I feel frustrated. I feel like I need to say something and I don’t know how. I’m better at writing honestly about life with poetic overtones about sadness and overcoming darkness with light. That kind of writing is not satisfying at all at this moment.
Right now, everything positive and optimistic I’m trying to say sounds convoluted and constipated. It feels like squeezing the last bit of toothpaste out of the tube; when you finally figure out how to eject the paste, you overshoot your toothbrush and end up with a blob of aqua-colored gel in your sink; another mess to clean up.
Yes, I believe in cultivating your own happiness. Growth is uncomfortable. Change is hard. Yes, I feel like I let a lot of crappy people in my life—my own fault. I feel bitter. I feel like I’ve wasted a lot of time. I feel like I should have known better to begin with when things didn’t go the way I thought they should. And I know that life is about learning, and things go the way they’re supposed to.
And all of that feel-good go-hug-a-tree garbage.
It isn’t really garbage. Sometimes I’m tired of silver linings and optimism and positivity.
Is it wrong to want a moment to be angry, and be with your own anger and frustration, to accept it, acknowledge it, and find a way to express it?
Punching people in the throat is not an advised course of action. Neither is driving aggressively on the highway. It also doesn’t help to hold angry emotions in because inevitably you find yourself flipping out about something else entirely. You don’t really care that the last donut is gone, but at the very least in this big shit storm of everything doesn’t anyone have a piece of chocolate, and can’t everyone stop asking questions and figure out their own problems for themselves, and why is it that no one smokes anymore when you finally break down and just “need” one, and all of your clothes are complete shit and make you look frumpy, and your hair just won’t cooperate, and everyone is posting photos of how awesome they are and it’s annoying, and today is Monday so your favorite sushi place is closed and tomorrow is Tuesday and your favorite Thai place is closed, every slow-moving idiot on their cell phone is crawling in the left hand lane when all you want to do is go home and escape to your bed, so fuck!
It’s a culmination of all the little, manageable, stupid things that leads you to explode in rage, when really, they’re just hiding the source of your frustration. What do you do when you’re angry, and you can’t “let it out in a positive way”? Uh. There’s an oxymoron. Angry positivity. It’s right up there with jumbo shrimp on the list of ridiculous things.
When is the moment we get to break shit without consequences?
If you want to consider it in the grand scheme of emotions, anger comes from fear. It’s when you’re sad and scared and you don’t know what to do, so you get angry because you don’t want to be sad and scared. So what does that mean? I need to stand on a busy street with a Free Hugs sign so I feel less sad and scared?
Can it mean that I can stand on a busy street with a Free Hugs sign and then punch unassuming strangers in the throat?
There’s a metaphor for life.
Life is just an unassuming stranger holding a Free Hugs sign. We feel inspired by this simple idea, and we want to be part of it, spreading positivity and optimism. And then we get close to the unassuming stranger for a hug and it punches us in the throat. We fall hard on our asses and wonder what the hell happened.
The one time I participated in the Free Hugs Campaign was on 16th Street in Denver. I needed a hug, and it seemed really shitty to be the one person to divert my eyes while everyone else ran in for an embrace. These people were smiling and seemed harmless, and I needed a hug. I awkwardly hugged a taller, skinny man about my age, in a dark pea coat.
He smelled. Bad.
This is a better metaphor for life. Good things—even free things—simple and positive events, are not what they promise to be. You think things are going to be better than they turn out, but sometimes, life stinks.