the middle

"Middles might be said to be under-theorized. There is an abundance of work on opening and closure, but very little discussion of what comes in between. This is obviously because the theory of the middle is taken simply to be the theory of the work as a whole. Beginnings and endings are marked points within the work, but the middle is just the work itself with those points lopped off. There is, however, perhaps more to be said."

These words were spoken by Don Fowler, an English classicist, said to be a pioneer in the area of modern literary theory, the thought of literary theory's beginnings an entry entirely unto itself. None the less, I find myself, upon reading these words, over and over again by now, stopped still in my tracks, back to the wind of the world, finding the truth seeking deep, flowing forth, being real.

It's true, we seem to have no time or tolerance for the process of things. We are either excited to begin a new project, a new chapter, a new book in life, a new idea, or we are itching for the end of it, we are counting down the minutes, we are thrusting ourselves into the next moment or movement before we have completed our current stage, we have ignored every and all good (and bad) signs in order to get ahead, we are cheating ourselves a little, racing for the finish line after cutting through the woods or tripping up others along the way.

It's no one's fault, really, that we have grown to think this way, that we have been trained to expect immediate results or that we feel so caught up in what's coming that we forget to consider the importance of right now. We fret, and freak out, over the next ten years of our lives, totally missing what's before us, completely unaware that today is the stepping stone of tomorrow, of those next ten years or twenty, that without going forward with now, without self-awareness in the present, we will find ourselves in the same place later on, or always, we fear.

I'm not denying that it sounds like a load, especially when I am the the queen of waiting for the future to hurry up and get here. In all our impatience, we are demanding marked posts of accomplishment, we are expecting omens or warnings or welcomings. It's too bad that in our frantic search for these things, we are flat out missing the actual direction for which we seek. Would it be so crazy to wonder if the sign is the middle itself? I know, I know. Tell that to a dying man, wandering in the same circle, in the same desert, sure by now he will never make it out alive. Tell him that to find your way forward is to stand still, to embrace what seems to be destroying us, to find peace within the darkest part of our journey. It's not what I want to hear, either. And it might not even be true, at least from every perspective. But just in case, in the scenario where the valley is perhaps not our permanent dwelling place, but the place where we might be formed for the next part of moving forward, rather than our usual ultimatums, perhaps we should only stop and ask: what then can we learn from the wilderness?

hats off to you

Alright. While I don't necessarily believe in retractions, in print or in LIFE unless you are truly and deeply remorseful, I would perhaps like to make an amendment to an earlier discouraging statement I made about bad shoes. (See this entry for details.)

Rock-bottom is more like a branded baseball cap. A brimmed accessory (and now mandatory uniform requirement) to further confirm that yes, this is my real life, yes, I do still have the job of a high school student and the resume to prove it, and yes, facing your nine-hour work day just got monumentally more difficult over the inclusion of a mere head adornment, a physical and embarrassing reminder of the fact that you aren't exactly going anywhere fast.

I know, I know. As I discussed with a dear co-worker the other day, perhaps it isn't the worst thing in the world, or the end of it. But don't let anyone guilt you out of the sore points in your life. No, I'm not saying it would be better if we all dwelt on our hardships and pouted in the face of all the things we disliked about living. But the second someone tells you it could be worse, even though they MIGHT BE RIGHT, my favorite comeback is sure, but things could also. be. better.

Even though the hat, may it be damned, symbolizes a whole lot freaking more than what it looks like, there is a point in all situations where we face a choice. In my particular instance, I was faced with three (yes, three) options, all of which were, pardon my dictation, total shit. No option promised me any reward, any compensation for what has been endured, and all I wanted was some confirmed sense of gratification, whether now or soon coming.

Well, tough, said the world, tucking the cap snug onto my head, not an easy task considering the mane of hair which I daily wrestle into submission. Tough and tougher.

Even though the heart of me, the piece of my being that keeps this whole thing going, beats RUN:RUN:RUN, over and over again, and even though of all options before me escaping seemed like the most doable one, the one I had the best chance of surviving, the one I could see the instant benefit to, my feet, somehow momentarily separate from the rest of me, were planted firm where they stood.

Why stay, I wanted to ask them. What for?

Well, certainly not for monetary compensation, the rest of me concluded. Sure, a paycheck is a paycheck is a paycheck, but it's not as if I'm making millions in order to counteract the flaws in this siren-clad system. Decency? Surely not that, I scoffed. I mean, look at me, I could say, pointing in any direction to my uniform resembling a Catholic school boy, this apron of awkward length, and of course, this newest addition to my humiliation, the hat. Not for the experience, not for the reward of learning, right? If this isn't going to assist me in getting where I want to go, if it isn't going to push me in the right direction, or perhaps any direction at all, WHY STAY, I demanded of myself. Why stay.

Okay, okay. While I do believe in a time and a place for all things, and that knowing there is always a point when it is acceptable to stand up and say ENOUGH, the truth is, running away from what we label as "suffering" or "difficulty" isn't the always the answer. At least, not the instant one. Though we all have tolerance of different levels, sometimes what gets us beyond suffering is the way we get through it, not the way we back away from it. For most people, you will know when you have reached your limits, and I was sure I was at the brink of mine, at the very ends of the earth, dangerously close to falling off the edge. Though I don't expect everyone to understand it, it was probably the first time in my life (in my life? really?) that I wasn't on my own side, that I had no faith in my ability to conquer something, to get past an obstacle, to brace myself to walk headfirst through the fire.

The fact is that part of what makes life worth experiencing (even the parts we wish we could skip over) is the fact that it challenges us. It expects us to cave, so we shouldn't. We can be more surprising than that. I would like to be more surprising than that. We should be faking life out, we should be coming back with vengeance, we should be as strong as we claim (and hope) that we are.

I don't know. I don't feel any sense of relief or reward, not yet anyway. In fact, I feel mostly the same. But I am hoping that facing it, this literal and metaphorical fear of mine, is the beginning of something better, if nothing more than a new way of viewing things, or of viewing myself. The second you do the thing you were convinced (and everyone will tell you so) you could not do, the world is wide open again. It can feel pretty good to know you are stronger than you give yourself credit for, even when the situation is staring down at you, snipping at the rope from which you swing. I just remind myself, when I can, when I'm capable: Don't let go yet, don't let go yet.

waiting out the weather

Question, world: When did having happiness and having everything become interchangeable?

I do, often terribly, try to practice patience with our headstrong, speed-driven planet. I find that our particular age is one of instant-everything. We are instructed, from the womb onward, to expect all things IMMEDIATELY. We gripe over waiting a few minutes in line, we snap viciously at those who (we say) have wasted our time, time we would have likely only spent anxiously tapping our feet elsewhere, eating while driving while making lists while moving while texting while breathing, everything requires being scheduled in or out, nothing unplanned is acceptable, nothing that takes over an hour is bearable. And I find that, most awful of all, we can be guilty of such behavior even when we don't want to be, even when we don't agree with or want to be a part of it whatsoever. It's why we scold ourselves for wishing for free time to do, well, whatever the hell we want, and why we constantly berate ourselves for not completing our to-do lists, always ever-long.

I know that it seems crazy, counterintuitive, non-sensical, and strange compared to that particular culture of calamity, but our happiness is choose-able, and not necessarily able to be tied up in that monstrosity of a mess, should you dare to believe it.

It should be known that I myself am a massive failure in this regard, and do often, if not daily, forget that I have the eternal option of both happiness and discouragement. It's tough, though, since the world we live in that thrives on tearing you down, that operates on the rule that everything is inadequate, you are never quite up to par, the standards will always hang out of your reach, etcetera forever and ever.

This ties in to the current hunt for employment BECAUSE going out into the world is like blindly walking into a massacre. It is brutally unfair. It has no choice but to let you down, and it is meant for a fighting spirit of only the strongest sort. That, coupled with everyone's impatience that you get on with already, that you hurry up and be something, and no wonder we're feeling beyond frazzled, out of our heads, and disappointed with ourselves. The fact is, we're being thrown to the proverbial den of lions, and everyone is here for the show, standing on the edge of the pit peering down as if to say, Hurry it up already, give in our get out.

It's more than easy to develop an attitude of defeat in conditions like these. Why not, really. Even if happiness is our choice and we know it, how could it even seem possible to flow in that direction when all of our circumstances dictate the opposite? Could it really be that we are not our surroundings, we are not made of what breaks us, but rather we are the stronger (yes, STRONGER) result of having been broken?

I get it, though. After enough is enough, we start to get a bit riled up, somewhat upset, our distress turns bitter and we're frankly feeling permanently pissed off. Right? By that point, it only seems appropriate that we form a fighting stance, push everyone out of our way and announce,

"Okay, so I've learned my lessons here. Now what?"

Well. Chances are we aren't as ready as we assume, or presume, to be. If we're demanding a way out as soon as things are no longer to our liking, we have probably yet to absorb the truth that is there for us, we have most likely not yet found the real reason for that particular burden. We probably, though I fear to say it, have much farther to go.

The fact is, learning isn't meant to be easy. And fighting the frame we've been trained to operate by, ie. now now now, is a difficult thing to suddenly give up and start denying. We have to renounce our need for instant gratification? We have to realize the world has indoctrinated us to bypass life and always want more? Well. That, my friends, is going to be tough.

I believe there is a real and significant difference between wanting what's best and being willing to work (and wait) for it. I mean, we've all cut corners in one way or another. Two-in-one shampoo + conditioner, we own car-ready cell phone chargers, we make meals of frozen food, we bargain shop, we speak in initials and abbreviate slang, for God's sake. But there are, truly and GLADLY, some things that only time can marinate, only a bona fide valley can prepare you for, and only humility can teach you.

If the only thing you can gather from it all is that it's okay to go a little easier on yourself, that doing your best is not always everyone else's version of "best" (alright, in fact, it never is), that being focused on something doesn't drop it on your doorstep, but the vision is the first step of any and all reality. Lose that, and you risk the hope to keep it going.

The antsy side of me, the side that has been trained to expect all places to be equipped with drive-thrus (oh, heaven help me, goddamn the drivethrus), for all things to be at one-click access, that being put on hold is outrageous, is ready to start moving. I'm not sure, that despite even these heavy realizations, that fact will ever change. I feel that we're allowed to be ready for revolution, that's part of it, the very first, perhaps the beginning of it all. But the preparation matters, too. And if there's a reason for it, then I suppose it would be best to sit still (can you imagine?) and start listening. When all other options seem hopeless, and hopelessness is one hard fight to master, despite all things before us we can sit up, hands cupped to our ears, waiting to hear the hum.

Update (9:03 AM): Today that hum came in the form of what I have to believe was mercy. One phone call, and things are looking up.

perspective knocking.

As it turns out, the whole when-a-door-closes-a-window-opens adage bears some significant truth.


The windows, however, might be small, perilously shattered, looking out onto an unidentified landscape, a horizon that seems more sinister than inviting.


Or, according to a recent dream of mine, the window could be placed directly above the door that seems forever locked, just out of reach, in an empty room with no object to assist you in reaching the dangerous height of said window.


Honestly, my dreams can terrify me, but sometimes they are so comically and contemptuously obvious that I can only wake up with a smirk at my brain's own lame attempt at symbolism. (Lame only on occasion, though. For the most part, my dreams certify my insanity.)


Still, if the fact is that the opportunities are there, and we are just standing around beating our heads or our hands against the same shut door, then we could benefit from taking a step backward, and seeing what else is around us. If anyone knows what it feels like to assume you have exhausted all options, the last thing on your list being to come up with another strategy or life assessment, trust me. I could write a book on the subject, and chances are that I someday will.


The recent window I've discovered in my own life is that place, though it may seem to have its hand in everything, is mostly irrelevant. It's helpful in certain scenarios, sure, it puts you nearer or further in terms of miles, but what you have where you are is up to you. I have lived in this particular area of New Jersey for most of my life, the beginning half as a kid growing up, and now, mostly not of my own choosing but of a need for a roof over my head, and two parents who are willing to give me one.


I think we can both oversimplify the idea of home as much as we can stress it to a point of becoming near meaningless, piling so much responsibility on it that it crumbles and cracks under the weight of our expectations.


As an aspiring writer you might think, well New Jersey can't be all that bad, right? It's New York City adjacent, it poses opportunities in Pennsylvania, there are even some major magazines based in this state (who knew?), etc. All true things. And even though I've been lately mulling over the idea of a giant move (I mean cross-country huge), and getting really excited about, well, who knows what exactly (but I mean, majorly and seriously excited to see new areas and get lost and re-find my favorite coffee shops and parks and start a new job and LIVE), there is still something to be said for the ground I meet with every day, with the way things are right now.


That being said, it seems that every time you breathe deep and do your best not to worry, to accept a little bit, to try without making yourself crazy, new ideas begin to grow. New discoveries are made and your eyes are opened to the same things in a way you never thought you'd see them, and suddenly, just as you thought everything was destined to stay the same for just a while longer, things are moving on again.


I would be more than prepared to move out into the world, were I given the real and right opportunity to do so. If I was told to be ready any minute now, packed up and be on the road tomorrow (or TONIGHT), I could do it, no questions asked. The fact that the world is big and we're given time to explore it is no coincidence. And neither is this unmistakable feeling of not yet being grounded, of thinking day and night on the ways to move about, to see things bathed in newness, to taking, you know, the less-traveled path. 


Still, in the meantime, there is nothing that stops us from imaginative ways of making our current lives equally exhilarating, wherever we may find ourselves. For all the things we might believe are only mundane, for all the things we assume have no chance to surprise us, we might find ourselves someday soon crawling through that wide-open window to a place we never really knew.