I walk up to my building, and there standing at the corner, is Morgan Freeman.
Or at least, a man that looks just like him. Like any person, when faced with a Morgan Freeman lookalike, on a serendipitous and sunny day, I looked up and said – “God?”
Just kidding.
What I actually asked was, “Can I help you find something?”
I’m not good at first impressions. Maybe it’s my Philly roots, but I’ve been told that I come off a bit… cold. I’ve actively tried to change that for awhile now, and force myself to talk to strangers whenever it doesn’t come off as creepy.
“[Company name here]?” The man asked, gesturing the wrong way.
“That’s actually inside the building,” I said. “C’mon, I’ll show you.”
He refused to let me hold the door for him – I don’t know, maybe he thought I was going to mug him or something (or perhaps just nice). I showed him where the elevator was. I hit the correct floor, and gave him enough context to get him to the right place.
We rode up together – which is always a slow, excrutiating ride. Not because of the company, of course, but because our building elevator has the personality of Stanley from The Office. No sense of urgency at all, and there’s always at least one person who gets on at the last possible second, then only wants to ride up one level.
“So what do you do?” He asked politely. I could tell he felt obligated to ask me something, in return for the unsolicited help.
“I’m a Project Manager,” I say.
“Do you like it?” Morgan Freeman’s half-brother or maybe cousin asks me, in that deep, inquisitive tone, which may as well translate to – “Are you happy?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I really do like it.”
I don’t know if that ever came through in my writing, but I was really unhappy for a few months in 2015. I kept apologizing for it – to anyone I felt I rubbed the wrong way. At one point during this run (not proud of this), mid-way through a drink with a friend, I got an upsetting text message from a potential suitor and just starting bawling.
It was so embarrassing. My friend was embarrassed. I wasn’t intoxicated, and nothing horrible had really happened that day. I was just so frustrated with what was happening in my life.
He drove me back to my house, saying little, as I just cried, unable to hold it in for another second. Thinking about that night, I feel a little heartsick for that poor, lonely version of myself. She just desperately needed some validation, something good to happen.
And as any difficult time goes, it only got worse. I wrote about this a bit in my Asheville/Elizabeth Gilbert post. Suck-tober was one of the worst months I’ve ever had.
So today, a day where I did get validation – not from a cute guy, or a peer, but from my own positive choices – felt so much better than any form of positive feedback I could have received in any other form.
I saw my hairdresser and she adjusted my long-sought after Robin Wright inspired cut and color. After over a year of going to her for haircuts, where I told her nearly every time I would someday cut it all off, and dye it blonde, I finally did. Last week. Free of anyone and anything that would negatively impact my decision, encouraged by my dear Annabel, and finally unburdened from hair-ties, I went for it.
I talked to John, my supervisor about opportunities for improvement in our agency. I realized that halfway through the conversation, I was a little lost in what I was saying because I was so incredibly passionate about it. I spoke from experience, confidently, (except for when I had that realization, and stuttered a bit). If someone had told me when I started this job, how much satisfaction I’d get from being a Project Manager, instead of a Copywriter or something more creative, I would have never believed it.
Thanks to a prompt from my adventurous friend Katie, I committed and booked a ticket to see Elizabeth Gilbert and Rob Bell at Wanderlust in Los Angeles. I texted and emailed logistics for my upcoming snowboard trip with strangers. I daydreamed about a potential L.A. to Seattle hop, with maybe a stop in Jackson Hole or Boise.
I had a really fantastic workout – burning calves, sweat, and an acoustic version of Robyn’s “Hang With Me” pounding in my ears. I cut up fruit to bring to work for the next couple days. I made cucumber noodles, opened a grapefruit beer that’s been floating around in my fridge, and I wrote this post.
I know that I write an extraordinary amount about myself and perhaps, come off as being self-centered or naive. I know no one will ever understand the great value this serves me (proof, documentation of who and where I’ve been, as well as a connection to my family back up in New York). But I do care about people, tremendously for those who take time to read and give me feedback on my writing.
I want to people to know they’re not alone. I try to be as honest as I can about struggle and uncertainty, because I know that if I can even just encourage one person to try – even when it sucks, even when you hate who you are, or where you are in life, I’ve done something right. And trust me, there’s no time you want to give up more than you’re stuck in that weird, in between place – the place with the shitty text messages, and little motivation to be healthy or optimistic.
But that’s exactly where you have to learn to ignore your dark side. You have make little decisions to pull yourself out of the funk. You don’t have a choice but to endure it.
You deal with frustrating work days. You meet the wrong people. Then you decide to not allow things like that defeat you.
Instead, you how to care for yourself in a way that makes the rest of that not matter.
Even if it’s just for one Tuesday.