Bad Day

Yesterday was an opus of failure. I embarrassed myself at a new client meeting. I was late to a lecture …at which I was the speaker. I stubbed my foot on my coffee table, so I can’t even wear a 2-inch heel today. I had a women’s doctor appointment, which makes me feel like I’m being treated for the failure of not being a man. (And, by the way, the doctor's scale is broken...I hope.) My car gave out in the middle of 5 o’clock traffic the day before my oil change appointment at the car shop. And, lacking transportation and fearing what the universe still had in store for me, I missed a girlfriend’s surprise birthday get-together. Why is it so easy for others to not say the wrong thing, gauge distances to hard objects, weigh proportionately to their height, never disappoint their friends, and show up to appointments and maintain their vehicles on time?

I took comfort from a good friend’s recent note (the moment she starts a blog, I’ll link it!):

“I worry about the effects of things I said or did years ago, long-forgotten by the other parties involved. I worry that a misspoken word, a misplaced comment, a misunderstood facial expression, or an inadvertent gesture will damage rapport, will destroy reputation, will exacerbate relationships. …Even my actions must, I believe, follow a strict regimen in order to keep up my appearance of being attentive, caring, interested, and otherwise desirable to have around. The reason I do this is because people are measured by their failures instead of their successes.”

When I read these words the first time, I was astonished at how I’d never heard anyone say these things before, but also heartened that I had proof someone besides me ever felt this way. Without her starting this conversation, I might have never had the epiphany I had this morning: everybody poops. Everybody.

You’re not alone, so get up and try again today.

Friends Believe in Each Other

Saturday night, some friends threw a party to celebrate my first poem being accepted for publication. Writers throw book parties or have post-reading get-togethers, but I have never ever heard of a party for a poem. I was skeptical and mildly embarrassed. I mean, after all this fuss over my first published poem, what if it proves to be my last? What will I say when all the gracious well-wishers find me sleeping in a box under the freeway using my first and last published poem as a blanket? "Thanks for that congratulatory beer back in '09. ...How 'bout buying a pity brew for old times' sake?"

Still, having thrown parties with flimsier premises (State of the Union address drinking games, prime number birthdays- the list goes on), I would be a hypocrite to poop this one. If I am called upon to be an excuse for a party, I would be a sorry friend not to report to duty. Several people even drove in from out of town, and we caroused* from 6 p.m. until, um, 2 a.m., I think. The details are blurry, alas, but these truths from the evening are clear:

Friends don't flatter; friends push you, because they know you are capable of more. Friends don't associate themselves with you for their own gain when you succeed; friends say "I told you you'd pull it off" and buy you a drink. Friends are not jealous of your success; friends revel in it as if it were their very own. And I have some effin awesome friends.

Feel free to shout out to the friends who have believed in you here. I just added sharing options in the sidebar, so they can see your adoring comments. Still working on getting the sharing options at the bottom of each individual post.

*Awesome Germanic etymology for my linguist peeps.