sorry i cussed

Today I listened to most of Selfhealers Soundboard (E98 How To Forgive Yourself). Dr. Nicole LePera mentioned that she’s having trouble sleeping. I got upset about that and didn’t pay very much attention to the whole self-forgiveness part. I got upset because I think Dr. Nicole LePera is very successful — she has a great job; she’s surrounded by a mentally healthful community; she’s in a hot throuple — but even she is vulnerable to bad sleep.

And look, I’m not trying to be successful or happy or in a throuple or anything. I just want a nice brain. Like, I want my brain to be nice to me. Achieving and maintaining this nuanced modest goal depends on several things going well and sleep is the most important of those to me right now. And I’m also having trouble sleeping — or rather, the trouble is with waking suddenly. This morning, even though I was still tired, by brain turned on a bright neon sign right behind my eyes that said MONEY and blinked arrhythmically.

I guess what’s upsetting is learning and/or remembering that self-care is not a summit you arrive at and relax upon, even if you are a world-famous mental health influencer with a bunch of book deals. It is a hands and knees slog to Mordor and the friends you make along the way.

Later in the day I listened to Where Should We Begin With Esther Perel called I Crossed A Line I Never Thought I Would Cross (S6, E5). Esther talks to this poor women who is full of guilt because she had an affair. She’s doubled over with What Ifs about her ex — maybe we’d still be together, maybe we’d still be friends — who sounded terrible, by the way. The ex was mean and emotionally distant and sexually disinterested and is now dating the person the caller had the affair with.

My heart hurt for this lady. Esther explained that she’s not the piece of shit she thinks she is. Her inability to forgive herself is also a way she’s protecting herself from being consumed by and stuck in another co-dependent relationship. For some people, it’s easier/safer to ask and answer, “What’s wrong with me that I don’t deserve nice things like love? Oh yeah, I’m a monster,” than to interrogate why we repeat certain relationship dynamics over and over and over again.

I also listened to Marc Maron interview Alex Winter (WTF with Marc Maron E1459) and Conan O’Brien interview Matthew Rys (Conan O’Brien Needs A Friend, Matthew Rys Returns). Delightful men, all around.

A few weeks ago, I went to a high school reunion and my favorite English teacher, who I have to call Frances now, asked me what I do for a living. I said I work at a credit union. She frowned. She wanted to know, “Well what do you do with your wit, then?”

My heart putted and flopped around the room like a deflating balloon.

I was not a good student but I got two awards in high school: one for writing and one for being a smart-ass. I wrote articles for a school magazine called The Forum. My articles had too many pop culture references and insensitive jokes about eating disorders, but they killed.

I channeled all the wisdom I’d gleaned ages 0 to 16 and told my private school community what I thought about classism, privilege, and beauty standards. I pissed people off. I didn’t care. I was pretty sure I’d found my calling.

At hippy college I learned that I was privileged, classist, also racist, and that I don’t have the constitution to be a journalist. Career-wise, I never really came up with a solid plan B.

After graduation I dabbled in Events Planning, which was a horrifying tumult of table and chair related emergencies. I ran from that job into the cold but open arms of retail. Then I fled to food service from whence I absconded to the credit union.

I don’t have a career path so much as a span of teeter-tottering rocks across a foamy river. The credit union rock is the most stable I’ve landed on and I don’t hate it.

But I may have settled on why Frances’s question pinched so hard:

Deep down I know that the things I’m good at and the bulk of my education aren’t relevant to banking. There isn’t any room for snark or fart jokes or observations about light and dark imagery when you’re writing notes about someone’s credit worthiness.

Her question illuminates a cave in my brain that should be full of Alice-specific ambition but isn’t.

I am among the luckiest people alive because I can afford to have an existential crisis.

I am among the luckiest alive because incredible people root for me.

Someone handed me a magic wand and I put it in the attic to keep it safe.