Fair warning. I may use the F word. A bit. More than a bit. I just finished making swordfish with….hold on let me look at the title….roasted tomato mushroom salsa in white wine, dill sprinkles and lemon relish. Really? Sprinkles? I sent a picture to my friend titled Swordfish in pompous spew. I don’t know what’s happened to me in the last couple of years but I feel like the horrible veil of ego and inflation has just worn thin. So thin actually for me it’s gone. I’m just out of energy for it. All of it. Maybe it’s the 40’s. Maybe it’s just the way I’ve always been. I think so, I just forgot. I went wrong when I lost faith in that and veered off into “I must be wrong and the rest of the world is right” land.
You really stop seeing the stupid pretense that you tried to in your 30’s for a “normal” adult life even though every day there were little signs of vapor life and you slowly realized that everyone around you was just that…vaporware. Or your 20’s when you didn’t even know yet it was a show and you basked in it. In your 40’s you come back to who you were when you wanted to drop out of college because you didn’t get the whole sheep herd thing (or in my case did drop out). You’re in the who the fuck am I and why do I care so much about anything else besides what’s real to me phase again.
But when I dropped out of college so many amazing things happened. I met people. I took jobs on pitching confidence that I didn’t know I had no place having. And you know what? I fucking rocked it. All of it. I had great relationships, friendship, opportunities. Life was grand. I missed out on promotions, kudos and stock options because I wasn’t carrying the image. But you know what? My clients loved me, I did great work, I learned and I felt good. I’m running back to that person. Keep your fucking titles and stock options at work, and your glossed over holiday picture marriages that have about as much behind them in relationship as your unicorpse company.
Really this is to get random thoughts out of my head for my personal sanity. They are exactly my thoughts, not cleverly spun to appeal, not hoping for any advancement in meaningless number of followers or ‘likers’ or anything else beyond get the fucking thoughts out of my head and I don’t care if you like it or agree with it or even read it. But if you do and identify at all, then cheers.
I remember going to Thanksgiving at a former boyfriend’s house ages ago and his mother was running around making dinner for 15, in heels complaining about how her feet were killing her. I asked why she didn’t just throw some flip flops on. Her reply was Steve would love that (her husband). My response was really? Steve wouldn’t like that you’re not being the sexy wife with heels on, cooking up a storm for everyone? Fuck that. Put some slippers on lady. I just realized as I’m throwing my swordfish in the oven I have heels on. He was cheating on her anyway, the heels don’t save you. Fuck that. I’m going barefoot. That’s for you Jane.
So, in this world of Hickory Roasted Duck with Dried Cherry Cane Syrup Reductions which when the veil is lifted is Duck with some Cherries and other shit poured on it that just tastes good, what can you do? I know, people have their images, their worth, their amazing talents to promote. I’m over it personally. Get some meaningful shit done, give up your images, pretense, processes and fucking crap baggage and just grill the swordfish and enjoy it. People will like it. People will say it’s great. People don’t really give a flying fuck if you called it swordfish with relish or swordfish with chopped stuff on top or wore heels while you were making it. Will they? God please tell me they wont. And if they do, well then, fuck it.
I see it more in other things. Work, friends, whatever. Everyone tries so hard to compete. To make sure they’re promoted, their mark is on everything, they look like they’re doing it better, sooner. Updating other peoples’ work with inconsequential changes like the word ‘the’ to ‘it’ so they’re recorded as making changes. Booking meetings that someone else just said they’d put on the calendar first so that their name is on it. So meaningless, all of it. All you can do is let it go and do your best to create something meaningful. Once you do that you can enjoy the show and be grateful you don’t give a damn anymore. The duck will still come out great, and in a year nobody will remember who won the race to stab the duck first, just that it tasted good.