Will Hunting, Minus the Genius

5/17/08

It has been six days since the girl I've loved moved away. I loved her sooner and I loved her more deeply than any girl in my sordid past. That being said, I endorsed the entire concept of her moving away. Sometimes, in the deep, stupid recesses of my mind, I used to hope she would take her leave. If my mind was a pasture, our relationship was the grass on which we stood, moving apart from each other was the fence, and on the other side, well...you know what they say about the other side.

In the six days that have passed, I've slept poorly, eaten rarely and cried a lot. When I haven't been actively engaged in weeping or whining, I've been second-guessing every thought I ever had in my entire life. When I haven't been doing that, I've been second-guessing the reported value of every emotional high and low in human history. As the second guesses of original guesses as to how satisfying my life was supposed to be to this point began to reach somewhere into the hundreds of millions of guesses, I stumbled upon the closest thing I've found to a real, true answer in years. Last night, around 11:00 PM as I drove home from my shitty job, the great prophet John Mayer spoke to me and told me that I am not alone in my questioning of the human experience.

As I drove, I was listening to Mayer's song, "Something's Missing", a song I've never liked all that much. At the time I marveled at how a change of emotional state can bring new meaning to a song that never meant much to me, but I forgot all about it shortly after getting out of the car. I went to sleep last night to the sounds of Sportscenter, and awoke this morning, for reasons unknown, with Starland Vocal Band's "Afternoon Delight" stuck in my head. It should be noted that I have not heard the song since the last time I watched Anchorman, and I never hear that song over the course of a normal day. When I arrived at work this morning, the first song playing in the kitchen was none other than Starland Vocal Band's "Afternoon Delight." Just a funny coincidence? Perhaps, but it made me wonder why I would awake with that song stuck in my head and then immediately hear it at work...and why music has always been one of the forces that speaks to me far more than the average person.

As I spent the early parts of this Saturday night exchanging text messages with my departed love and watching a nearly full moon rise in the Nebraska sky, I had a snippet of John Mayer's song "Why Georgia" stuck in my head. It looped in the back of my mind unnoticed--as most of my mental music does--while I lamented my inability to feel "ready" to face the rest of my life, settle down, commit to a long term relationship, etc. I wondered when I'll ever know that I've found whatever it is I want out of life, and why it's so fucking hard to be certain that anything in life is worth doing. Just then...in the forefront of my mind...the doucheag prophet spoke again, and louder.

Might be a quarter life crisis
or just the stirring in my soul.
Either way I wonder sometimes
about the outcome
of a still verdictless life.
Am I living it right?

I rush into my room to have a religious experience. If the douchebag prophet John Mayer has spoken to me, then the all-knowing will be able to answer my burning, new question. I settle myself into my chair and prepare to have an epiphany. I ask the all-knowing to tell me if my suspicions are correct. The all-knowing has not failed me before, and I am confident that it shall reward me once more with the gift of wisdom. Sure enough...the all-knowing, Wikipedia, has an answer for me.

I read the answer.

I am floored.

I wasn't aware.

I hadn't even suspected...but I am caught in the swirl of a maelstrom of existential chaos that I neither could have expected nor prevented.

I'm having a quarter-life crisis.

I read the wiki article in fascinated horror. It draws on allegedly credible sources and tells me, much like the time I found out as a 5th year college senior that I have ADD, any therapist worth two shits could have told me this. I hastily shove aside my sense of irony at having my BA in psychology and not having noticed my own quarter life crisis...or even having known what a quarter life crisis was. There is no time for irony. I'm entirely too relieved. I'm not the only aimless person in the world, or the only one who has doubts and apprehensions and sabotages things for no apparent reason! There are all kinds of people my age who deal with this, and it's so normal that the experts even gave it an unoriginal name! It's so cliché that John Mayer put it in a song! This is a Godsend! Thank you John Mayer! Thank you Starland vocal band! Thank you Wikipedia!

The article tells me that there is nobody more qualified to be labeled mid-quarter-life-crisis than me. A list of the following crisis characteristics is provided:

-feeling "not good enough" because one can't find a job that is at one's academic/intellectual level -frustration with relationships, the working world, and finding a suitable job or career
-confusion of identity
-insecurity regarding the near future
-insecurity concerning long-term plans, life goals
-insecurity regarding present accomplishments
-re-evaluation of close interpersonal relationships
-disappointment with one's job
-nostalgia for university, college, high school or elementary school life
-tendency to hold stronger opinions
-boredom with social interactions
-loss of closeness to high school and college friends
-financially-rooted stress (overwhelming college loans, unanticipatedly high cost of living, etc.)
-loneliness
-desire to have children
-a sense that everyone is, somehow, doing better than you

If, after reading that list, you're wondering if there's any of those criteria I do not meet, the answer is no. No, I hit each individual criterion out of the park like a steroid-fueled Barry Bonds crushing a baseball gently lobbed by the weakest-armed pitcher in the little league ranks. Let's break down some highlights from that list.

Feeling "not good enough" because one can't find a job that is at one's academic/intellectual level:

At age 25 (soon to be 26), I wait tables. Take a moment and let that sink in. I'm now forced to round my age up to 30, and I am a waiter. Growing up, I was in the "gifted" program at school and scored well above the 90th percentile in everything for which they could standardize a test. Laziness precluded would-be academic success later in life, but it didn't stop me from being kickass at Jeopardy in my spare time or dominating tests for which I had not studied in my scheduled time. To say that waiting tables is not at my academic/intellectual level is to say that the election of George W. Bush to consecutive terms as US president may not have been a bright spot on democracy's resume'. I don't know how much time I'd have to spend in the basement of Lazlo's huffing sterno before it made my job coincide perfectly with the apex of my intellectual potential, but I'd guess it's longer than the expected lifespan of the average male.

Confusion of identity:

I have little or no ability to convince myself that who I am is ok and I can get by for the rest of my life on being basically that same person with situational adjustments. This is because I have a brilliant vision of the man I will someday be. Permit me, if I may, to share that vision with you. I will someday be a fantastically rich, happy, successful man who has an absolute blast 365 days a year along with his supermodel, supergenius wife with whom he never fights and two or three beautiful, perfectly behaved children and two big dogs that conveniently cease to exist (the dogs, not the children) when it's time to go on vacation...which is most of the time. The man I will someday be has the greatest job on earth. That job is simultaneously relaxing and fast-paced, travel-oriented and centered entirely in one city, and also indoors and outdoors. The man I will be cries only at movies because those are the only times he is exposed to sadness, and he lives in a world where nothing is daunting. He also has a harem of beautiful women, and his wife is o.k. with it because she uses it, too, which is hot. Laugh at the above if you like, but read it also with a sense of pity, because it's only somewhat tongue-in-cheek. I have heinously unrealistic expectations about my future, and the weight of those expectations crushes my ability to be confident in who I am or build some sort of normal, logical life, one normal, non-terrifying step at a time.

Insecurity regarding the near future:

Today it was 82 and Sunny out. I wanted to sit by the pool after I got off work, but I didn't. I didn't know if I should read a book by the pool or just lie there, if I'd get "good sun" even though I'm so pale that any sun will make me noticeably darker within 20 minutes, or if the water would be too cold to be refreshing if I was too hot just lying in the sun and wanted to jump in. Additionally, I was unsure as to whether I should wear my sunglasses and risk a raccoon tan or just squint. In the end, I opened the windows and watched TV on my old, uncomfortable futon. Read that paragraph three times and tell me I'm not fucking nuts and ragingly insecure.

I'm supposed to be at a going away party right now. Instead, I'm writing a blog. I'm not sure if I'll have fun there, if there will be enough people I know, or if I should drink any beer or not. I, who have sang for auditoriums full of strangers and delivered an impromptu eulogy at a funeral for a kid I barely knew, am not sure I can handle sitting around at a bar with some friends. If I can't handle this, how am I supposed to handle my...

Insecurity concerning long-term plans, life goals:

For at least three years I've wanted to move to Chicago. I have multiple reasons for wanting to go, and it's the only thing I've ever felt like I *have* to do or I'll regret it. I have absolutely nothing still keeping me in Nebraska. I'm sick of being here, and yet I'm procrastinating the necessary details of setting up the move. What if I don't like it? What if I can't find a roommate and I get my own apartment and stay in all the time not having fun? What if I do find a roommate and we don't get along? What if I can't find a job? Where will I park the truck when I move in? Seriously, my apprehension about finding a place to park the moving truck is probably #2 on my list of worries about moving. I'm not sure what #1 is.

Along with moving out of Nebraska, I'm not sure what I should do for a career or whether I'll ever be unselfish enough to participate in a successful marriage. My fear of a failed marriage is fast becoming epic as I watch the people who rushed into young marriages during their college years realize their misery and get divorced. I feel badly when I know I've caused somebody to sit without a refill for very long. I cannot begin to imagine the remorse I'd face if I knew I'd agreed to marry somebody and then not been able to follow through on the deal.

Boredom with social interactions:

Everyone bores me. I don't care how interesting they reportedly are or actually are, they bore me. The details of their life bore me, the stories of things they've done bore me, and the stories of things they want to do bore me. Whatever anyone feels like doing with their night, odds are I do not feel like doing the same thing. It’s not that they’re bad people, and it’s not that they’re boring. I could not, for the life of me, tell you what I do want to do; I just don't want to do whatever you're doing. I don't know why, but I blame it on Lincoln whenever possible. There's not much to do, and while I never particularly mind whatever I end up doing, I invariably lack enthusiasm for the idea of it. Deep down, though, I know that it's not Lincoln's fault. I'm just bored because I'm boring, and I'm boring because I have unfairly high expectations about how much fun I should be having.

-nostalgia for university, college, high school or elementary school life

My friend Ben and I used to say that our one greatest wish in the world was to wake up tomorrow on the first day of high school, knowing what we know now. I now realize that I do not wish for that any more. I want to wake up on the first day of first grade, knowing what I knew up through...maybe sixth grade. Any time life gets hard, I long desperately for the days when I got up, my mom cooked me breakfast, I went to school, and despite three recesses, 3:30 PM felt like the greatest possible realease to freedom in human history. I would ride the bus home, watch cartoons while eating a snack, and play the rest of the day away until it was time to put on my PJs. After that, I'd watch boxing on the couch with my dad and he'd feed me bites of his ice cream. I'd fall asleep, he'd carry me to bed, and the next day would be the same. I didn't have a real worry in the world. I was afraid of the basement and that was about it. There was no fear of failure, rejection, or mediocrity. I didn't pay for anything, I didn't have to impress anyone, and there was nothing that was so bad that Mommy couldn't fix it with a hug and a chocolate shake. Some might say that it's maladaptive and crazy to want to go back to childhood. I say if you don't wanna be 8 again, you're crazy.

-financially-rooted stress (overwhelming college loans, unanticipatedly high cost of living, etc.)

Gas is $4.00 a fucking gallon. Don't get me started...

-re-evaluation of close interpersonal relationships

Now we arrive at the real kicker. I silently, unwittingly fell so easily into my crisis that I never had time to stop and realize that my relationship was being sucked in right along with it. I didn't evaluate my own life and make concrete plans to improve it, I just knew that it sucked and blamed my job and my hometown...or so I thought. As it turns out, the list of people, places or things I unfairly blamed for my own unhappiness was three items long and I didn't know it until last night. Person/place/thing three on that list? My girlfriend.

Back in December, I was feeling pretty good about having finished my last classes and finally finishing college. It was Christmas time and I was making great money at work, and I was deeply in love with my girlfriend. Over the rest of the winter, I made zero attempts to set up my life after college, I got sick of my job, and I started to use my relationship as the be-all, end-all of things that were positive in my life. In fairness to me, I was only following the example my girlfriend had set for me a semester earlier. That's a lot of pressure to put on another person, and it soon became evident that neither of us could handle that pressure infinitely. I became distant, and she became nervous. Her nervousness made her needy. Her neediness made me crazy. When I feel crazy, I need a little distance. See a pattern here? Yeah, well...not any more you don't.

Now she's gone. She's gone and I'm writing at 4:00 in the morning because if I don't stay busy, I'll focus on how much I miss her. I'll watch the battle unfold in my mind one more time as the feeling that I've made a mistake clashes once more with the feeling that neither of us was ready to really settle down and that we both needed to be apart. Time and again they've clashed, and "we need to be apart" wins every time. She and I both know it, but I can't shake the feeling that things might have been okay if I weren't wriggling to escape the grip of this stupid crisis.

I've spent the time since she left thinking about a lot of things, and the only one I've resolved is that there is absolutely no way I can continue to let my life stagnate like this. It's no wonder my relationship was failing, because my whole life right now is a failure. How could I have felt happy? Nothing was right with my life. It's not that I don't feel I've accomplished anything. I have accomplished a lot and I know it. It's that I know I'm not accomplishing anything any more, and that's unacceptable to me. I'm sick to death of being scared of going forward, of having nothing going on but work and television, and of endlessly circling the runway of the rest of my life and I just won't do it any more.

This year, when the leaves start to fall off the trees in Nebraska, I won't be here. When the Huskers take the field, I'll be watching from a sports bar in Chicago. When Lazlo's promotes another server to the coveted title of "head wait", I won't be sitting down across from him to bank out at the end of the night. I've got too much to do. I've got too many dreams, too much desire to be busy, and too much talent to stay here living such a small life. There's nothing wrong with small lives, because they make the world go 'round, but if only for right now, I need something bigger. As I write, Good Will Hunting is playing behind me. I stop long enough to watch a dialogue that suddenly resonates within me all the way to my very core:

Chuckie: Look I’m your best friend so don’t take this the wrong way, but in 20 years if you’re still livin’ here, comin’ over to my house to watch the Patriots game, still workin’ construction I’ll fuckin’ kill you. That’s not a threat I mean that’s a fact. I’ll fuckin’ kill you.
Will: Fuck are you talking about?
Chuckie: Look, you’ve got something none of us have.
Will: Oh come on, why is it always this, I mean I fuckin’ owe it to myself to do this or that, what if I don’t want to—
Chuckie: No, nah nah, fuck you. You don’t owe it to yourself. You owe it to me. ‘Cause tomorrow I’m gonna wake up and I’ll be 50, and I’ll still be doin’ this shit. And that’s alright, that’s fine. You’re sittin’ on a winning lottery ticket. You’re too much of a pussy to cash it in, and that’s bullshit, cause I’d do fuckin’ anything to have what you got. So would any of these fuckin’ guys. It’d be an insult to us if you’re still here in 20 years. Hangin’ around here is a waste of your fuckin’ time.

There it is. I sent the girl I love away with the understanding that I'm not good enough for her unless I can figure my own life out. This isn't about me any more. Now I owe it to her. I made a promise that I would get the hell out of dodge and make something more than a waiter out of myself. Maybe I shouldn't put so much stock in the worlds of Ben Affleck, but I dunno what it is...there's just something about the prophecy of douchebags that really speaks to me lately.