to spew random personal information and for the first time in my life, I thought “now there’s something I would have been better off not knowing.” Irony at its finest moment.
Even still, in retrospect, I changed my mind. Because that one piece of truth opened my eyes to so much else that I needed to know and to realize in order to see the whole picture. Was it a picture I liked? Is that what I selfishly wanted to believe as truth? No way. Not at all. But would I rather know? Absolutely. I will jump off that cliff facing the ground.
And isn’t it odd how one bit of truth can shine light on a whole scene we never knew excited. One truth always reveals more than a single fact. Honestly, it’s usually not the single fact that fazes me so much as what it implies, what all it reveals, the deeper truths it unveils. Those things, the deeper things, are what cause paradigm shifts.
Sometimes the truth sucks. But I’d choose it every time. Because at the end of the day, at some point, fake always crumbles, it fades, it gets found out. And quite frankly, it gets old and weary and transparent. And there is nothing worse than someone who is so transparently fake.
It is what it is.
I chose to jump facing down.
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