A post without pictures.

There is a coworker of mine who actually aspires to be a motivational speaker. (I am going somewhere with this I promise.) When he asks me How am I feeling he means 100% my psyche, NOT my physical health. Most people follow up that question with, "You look pale!" OR, "Still digesting that double-red-star spicy Thai dish?" He asks, "Are you confused?" OR "Are you feeling more put together?" He talks philosophy 101 with me asking about the center or disconnecting from identity while I stretch my hamstrings in the Upper East Side athletic apparel store we work at. It passes the time. One day I am listening in the middle of one of those side stretches with my palms on the ground, really getting into that tight left inner thigh. Always tight. Since I was a young. Always tight. He reveals that he was LIKE ME until a couple of months ago. I ask what changed him? what was his revelation? He says, "Well, I read the Power of Now."

I can actually slow down a moment in my blog. This is awesome. OK so within two seconds...less...I red-beam laser my eyes toward him like its a 1960s Superman sitcom (or the 1990s...we can't forget the masterpiece that was and is "Lois and Clark: The Adventures of Superman." Waiting for Teri Hatcher to have intercourse with whoever played Superman was part of my sexual awakening). I then proceed to hide the x-ray look to one of cordial understanding appropriate to the workplace, "Yes I have heard of this book." Then I proceed to have a flashback:

I used to hate my mother's boyfriend (I am really going somewhere with this just hold on a minute). The details are a honeycomb I am not ready to get all sticky over. BUT one cardinal offense was when he tried to connect with me by suggesting I read the Power of Now. Why a 50+ year old man, going through a sea-change-of-a-divorce that involved my mother as some kind of black pawn (or Latina pawn) in some other family's drama, thought this was an appropriate way to reach out to a 19 year old girl in college is beyond my comprehension. I hated him for suggesting anything self-help. Ew. The kicker- get ready for this-

He offered it to me on tape.

The Power of Now on tape. I thought (I was 19) this was a white glove slapping my face. Literally, a duel. This was at a point in my life where I equated being genuine with reading a first edition of Notes From the Underground. No fuck that. The original manuscript. I was looking for true academic street-cred. And listening to the Power of Now on tape did not fit into the carefully constructed image I wanted to project. It still doesn't.

Where I am going is here: I can't sleep over the anxiety that I am not doing enough with my life at ay given moment. I am eating cereal when I could be perfecting my Spanish. I am obsessed with Anu Garg and my daily dosages of etymology when I should be creating. Utilizing. Proactive. Motivate. Power. Of. Now. I want to read the Russians, but in ORDER goddamnit. I want to have 5 careers lined up for me. I want responses from applications from jobs, schools, whatever. I want daily tasks that are easy to handle and make me feel good about myself. I want a trade. I want to always say ALWAYS say, "YES, YES I READ THAT." However, if I make a Things to Do list, then I can't sleep because I cannot fully understand the relationship I have with my father, mother, boyfriend, best friend, cousin, God. Then, if I realize there is nothing short of therapy for all of the above. Then. On a tertiary level, I can't sleep because I haven't done anything for Haiti. I donated 7 dollars. I only mention those 7 dollars because I am scared anyone who reads this (all three of you) will hate me.

In a perfect world there is a website... NO this has to go through standard mail. There exists a way to mail out an application (with stamps) and you AUTOMATICALLY get accepted (via acceptance letter). And then IN AN INSTANT your apartment bell buzzes and a deluge of friends and family walks in with GOOD WINE to congratulate you. It is always summer. The afternoon light is always coming in all pinkish-orange and highlighting your face like the end of a movie. Or that positive part that precipitates when shit starts to hit the fan.