five things 2010 taught me; or celebrities are profound about the darndest things

I learned a few things this past year, and I wanted to write them down, if only to remind myself. We so rarely learn things from other people, unless those other people are The Doctor or Buffy Summers. Or, apparently, Felicia Day.

Five things I learned in 2010:

Pain matters

For most of my life, pain has been a constant, though it has been emotional pain, not physical, as much as one can separate the mind from the body. Three months ago, I had surgery on my rotator cuff, which had hurt for a decade, and which pain I’d learned to live with, much as I learned to live with my depression.

The recovery from the surgery was unbelievably painful. It took about ten weeks before I could sleep through the night—at first I woke up ever hour, then every three hours, then twice a night. For two months, I couldn’t raise my right arm. I couldn’t brush my hair. Everything hurt. And then, slowly, it healed. I can now hail a cab with my right arm, a necessary skill for any Gothamite.

What I learned from this experience is twofold: pain matters and it is not infinite. I have to pay attention to my pain—be it physical or emotional—and I can trust that it’ll get better. But it’ll only get better if I take care of it. Ignoring pain does not make it go away. Ignoring pain makes it stay, and often it makes it get worse. Pain matters, but it doesn’t define me. This has been an important lesson, and I raise my hands in the air that I’ve learned it.

Live authentically

The one thing I’m most proud of in this past year is the sense that improbably, imperceptibly, and incrementally I’ve grown to be more me.  I used to carry about a great weight of remorse about my choices, about living a life that doesn’t conform to cultural expectations, and about having a history marked more by depression and loneliness than joy and connection. The more I’ve accepted who I am and what I’ve done, the more joy and connection I’ve found—and the more joy and connection I’ve found, the more I’ve accepted who I am.

A lot of this change stems from making a brand new circle of friends who are all amazing, strong, creative, glittery and gorgeous women, and none of whom are in the least bit conventional and all of whom are aces with that. They have inspired me more than they know, and it has been an honor to swig whiskey from the bottle with them. Sometimes other people can drag you closer to being who you are. Wacky, that.

I am and am not entitled

I, like you, deserve the rights afforded to every human under the Constitution. I, like you, however, am not entitled to have the job of my dreams, a beautiful and healthy body, lots of caring friends, and a robust intellectual life—unless I (or you) work at it. If I put the work into my profession, my body, my relationships, and my mind, then I absolutely motherfucking deserve everything that comes my way. In fact, I’m entitled to it.

Our culture talks a lot about entitlement as a negative, but it’s also a reasonable expectation, a glory, and benefit of work. If you do the work, regularly, honestly and diligently, you are entitled to everything good that comes from those hours you spend working (the hard truth is that you may still not get it--life fails to be fair, even to the hardworking). If you don’t work, you’re not entitled. You may be lucky and get the fat goods anyway, but the chances are so low as to be infinitesimal. But if I do the work and something good comes my way, fuck yeah, bitches. I’m entitled. Rawr.

Let it go

I learned this lesson from Twitter, where I follow only 99 people, while I have 1,102 followers. If I take on a new follower, I axe someone. I’ll follow only 99 people.

In part, I follow only 99 people because it’s a cool number and I’m not above pretension. But the real reason is that it’s the number of people whose tweets to which I can commit. I’m not going to follow more and not read their tweets. Unless it’s a really busy day or I’m away from my computer or iPhone, I read every tweet from all of my followers (and those who respond to me but whom I don’t follow). I often click and follow links. I regularly look at Twitpics. More than 99, and I’m overwhelmed; fewer than 99 and I’m bereft.

Which is a pretty good way to think about limits in general. We all need limits. Limits keep us safe and happy. Too much room and we’re lost little bunnies, too little and we’re starved. As adults, we choose our own adventures, however tame those adventures may be. It can be difficult to decide what you want from the grand buffet of life, but choose you must. You can’t carry everything, nor should you. As painful as it may be to make a choice, you must make that choice. You may like something, but you may still find you’ve got to let it go. You may find that something isn’t good for you, and you’ve got to let it go. You may love it; you may hate it; you may be bored by it; you may think you need it; you may be hurt by it. When there isn’t room, you’ve just got to let it go.  Make a choice, and let the unchosen go.

Everything happens

Being depressed is a lot about feeling stuck. It’s a lot about feeling that your life doesn’t change, that you just spin your wheels in the much and the dreck and you’re just so tired. The thing is, however, that change happens. However paradoxical, it’s an immutable fact that everything changes. I’m not one of those people who believe that everything happens for a reason—there’s much in this world that’s entirely random and meaningless, and I’m grateful for that—but everything does happen.

Everything does not, however, happen as you plan, or necessarily as you want, but happen it will. The more work you put into things happening, the better the chance is that what will happen will somewhat conform to your hopes and dreams, but that’s not a given. Only that things change is a given.

When I started this blog in March 2005, I didn’t have expectations. I just wanted to build a better blog than the guy who dumped me. I succeeded at that, but I got a whole lot more. I got noticed, and I got published. I also got an email on New Year’s Eve 2007 from a man who’d read my writing and wanted me to write for him as a freelancer. This October, I took a job with his company full-time. In February, I’ll be moving to Italy, where I’ll be spending 8-10 months a year, if all goes according to plan. I’d never expected that at 48 I’d be moving to Europe, learning another language, and writing for a living. But I am. It’s exciting. Everything happens.

 

Comments

[Onthesensor]

I love it that we never stop learning.

[1st Republic 14th Star]

Congratulations.

Italy will be an awesome experience. I spent time in the area around Torino and Milano in Italy and Lugano in Switzerland. Friendly and polite people, clean and pleasant cities and towns, art, history...

I'm sure you'll have plenty to write about.

[Sarcastic Bastard]

Good for you! I am happy for you. Italy sounds great. Happy New Year, love.

[Von]

Ciao bella! You inspire me - to live life as iI want, to work hard at my goals and to try things that may shock or be controversial! It is really awesome to sense that you have gone through so many similar experiences and have ended up in content in a happy/successful place, with a bright future ahead.

I can only hope to be half as amazing as you are when I hit 48. :)

Happy New Year!

[The Beautiful Kind]

Someone told me to come read this post and I'm glad I did.

I just discovered Brene Brown and her Live Authentically campagin: http://www.brenebrown.com/badge/

She also did an amazing talk on TED.com on vulnerability. http://www.ted.com/talks/brene_brown_on_vulnerability.html

I'm so excited for your Italian adventure!

[Mike]

Wow great readings as always and congrats to your promotion