Happy Christmas, Harry.
Today, I wrote this:
There should be an established term for whatever this is. I feel it is integral to every thinking person or anyone who would care to do so, that they have moments like these in which they declare to themselves and anyone who would care, exactly who they are. I think it could be akin to a ‘shout from the rooftops’, but that lacks an intimacy I think is important. This is not political. This is not religious or spiritual. But it is personal. This is me, at my deepset core and my most superficial and trivial. It is not meant to make me look smart, cool, or interesting. In fact, the opposite is likely.
I wrote that in just a few minutes. I had intended to go very long, with a list of things I believe in: opinions, witty thoughts, and shitty things that happened to me. I dealt with another pile of family horseshit yesterday that bummed me out. I wanted to channel some of my rage runoff and write it all down. But what really happened was I finished there, and was out of steam. The steam comprised of that rage coupled with something else. It is a familiar undercurrent of my life; so much so that I’ve written about it in blog form before, and it permeates my fiction work, too.
One of my best personal essays was about my lifelong craving for attention. It’s here. I like it because I was able to refrain from being 100% abstract the entire time. It is part of who I am, and since I am anonymous outside of my friends and family, you probably know me in some way. I need to be seen and heard. Just like you. However, just like people come to terms with their weight or net worth, or outlook on life, I still have not come to terms with this. I crave it daily. It is visceral; it is laced with emotions that are difficult to untangle.
I’m 44. By the end of this year, I'll have three kids in college. The business I run by myself had a great year last year. I’ve been married for 22 years and defied the odds of getting married so young. I'm pretty happy. I’m writing better with every attempt, and I’m more concerned with the final product. I’ve gone to the doctor and received my necessary medications. I keep up with exercise. Despite the chaotic social climate, I cling to optimism. I’m not religious, but I believe in being thankful. But I still need someone to hear me.
If I am in a grocery store and someone backs into me while looking at carrots in the produce section, I take it personally. That’s how deep it runs. Am I invisible? Do I even matter at all? God forbid that happens on a busy street. Holy crap, I may actually be invisible to these people. No one sees me!
Part of my job is to visit homes during the day. My interaction with the homeowners, if they are there, is usually only ten or twenty seconds. It doesn’t have to be. I am so used to not being heard that I assume the other party has absolutely no desire to acknowledge me at all. After I tell them why I’m there or “I’m the guy that takes the photos”, I turn on my heel and get to work. Often while the homeowner is speaking. Over the years, Why is no one seeing me has evolved to No one wants to see me. Yuck.
I talked to my therapist about this and I think we’ve discovered that no amount of attention would fix me. It is something I have to do. It is a gift I have to give myself that will help with this problem. Trouble is, I don't know what that is. He also belongs to that group of people who don't understand my love affair with stand-up comedy. I don't pursue it anymore, but if I had to do it, I still would. That is attention, alright. But I control it. It’s also impressive to people, which opens the door to being seen. But follow the lives of comedians and you will see that the purest joy of their lives is being onstage. Everything else is a struggle; including, sometimes, the feeling of not being seen.
The only thing left is acceptance. It doesn’t really help my problem at all, but I can at least come to terms with it. It’s part of me. It is one of my defects. I can decrease the shame and all the nastiness that comes along with it. That’s all I’ve come up with so far. Other than writing in blogs, putting novels together in hopes people will read them and enjoy them, going on Facebook, texting funny jokes, keeping in touch with the people close in my life... Anything to not feel invisible.
In an effort to appease that side of me, the one that wrote the opening paragraph, I will write the following list of inane truths about me. It is a mishmash of non-sequiturs, opinions, likes and dislikes, and bullshit, that are unrelated. Other than the fact they are completely true, and complete written by me.
*I think celery is terrible and completely useless. I enjoy everything about the tomato except the tomato in raw form. Artichokes, kale, and grits are nasty. I hate the heat and I love the cold, however, I love sunshine. Oregon has taught me to enjoy all the seasons. Oregon is better than where you live.
I still firmly believe that the television show Seinfeld is the most overrated thing in our culture in the past thirty years. I have not watched Saturday Night Live regularly in over twenty years. Andre Braugher may be my favorite actor and I kinda wish he was in everything. Two guys arguing about sports is dumb. Putting it on TV or the radio is dumber.
My favorite TV dad is Victor Garber’s role on Alias. I was a good substitute teacher but it killed me to do it. I should have pursued a writing degree. I believe in experts and elites. My opinion about things of which I have no experience or education are meaningless to everyone except me. And that’s a good thing.
There is only one animal worthy of being a house pet and that is a dog. Of all the other creatures in the world, the best remaining choice is a cat. I hate snakes. I always root for the good guys. I am fine with a sad ending but it better be good. I like Marvel better than DC, but Batman is superior. I can’t go more than ten days without some form of fried chicken. If so, I feel as if something is missing in my life. All forms of pizza are great; it’s friggin’ pizza. I quit drinking soda.
I have absolutely no idea how Kevin Nealon has a career. Most stand up comedian specials are flat and generic. Beloved is the most intense and brutally honest book I have ever read, with Rabbit, Run a close second. Tea does nothing for me. I love American football. All other sports are secondary. I have learned to appreciate soccer on the Olympic level. I prefer ham and eggs to bacon and eggs.
I thought Captain America was stupid until I watch the movies and read the comics. Most of the things I love in my life I once shit on. It is a terrible habit acquired by my parents who are very fearful people. My father is a textbook narcissist and needs therapy. I can’t talk to him anymore. My mother tries very hard and I appreciate it. I can talk to her. I have a very large extended family spread out on two continents and they have no idea what I’m like or who I am. I used to hate being alone when the house was silent, but know I enjoy it...for short periods of time.
I don’t care to watch serious movies or read serious books anymore. Making people laugh is my one true gift. I want a tattoo or two. I occasionally miss Disney World. Reality TV and wrestling are shit, even ironically. I collect coffee mugs. I want to visit London. If reincarnation exists, I used to live in New England. Racists bum me out. I take Zoloft. I secretly want to be a famous author. I miss loving music. I love brunettes and didn’t realize it until I was about forty.
The Pacific coastline is beautiful but I don’t really care about the ocean. I define myself by my role as a parent. That is most likely how I judge you. I’ve really only met about 2 or 3 assholes since I moved out here. People here are sweeter than on the east coast. But they drive like 99-year old grandmas. I pronounce my last name with a “cure” sound in the middle. Jim is a plain, boring name. But it goes well with my last name. My wife has flawless skin. My kids are beautiful and smarter than me. All corn sucks unless it’s on the cob.
And, I still need to be seen and heard.*
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