Directionally challenged

I’ve become the kind of person who gets stopped on the street for directions.

“Where is the washroom?”

In the corner of the food court – next to the deli.

“How far is University Avenue from here?”

Two blocks east.

“Where is the nearest subway station?”

You’re standing on it.  The entrance is on the corner.

I think you get the picture.  I clearly look like someone who knows where I’m going and how to get there.

I attended a funeral last week.  It was the first time I had been to a funeral in years, let alone a church. 

I stood around outside the church before the ceremony.  I was uncomfortable.  I was nervous. I was surprised at my discomfort, because while I hadn’t been to a funeral recently, I attended many when I was younger.  I didn’t recall this feeling. 

It was a clear day and the sun poured in through the stained glass windows of the church.  There was a large organ, and music and singing.  And a big, loving family, and many friends.  Kind words were spoken.  Tears were shed, but there was a sense of belonging and an undercurrent of togetherness.  There was grief, but also a kind of joy in the knowledge that one person’s life can continue through others.

And it was then that I realized, taking all of this in – as though I was floating above it — that I realized that I had no idea where I was going.

You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry

Angry.  Mad.  Indignant. 

All of those things.

When I woke up this morning, I felt like this:

"What do you mean, this sweater makes me look PREPPY?"

I was going to write some kind of carefully crafted piece about immaturity, but really, I’ve just had it.  There’s no disguising it in pretty prose.  There’s no hiding it behind perfect metaphors.

Maybe it’s an indicator of how far I’ve come that I am able to identify truly immature behaviour when I see it.  Since I’m guilty of all of these things, let’s just start listing them for those who may not be aware that they are complete fuckwits.

1)  If you decide that your time has come to move on from an organization, it’s in your best interest to leave it stronger than when you entered it.  At the very least, you probably shouldn’t soak the place in gasoline, light a match and go on vacation for a couple weeks.   50% of your colleagues will think you’re a “maverick” and 50% of them will think you’re a complete fucking nut.  Chances are the latter 50% will somehow control your fate in the future.  Trust me on this one.

"Oops, sorry I left that big pile of poop on your desk. Gotta go!"

2)  People who continuously concoct alternate endings to situations they have handled poorly, but stubbornly refuse to change their behaviour will die alone.  And no one will come to your funeral, except for that one friend who thinks that you are “principled”.

3)  The phrase “friends with benefits” contains two parts:  1) Friends.  2) Benefits.  In fact, the phrase implies that the friendship part is the most important part of the relationship.  Stop using the phrase if you only want to get laid.

4)  No one over the age of 25 should ever use the phrase contained in #3 to describe any of their relationships at any time.

5)  People who rage against the machine need to present an alternative to the machine, or they can just shut up.  Yes, I’m looking at you, the “down with capitalism” crowd.  I’m sick of always having to give respectful equal time to other points of view, but never being given the same respect in return.  I don’t think we’re headed towards the perfect utopian future where everything is shared anytime soon, so let’s work reasonably within the existing boundaries.  A good starting point is for everyone to work hard, play hard, and give a little bit more to those less fortunate.  From what I know of revolutions, they are bloody and they rarely produce good results.

Even the anarchists want free phones, eh?

Oh yes, I am guilty of committing all of these crimes, some very recently.  There are some people reading this who could no doubt knock off a list of stupid, immature, selfish things that I’ve done.

But some of us learn. 

And some of us, clearly, do not.

Here’s to you, Mrs. Robinson

in-gé-nue  [an-zhuh-noo, -nyoo; ngenue]

 1. the part of an artless, innocent, unworldly girl or young woman, esp. as represented on the stage.

 

Not so long ago, I was at a karaoke bar with a group of younger friends.  A tall, handsome twenty-something fellow with enough personality to fill the entire room had just relinquished the microphone to the DJ.  I found his turn on the stage amusing, and, fuelled by at least one giant mug of beer, decided to share my thoughts on his performance.

After a short and largely inaudible conversation, he looked me squarely in the eye (or as squarely as he could, given his level of intoxication) and said:

“How old are you?”

I laughed and gave him a look that could only be translated as “rude…bold…but you’re cute, so I’ll forgive you.”  I considered being evasive.  Before I could admit the truth, he said:

“Wanna make out?”

Koo-koo-ka-choo, Benjamin.

Although I had seen it coming for a while, that was the moment when I realized that the ingenue was gone for good.  I was not expecting to be so comfortable, so accepting, of the change.

Women are told by society and the media to fear their middle age.  Yet, with age comes experience, knowledge and security.  Prosperity.  Freedom.

When I was 26, I was certain that I knew all of the answers.

Now that I am approaching 36, I am less certain.  But, I am more confident in my abilities.  I care less about what people think of me in the superficial sense, and have less fear about expressing my own opinions, which now surprisingly carry more weight.

I am the professional, the expert, the boss, the soon-to-be mortgage holder.

I am no longer the long-lashed ingenue.  

As flattered as I was by the offer, I could only laugh, shake my head and walk away.

 

I think your self emerges more clearly over time.
-Meryl Streep

 

Who could resist the delicious Ms. Anne Bancroft?