“Hey – what the heck, breathe homie, me I’m doin’ what I always do/grindin’, if you wasn’t steady hatin, you’d be ballin too” – Haterz Everywhere
It’s usually unlike me to post lyrics to rap songs on my blog (unless it’s Kanye, Eminem, Missy, Jay-Z, or Nicki Minaj) It’s also unlike me to post a song that has a misspelling in its’ title, but due to recent events, I’m feeling the need to go on a privacy/judgment tyraid.
Recently I’ve been trying to live by the motto, “I’m sorry for passing judgment, instead of extending love.”
I’ve gone a long time, a long time, like epic, Rip Van Winkle sleeping on a stumpy, root-lumpy tree long – being a REALLY judgmental person. My parents used to always joke with me about how shallow I was when I picked male partners and I used to boast about breaking up with someone because his pores were abnormally larger then other peoples. This ISN’T the way to live your life, or at least in my new world view it isn’t and I’m trying exponentially harder at not being that person anymore and instead being the kid on the block who gives away free, heart-warming, thirst-quenching, not-artificially sweet lemonade to everyone she knows.
These days if I do lie about someone else to make them seem like an even worse person that I may believe they are, or if I pass judgement on people on the street, I make myself feel unbelievably guilty for at least the next twenty-four hours and then I pray about it. An example of this would be; yesterday I was seeing a movie at North Hills and that green patch of land outside the Starbucks had a bunch of adorable Indian children skipping on it. One was hiding behind a potted plant, peaking around the corner at his cousins and siblings. A girl was twirling her hair with one hand, and patting down her skirt with the other. The mother’s were chatting off to the side about real world affairs, I’m sure, and happily clicking their fingers along the beat of their tongues. It was a happy scene: I was eating delicious ice cream, about to see an animated movie – so I had no reason to complain. It may be because I’ve seen too many Law&Order episodes, or because I just felt the need, but there was a man standing alone watching the children and looking around. Without hesitating, I immediately turned to my friends and said, “pedaphile.” I looked his comb-over once over, I stared at his high-water pants and his striped, wife-picked-out sweater and labeled him. He was really just waiting for his pre-teen daughter and her posse of friends to come out of a movie, he was just the dad that actually gets out of the car instead of rolling up with the mini-van windows down and yelling.
But we do this all the time, don’t we? This labeling straight away of other people. I could sit here and blame it on a human’s need to compartmentalize things (we all know boys do this better then girls….my least feminist remark of the day) or I could blame it on the need for everything to have a name in your mind, but then I could have just called him “striped shirt, dad-age” guy and been on my way. But I didn’t do this, I judged him for what he was wearing, how he was slouching against a pole with one leg cocked and crossed over the other. I judged him. And this was just yesterday, in my “I’m trying to be a better person, 1/5th of my life crisis.”
We do this all the time, and sometimes we do it without even knowing we’re doing it. And this is a huge reason why I deleted my facebook and felt the need to have a little less people in my world bubble. It could also be that I was re-reading 1984 and Big Brother became very real to me in just a few days of inhaling that book. Either way, it meant discovering real friendships, letting less people know what I ate that day or where I went, or how I pluck my eyebrows while I drive, because I would have inevitably used that as a status to exclaim how busy and wonderful and multi-tasky I can be on a daily basis.
Here’s a perfectly good reason why I’m deciding to change my thought process and look at people in a positive manner (by trying to find a good, admirable quality, or look, about everyone I pass on the sidewalk, or anyone that walks into my life via bump, handshake, or doors).
Therefore, why would people go and seek out my friends and try to add them in order of getting a handle on my life and life situation. If I wanted you to know, I’d probably text you during the day, write you letters with food stains in the margins and finger prints over the ink. If I wanted everyone in my business, I’d tell my mom to gossip to all her friends in the neighborhood about where I did or did not get into graduate school, how life after Australia is, where I’ll be living next year and with who, or other non-important facts about my life.
What did we do before all this technology when it took days in a carriage for a currier just to get us our mail? When ladies ripped the mail out of the curriors pale, veined hands and clutched it against their beating heart (swoon). Their palms leaving sweat marks on the envelopes. And then, after passing all their siblings and knocking over miscellaneous objects on the stairs, they make it to their room, belly flop on an old mattress, boots hanging off the edge and dust poofing at the headboards, and rip open the only letter they will get from the person they love and it’s two weeks old. He’s lived for two weeks without you hearing a single breathe, or seeing a single blink of the eye. He’s lived without telling you anything about his sore bunions, or his night out on the town with his friends, or how good he’s gotten at playing cards against his father in the basement. And here we are, anxious to hear news of our friends and enemies, of who they’re going to marry, of who they love to listen to when it rains, of how their workday was.
I just want to take a breather.
The reason I started this block with the quote about “haterz” was because…unfortunately, today, we all have “haterz.” And they tie in, easily with the life of privacy. Everything you’re trying to keep to yourself, your “haterz” obviously want to know. Every little inch of your life that is finally just your own, for you to savor in the privacy of your very-white bedroom, your “haterz” want whistling through the air space at the bottom of your windows. It’s inevitable. At the same time, if you haven’t spoken to someone in almost a year, it’s probably time to stop “hatin’.” I’m guilty of it as well, I’m a hypocrite as well. I have been a “hater” more times than I can count.
The worst part about this (and the best part) is that…in order to stop “hatin” and “infultratin'” (that’s the poet in me) you actually have to forgive people. I thought for a long time you could just go on with your life, keeping that hate burning endless cigarette holes in your heart, letting the ash leak out into your bloodstream, down to your toenails and out through your ears and lips. But that’s not the case…you have to forgive. You have to forgive, in order to let go, and then you have to accept the loss. I feel like I should be doing a self-help video on youtube right now, but this is seriously what I’ve been learning since I’ve been home and since I’ve deleted all technology except for tumblr, email and this blog.
I forgive you.
I have let it go.
I am accepting the loss.
And therefore, telling you and anyone who wants to add my friends or lovers to find out what I’m doing right now that I’m not hatin’….and you don’t have to care anymore what I’m up to, you can let go and not hate too…..and we can all be in love like John Lennon said and live happily ever after like Sleeping Beauty and her blonde minions. It’s possible, but it takes the art of letting go.
Obviously, I was angry when I titled this blog and heard that people were trying to infiltrate my life through people I love, and therefore I chose a title fitting of the feelings. I also think Chuck is hilarious and deserves his own comedy show, but that’s for another day. I’m also sorry that this blog has a lot of feelings ripping at its jean seams.
I’m extra “feely” because:
I haven’t heard back from anywhere about graduate school (except I was rejected from Vanderbilt on…March 2nd I believe). I’m really hoping to get an acceptance from UNCG, it is my top choice at this time with UNCW in a close second. If I get into none of the above, I will be working diligently, completely locking myself in storage sheds like Virginia Woolf on my writing sample for a year and then pulling out the big guns, like Iowa and NYU because who’s to say I don’t have novels of assorted flavors oozing at my touch. (I do, in case you doubted me for a second). I have novels…oozing.
I am currently feeling like this about my life & graduate school admissions:
When I go on a tirade about not getting in anywhere (if this does happen) I just want you to know that that will be how I’m feeling in that moment, out of upset-tears and upset-stomach-ache. However, that just means I need to fine tune my writing and my form and take them on a roller coaster of depressing emotions the next time around (I don’t write very many happy and bouncy things).
I wish I could have blogged about something so much more happy as my first March blog (a bit late, but never fashionable), but I got nothin’. I was trying to write a blog at work, just sketching things out in my England-gnome notebook, but nothing was really coming to me. So, instead you get this, my mulling over of something I constantly do (judge), leading into why I can’t handle it anymore (hate) and my solution (Accept the Loss).
When I became a. JK Rowling or b. a self-help guru, I will still continue to have this blog, about absolutely nothing and absolutely everything (except food in the computer lab).
Here’s to “just another Manic Monday tomorrow!”