Beating Yourself about It

I took half a day off today. First vacation day I took off in just three months. Well, half a day, not the whole thing. It was strange coming back with so much sunlight out and so few people on the train. I wondered who these people were. Were they all going to a friend's critique?

I have never been to an art critique before. Most of what was said was very interesting. The experience helps me continue my admiration for art people. True, they don't seem to have very much else to talk about when they are together, at least, besides art and philosophy. But what they do talk about within this narrow spectrum interests me greatly. I don't know why. I think they are so perceptive. They see things with such minute details that mean a lot, and this appeals to me as an amateur photographer, amateur writer, and an amateur poet. What brings me, personally, peace and joy is noticing the small things in life, and making sense of life from observing these small details. I notice when someone steps on a half-eaten bagel when no one else notices. What's the big deal? For me, it reminds us the peculiar human nature of finding the obvious and grabbing it, like children who must touch everything new they see. For most people that still is no compelling reason to care. But it isn't only because I find something deep about the simplest details in life, but also it brings me, and I think it brings us, a lot of peace if we just stop and smell the roses, as the expression goes.

Peace is what I crave, I guess. Another weekend went by. It was again difficult, but I got through it. I didn't spend any of the evenings alone, but I spent all the nights alone. There's undiminished frustration surrounding that repeated theme every weekend. And every morning I wake up feeling still bitter. I shouldn't. But it's worse feeling bad about feeling bitter. That's what a friend of my art friend noticed, that bitterness, when we met up briefly after the critique. I was telling her about my new job, and when I told her it was between this little town and New York City, I remembered suddenly the reason I picked that job. One of the reasons, and was a main reason before I started enjoying the job when I realized it was the perfect place to start a new path in finance (not too stressful, very knowledgeable people). I told her the reason was that I wanted to work half way between New York and here so I could spend some nights in New York and some nights back here. "Some nights" obviously not with my friends. In looking back I felt a pang of deep regret. What a strange fantasy I lived in, to think I would have a girlfriend here who would let me stay over some nights and come visit me some other nights.

"Don't ever do anything for anyone else's sake, make decisions for yourself only," I told her in Spanish. (This Mexican friend prefers speaking in Spanish.) She tried to say that sometimes when you could make your decision based on yourself and the other person. I wanted to rebut, but simply gave up and said, "I have become cynical." My art friend agreed, and told me, "Don't beat yourself about it." True, worse than having made a mistake is feeling guilty about it. It's true. We all have fantasies, as the conversation continued on to the private lives of the two ladies. We have wishes, "sueños", as I said, hopes that are very far from the reality we are faced with. It's OK to have these wishes; it's even OK to be heartbroken when we fall from these "sueños" onto the concrete floors of reality. There's no point beating yourself about it.

I've wanted to just write stories, even stories about real events in my life. But I guess peace hasn't offered me much room for that, and it's late. Perhaps tomorrow I will have more time. Tomorrow I will meet the broker, the broker here, to start the next mammoth project: selling the house. I have made some calculations, some minor soul-searching, and decided that for the price I want to sell, the past five years of being a worrying landlord was worth it. I doubt I can sell it for the price I want, but if I do, I will have money to buy an apartment in New York with cash, not to settle down, but at least I will have the freedom not to work and still have a place to live. I very much enjoy my work, learning a lot. But I know, that road to peace is still dark and full of snow and ice from yesteryears. Sometimes selling a house seems less difficult than melting away the past, soothing the bitterness, and forgetting those who have refused to be part of my ideals.