What Ever Happened to Good Enough?

To be the best no matter what you're doing is such an American, specifically Irish-Polish load of malarkey. It's why 45 year-old men drop dead of heart attacks on the trading room floor, why kids in middle school are seeing shrinks, and why everyone else in the world thinks we're bonkers. Try reprogramming that little chip though. I dare you. It's incredibly hard not to revert back to the rat race, panicking over whether or not you're doing better than the next guy. What ever happened to good enough? Why doesn't that hold water anymore? Remember when you had a babysitter, and she spent most of the night talking on the phone to her boyfriend, never really paying any attention to you, and how that was completely OK? Nowadays the babysitters are getting pre-screened and interviewed harsher than if they were applying for Homeland Security. We all seemed to have survived the Good Enough Period in our lives, right? Why the recent push for perfection, the anxiety-addled striving to be better than everyone else, to have all the advantages and head starts? After a while, the mediocre kids and grown-ups will start looking kind of cool, like they have the answers to everything in life. Certainly, to be sure, they will have lower blood pressure.

Hall Pass

I just had my first two days of teaching high school English and the word tired doesn't seem to be fitting the bill. We had a guest speaker at our faculty meeting today talk about sleep deprivation and exercises to remedy it. This is the second day of classes. I know I'll "get used to it" and figure out a way to sleep in my car (while driving), but until that point, I'm just gonna sit back and marvel at it all. All those teachers I had in kindergarten, middle school and high school were posed with this same dilemma.

What's funny is that now I'm "that teacher" who drinks coffee in the morning and talks with his hands a lot.

Freedom and Sadness

She left yesterday morning. I took her to LAX at 4:30 in the morning. Every time one of us leaves the other, the departing says, "I'll call you when I get home." Yet in the eight or so years I've been leaving home, neither of us has fulfilled the claim. It's as if she's over our little vacation together, and by calling me, it would prolong it unnecessarily. At least, that's the way I see it when I forget to call.

And here I am, watching my sister's house and her animals, and I can't help but feel a little sad. This week Mom was like a Kung Fu sensai or a Jedi Knight schooling me in the ways of classroom excellency, dropping atom bombs of information on my parched head. Now it's just me, the new laptop, several books to crack and a weeks-worth of anxiety to feel. It'll be sweet, though.

Boy am I my mother's son, though, I'll tell you what. Talk about seeing your psyche in the mirror and understanding root causes and all that shit. What a study in genes we were, man. I had this thing when I was a kid where I'd eat nothing but cereal for like a month straight. And it had to be one type of cereal, like Frosted Flakes or Cracklin' Oat Bran. And I'd just pound bowl after bowl, touching little else, except for maybe a lonely pork chop and asparagus at dinner to appease the parents. Well, guess who ate nothing but shredded wheat and blueberries all week? You guessed it. She's definitely her son's mother, that's for sure.

There's a tinge of freedom I feel every time I say goodbye at LAX to one of my parents. Like today I feel extra good when walking down the street, looking forward to the cup of coffee I'm gonna drink and the little chores around the house I'm gonna do and the information I need to soak in during the next few days. It's as if several sandbags have been dropped off my shoulders (which are apparently "drooping to one side" according to my mom). The snipping of the cord doesn't happen just once, at birth. There's snips throughout the years, well into adulthood, and even old age, I'd guess. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if the cord never completely snaps off, leaving one long, gossamer thread made of stronger stuff than worm silk behind. Could it be the "thread throughout time" that's always alluded to in legend and folklore? The thread that pierces our gut? Where does that thread originate, if not our mother's stomach? Her mother's stomach? Her mother's mother's stomach? The Mother's stomach? If so, then snipping the cord completely would be an unwise decision.

My Mom and I are Starting to Hate Each Other

She came out last Saturday. It was a blissful Saturday, that's for sure. Boy, there's nothing like seeing a parent after a long time apart. Sunday, while busy, was a real joy. She watched me play soccer, met my girfriend and made me lunch. Just like in high school (except for the girlfriend bit). We got to work preparing for my first year of teaching, and that's when the proverbial train started to derail. There's nothing quite like driving in Los Angeles for four hours to make you wish you were by yourself, watching TV and eating. I felt like I had to put on a good face, for two reasons: 1) I'm the host and need to stay positive, and 2) I don't want her thinking I'm getting mad because she's giving me suggestions on how to be a good teacher.

Yesterday was the real kicker, though. We argued over the littlest shit, like how to tell if there's enough oil on a dipstick, and if I was stepping on her shoes when I decided I'd be the one to look for my sister's missing digital camera battery charger. She finally broke down and muttered a "whatever" when I argued the point that I'm on everyone's side. Whatever? That's what I used to say in high school!

We're on good terms now, partly because she bought me a laptop. We'll see if that lasts through lunch.

Wearing Hats That Don't Fit

You know what I'm not? I'm not the guy who has all the answers. Today I told at least three people what I thought they should do with their lives. Big stuff, too, like relationship issues. It felt awkward, and I'm inclined to keep mum in the future. I love figuring shit out on my own, but I know that's not how everyone else works. People need feedback. People come to me for feedback. I may seem like I'm working things out, but do they know I was this close to losing it this afternoon? When my hands were shaking while doing the dishes? On the phone with my girlfriend, no less? And to make matters more intriguing, yesterday I was the chillest I've been in months. Someone even commented, "Boy, you look relaxed today." In the blink of an eye, serene to wacky. And so tired these days, like sleeping to 11:30am and not running and eating ice cream all the time. These aren't healthy traits, but I guess I'm coasting by, and somehow displaying the veneer of "with-it guy." Part of me doesn't even want to put this out there anonymously, because I cherish being the "with-it guy."

Fuck it. I'm gonna go pound a pint of cookie dough and watch four straight episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm. I'll probably wake up at noon tomorrow with a sweet bellyache, answer the phone and say, "Here's what I would do..."