My New Year’s Revelation
So, by using a general equation, one should only expect bullshit 10% of the time.
There is a guy at my job who I consider the very essence of the middle-aged blue collar man–beer belly, jowly around the mouth, and the unmistakable vibe of Roseanne’s next door neighbors. I always assumed that the guy was sixty something. So, you could probably imagine my surprise when he referred to the year he graduated high school and it turned out to be the year I was a junior in college. I know I almost fainted. I think I may have even said, “You’re younger than me?”
Probably not my most suave social interaction. I could blame it on the fact that I am–what’s the word the kids on X are using–neurodivergent. I even have a diagnosis. So don’t give me any shit. It’s official.
I don’t feel all that awful about ragging on him, either. He likes to call me Billy the garbage man. This is because since I began working at Tesla, there hasn’t been a lot for me to do. I am a yard hostler but most days, if I have an hour’s worth of trailer moving to do, it’s a lot. So, in lieu of sitting out in the parking lot for nine hours doing nothing, I come in and help clean up. The process of mindless work is invaluable to my creativity.
My favorite job is making cardboard bales at the baler. The machine is so far apart from the general operations of shipping and receiving, that except for one terrible day (the details of which I will spare you) I am alone. Alone and happy. Alone and content.
Strange, right?
One day, in the silence from which all great thinking is accomplished, I began to realize a truth that I have been afraid of–I am not in a relationship because I don’t want to be in one. On a conscious level I didn’t think this was possible, however, there are many clues that point to the supposition that somewhere, probably in my subconscious, there is a voice telling me to stay as far away from intimacy with others as I can.
I’m a very resourceful man. That was my first clue. You walk into the supermarket and you see some of the most awful people shopping together. Can I really accept the fact that I am less worthy of love than any of them? I’m beginning to believe that if being in love with so important to me, I’d be in love. It’s not that difficult.
So, for 2024, I will not be making any big declaration about how I plan on proceeding with my life because I’ve always believed that the big announcement is generally the first step at failing. It’s like those writers who constantly post about every damn thing they do and describe their own writing as beautiful or awesome. From what I know about the world of creativity, dissatisfaction is one of the most important tools.
Don’t let me get side tracked, though. This is not a resolution, this is a revelation: I am perfectly happy being all by myself until such a time presents itself where a literary minded sensitive intellectual makes themselves known to me. I might be on the last couple of chapters in the book of Billy and I want them to be great. I refuse to jam myself into a relationship with someone who I wouldn’t hang out with. At this stage of my life, the sex is usually pretty limited to begin with. It may have been okay to put up with a lot of awkward bullshit when I was younger because relationships were practically half sexual and half contention. Now, if sex takes up 10%, you should consider yourself fortunate.
So, by using a general equation, one should only expect bullshit 10% of the time. It’s only fair.
Let me tell you a secret: there is a woman who I have spoken to about going away to the desert with. You know, after our kids are grown. Maybe my heart is set on that. She is literary. And sensitive. And resilient. And kind. And caring. And I hope she’s reading this right now.
Until that time, I will spend my winters writing novels and my summers rewriting them. I will argue and spend a lot of money on my kids. I will put up with Bocephus at work calling me the garbage man. I will eat more green vegetables and much less sugar. And I will begin my third year of teasing out the many nuances of my disorganized attachment style as my therapist tries to propel me toward something resembling secure.
Statistically, New Year’s resolutions are short lived and superficial. If you don’t believe me, stop by any local gym on January 4th. Then pop in three months later. The difference in attendance will astound you.
New Year’s epiphanies are much better. Whatever you’re going to do, as long as it makes you happy every so often, keep doing it.
Happy New Year
I see soooo much of myself in this!
I agree about the resolution making. For a few years i tried SMART goals, but only one panned out and I smartly blew it off. It was wanting a job at EJ, I was offered one. But my gut said NO and I listened. Turns out everyone then was laid off and then almost all were too. Although now I would take part time if offered. Thanks Billy. Today and tomorrow are writing days for me.