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Let us venture into the unknown together.
I hate admitting to this part of myself, but we’re all family here.
I have a competitive streak. Unfortunately, it usually doesn’t manifest in the ways that might be useful to upward mobility. I’m not like Drake, crafting enemies as fuel for my creative fire. That would be a helpful, cool personality trait. When it comes to big stuff, I tend to believe in others wayyy more than myself.
Where I find my competitive edge is in the grocery store. I will look at lengthy lines and chose one with a mix of agony and cockiness. My fingers grip my basket with the confidence of an F1 racer. I then pick a person who has joined the opposing team (the other line) and track their progress with mine. I’ll glance over and clock the following: When do they get to the checker? How long does that process take? Do they engage in small talk? Are they using cash or apple pay (real pro move)?
I seriously do this. If Chris is with me, I will sometimes mumble updates in his general direction, with the self-importance of a sportscaster. In the event that I complete the check out process first, the victory is sweet. In the event that I fall behind and the opposition team wins (very rare) I can usually pinpoint why I lost. I make a note of how predictable this losing variable was and mark it mentally for future grocery store matches.
Another area that awakens my competitive side is traffic. I don’t identity as an aggressive driver. At times I even adopt a c’est la vie attitude. But in sluggish traffic on the freeway, a pettiness will overcome me that’s hard to shake. I scan surrounding cars and single out the fastest moving lane. It doesn’t make any sense, but I will see cars pass me that I left in my dust long ago.
Why am I not in that lane?? the tiny competition voice will pipe and once she is awake nothing can be done to shush her. I become her little minion as I flick on my blinker, craning into the side mirror, praying for a break in traffic. Once I get a chance to slide into the fast lane, the feeling is completely euphoric. I am flying past vehicles that moments ago were ahead of me. I’m sure they know my car, I a m even more sure they notice little old me scoot by.
But this high is fleeting and fickle. I can’t explain why this phenomenon happens, but about 90 seconds after I have changed lanes, the cars in front of me slow down. I feel it like rocks in my stomach. My competition voice begins to throw a tantrum my lane was traveling 7 miles an hour, then we slow all the way down to 3?? Oh, now we’re at a complete stop!
It’s wildly unfair. To add insult to injury, the lane that I have just left will begin to move. Yes, somehow the sluggish lane picks up momentum and I am forced to watch that mercedes with the vanity plates glide past me. Mere moments after I HAD PASSED THEM. Sometimes I will groan (only when I am alone) as I am so deeply disturbed by this development.
The other day I was driving back from Tucson with my family in tow. The drive is supposed to take 7 hours but we always stretch it out like professional taffy makers. At the 9th hour we reached the border of LA County, only to be greeted with standstill traffic (there’s no place like home). I watched as cars zipped along the shoulder to escape. The horizon of red brake lights threw a panicked hue across our faces. It was at that point I began to scan my fellow cars, enlisting them as members of the enemy forces, plotting my lane switch.
Only, there was nowhere to go. We were miles from home, all of us tired and frayed from hours of close quarters. It was time to make peace with waiting. I took some breaths and found a little acceptance with the temporary stagnation.
With the year beginning to end, I couldn’t help but think about all the changes I’ve undertaken. And even more, the ones I’m preparing to take. In many ways I find myself crouching toward my side mirror, waiting for the chance to thread the needle into something new.
My reverie was broken as the brake lights dimmed. We started to move, inching by a Tesla perched on the barrier. Suddenly the road opened up and we all flew forward, like doves at the finale of a magic trick. I didn’t feel resentment towards my fellow doves—instead we were all one, heading to unknown destinations.
Though the road was open, I didn’t put the pedal to the metal. I’m not a speedy girl. From the moment I wake up in the morning, to the moment I go to bed, I do things at a measured pace.
If only, I thought, I could live like this in every moment. I didn’t care what lane I was in, or what that maroon van was doing. There was enough asphalt for all of us. I can’t say I reached true nirvana but I did ok.
I’m starting to contend with the fact that I am constantly engaging a voice that tells me I should be going a little faster, a little harder. I’m not competing with anyone but myself, yet I’m still finding my coach to be too brutal, insidious even. All so I might finally slip into a gear that’s palpable for the outward facing world. Pushing myself, just so I can nurture a sustainable way of life.
What if I accepted that I’m not trying to go the fastest, I’m looking for a comfortable cruise. I know I’m getting closer to finding what I want, because for once I’m not doing it for the invisible audience.
I think an earlier version of myself would view stepping away from the concept of an audience as a form of failure. For many years, I thought doing things had to be (at least in part) for the crowd. A very odd thought, considering how introverted I am. Yes, I understand the irony of sharing these revelations in a newsletter—but I very much enjoy formats that allow for a lengthy unspooling of inner worlds into the collective consciousness.
I want to feel good about what I’m doing, just for myself. I want to look inward and stay there for a little bit. To sit in a stretch and allow the deeper parts of myself to open. To remember comfort in the stillness. It’s a bit of a wintertime cliche, but right now feels like an active form of hibernation. Shedding, restoring, imagining.
In the midst of all this, I can get a little morose. I have a tendency to see change as a “burn it all down” activity. Blame it on the heavy fire in my chart, or the fact that my childhood consisted only of all-or-nothing shifts that seemed thrust upon us. I’m reconditioning myself to believe that I can enjoy the current moment AND grow into more. It’s a funny thing to have to grapple with. Recently a phrase sprung to mind, one that I’ve taken on as a frame for my thoughts.
I wrote it on a piece of paper and stuck it to the wall of the first space I’ve ever had to fully dedicate to my inner world. I stare at the words when I sense fear looming over my shoulder.
I love where I am and I love where I’m going.
I’ve proclaimed it to the night on long existential walks. I’ve leaned on it at the dinner table when my tears hit the wine glass. I brandish it as a weapon against the part of myself that wants to keep me down. I draw it to shield the part myself that still dares to nurture me.
That’s all for this week.
xx
James
playing that game on the freeway (i do a very similar thing in my head) and watching specific cars and switching lanes always happens to me on my drive from santa cruz to oc. at least it’s entertaining hahaha