Coffee Talk.

My brother [his girlfriend and my mother] gave me a computer today and told me I needed to write a blog. I said I couldn’t because they all turn out the same, which is me ranting about whichever existential crisis I’m currently in the middle of. Today is no different. Yet he said “just write what you would say if the world were to end tomorrow.” Although it sounds like a tall order, it’s really not. I think about it all the time.

There are several things that I often wonder. One being what the point to all – or any of this is. So I start to question the purpose in me doing one thing over the other. Recently I found myself back in Chicago with no money, no job, no apartment and worst of all no hope for any of it. And even more worst of all, no desire to get any of it. I couldn’t see how any of that mattered.

When I left for the summer I thought I was done with Chicago. Yet for some reason the universe pulled me back here. I was also able to find 3 jobs in my short time back, with only 1 of them working out to date. And as of this week I found myself with a room in an apartment. Last night was the first night in 3 months where I could close the door to a room of my own.

Normally, I would put shelter pretty high on my list of priorities. After learning about Maslow’s hierarchy I realized that it was nothing but irresponsibleness that would put me in a position of need. However, there I was again. So maybe I haven’t quite learned the lesson I’m meant to. As far as a job is concerned- being with out lodging and a hefty bank account one should not be picky. Yet this one was. I can see differences in myself from when I was younger.

When I first moved to New York I got a job coat checking and then hostessing at a bar. I remember the owner of the bar once made me tie a plastic trash bag around my waste because my pants were too loose and I kept pulling them up. I took offense. I didn’t want to hear someone else have an opinion on what I wore. Then one day, after a heavy night of drinking and casual New York antics I had to stop by the Old Navy next door before work to buy new clothes, as I didn’t have time to go home the night before. I bought a skirt with a cute matching top. When I walked into work and was eagerly complimented I realized what it meant to dress appropriately for myself and for my job.

I eventually parted ways with my job there, because I was frustrated with it. I swore I would never work as a hostess again. I was 21. Now, I’m 27, and I work as a hostess. It is the best job I’ve had in a while. It’s fun and easy. Something I forgot work could be. At the end of the day all the bills are paid, what does it matter how I make the money? My first weekend working I had a bit of a panic when I would walk women my age to their tables and feel like I was not as far ahead in life as them.

Then someone pointed out a brilliant observation – they didn’t know that. What I was feeling was my sense of worth, not their sense of my worth. I decided that I would just enjoy the job for what it was, and I do. I am so good at making people feel welcome. It makes me happy to have short, pleasant exchanges with people. It doesn’t matter how old I am or what I’ve done with my life.

So now, I’m trying that out with the rest of my life. To be in the moment. It makes sense to me now. I can’t plan my future, who knows what will happen. The world may end this month. I seriously doubt it, but if it did, where would that leave me? In the exact same place as every other single soul in the world. Gone.

For some reason, I am not scared of that fate at all. It’s not death that scares me, it’s the emotion left when someone you know dies. That’s what the left-behind have to deal with. So knowing that death is always a possibility, for me or someone I know, how do I choose to live my life?

I would like to say sweeter. Kinder. More open and willing to experience and adventure. But those darn fears creep up in there and make me think twice. I can’t write what I would say if tomorrow it would all end, because I want to say things that matter while it’s still happening. Does Shakespeare and Faulkner matter in death? Or Plath and Michener? No. And as ironic as it is, Plath’s word’s matter most in life. To ease, console and partner connections for people to find comfort while they live.

I also had the realization recently that I’m not writing for everybody. Since this is an innate desire to write, I’m not even sure if I write for me. I write for that one person who needs to hear what I have to say. For whatever reason, to guage themselves against, to find solace, to know someone else out there is struggling in some way too. If this was our last night together I would say Thank You. I have no regrets. I’ve always done what I’ve always wanted to do.

That may even be why I’m “stuck” right now. I don’t know what I want to do next. Ooh – the torment of options. I have so many and I know, really know deep down that I can do anything. I can’t figure out what old, retired me would want because I’m not old retired me. So what does 27 year old me want? That’s where my attention is going to shift towards. Making me happy in the present. And today my loved ones gave me a computer – what a lovely present it is!