I am 27 going on 72. I am growing old before my time.
I wake up before 6:00 a.m. every morning, weekends included.
Any conversation with me inevitably turns into either 1) political debate or 2) the bashing of this “younger generation”, with their unappreciative, mannerless demeanor and their unjustified sense of entitlement. And their lack of getting whoopin's.
I listen to a lot of AM radio, and start many sentences with “When I was a kid...”.
A night out with the wife (rare) usually consists of a matinee movie (cheaper) and dinner before 5:00.
I take midday naps, yet still can’t keep my eyes open past 9:45 p.m.
I have gout.
The sadness of my existence was first brought to my attention by my parents, ages 51 and 52. One afternoon, after a particularly long rant on the sad state of our economy and the Obama Administration’s attempt to murder American values, my mother told me she was worried.
She told me how I am constantly grumpy. How I have bags under my eyes that no 27 year old should have. She told me that I seem to always focus on the negative in people and in situations. That I just don’t look healthy.
A few days later, my father voiced his concern. After an evening of listening to me complain about high school students thinking they are hilarious when all they really are is inconsiderate and rude, he simply asked “When did you get so old?”.
It was a rhetorical question, but it made me search for some answers. How did I get this way? What can I do to change?
I never intended for this to happen, and I definitely did not see it coming. Teenage me was certain that I was going to be the life of ALL the grown up parties. I was sure that my quick wit and charm, partnered with my devastatingly good looks, were going to make so many people aspire to be my friend that some sort of application process was going to have to be developed. Yessir, I was destined for black tie events and $100 a plate fund raiser dinners. Guys’ trips to Vegas and exclusive golf outings. AND I was going to win a Grammy.
So what happened? What caused an eighteen year old with all the social aspirations in the world to turn into a twenty-seven year old whose half of the couch has a perfect (and oh so comfortable) indentation of his posterior?
Introspective Soul Searching Time!
Having to take a look inside yourself in order to determine why you are the way you are is not an easy task. Luckily, it happens to be one of my favorite past-times, so let’s dig shall we?
I am very passionate, very emotional, have a short temper and a good memory. Grumpiness explained. When you emotionally connect to an idea or belief as strongly as I do, you can’t help but take attacks on that idea or belief personal. Seeing as I am a Christian and a fiscally conservative Republican, my ideas and beliefs are constantly being attacked and belittled by the mainstream media. I mean, turn on CNN for five minutes and you’ll probably hear at least one story on how wacky and hateful Christians are and at least two stories on how unintelligent and stingy Republicans can be.
I can’t help but take things like that personal (emotional). Wouldn’t you? I am not wacky or hateful, nor am I unintelligent or stingy. Yet, to be irresponsibly characterized as all four simply because I believe what I believe riles me up to no end (passionate). I get downright angry (short temper). This anger then begins to consume me, and I never seem to let it go. It nestles itself deep in my gut, where it sits and festers. I begin to harp on everything that was said. I’ll remember every insult, every quip, every verbal barb (good memory), each one stinging more than the last. The anger grows. The anger grows, but never leaves. It just sits there, putting a permanent damper on my outward mood. Grumpy.
There are simple steps to take in order to fix this problem, some of which I have already begun to take.
I have attempted to limit how much I pay attention to what the media is reporting. I used to go to CNN.com daily just so I could find something to get angry about. Not healthy. I’ve also cut back on how much I listen to AM radio. When anger so easily burns inside of you, there is no greater accelerant than Rush Limbough. Also, not healthy. The hardest thing I’ve had to work on is trying not to take things so personally. I’m sure the pretty ladies on CNN or the wordsmiths I read in magazines are not attacking me. They are just trying to make something enjoyable to watch or read, much like I am doing with this blog, and realizing this has helped me come a long way.
Or I may just be grumpy because I’m not getting enough sleep. Whatevs.
Now on to the issue of the dullness that is my social life.
Two words: Socially Awkward.
Have you ever seen the internet sensation Socially Awkward Penguin? If not, go here.
Almost every one of these memes describe me perfectly. I’ve been referred to as socially retarded, but for the sake of political correctness, let’s just say I’m socially special needs. And have been my whole life.
In school, if the teacher said group project, I cried “Why God?”. When walking down the street and a stranger says hello, I say “er thank yo..I um...I mean, hi”. When making a phone call and it goes to voicemail.........Avoided Social Interaction Victory Dance! (which usually goes a little something like this: )
This all stems from a desire for acceptance / fear of rejection; which means that I break life’s most virtuous and all-mighty rule: I CARE WHAT PEOPLE THINK!
Jaw-drop and gasp all you want, it’s true. My entire life I’ve had a desire to be admired. An aching to be popular. The problem was, however, that I so badly wanted to be liked that I would never take any chances, in fear that people DISLIKING me would possibly be the outcome. I began to shut down. I quit speaking up in group settings. I started avoiding eye contact. I became the quiet kid.
Now don’t get me wrong, I am not a friendless loner. I do have friends, and great ones at that. But these are friends that I’ve had for years and years. It’s the making of new ones that has me stumped, as well as sitting at home on the weekends. You see, the majority of my life-long friends have moved away. Some are five hours away, some are six. One is even eight.
Them being so far away + the inability to make new friends = Nothing to do.
The friends I have that are close are usually bogged down with work, or they live the same boring existence that I do and when we get together we always 1) talk politics and 2) complain about the youth of America. At their house. In the world’s tiniest town. In the middle of nowhere. We’re asleep by 10:00 p.m.. Fridays. Never make it through Letterman. 27 going on 72.
But things will get better and the sun will rise tomorrow. I am now in a job that forces me to socially interact with literally hundreds of strangers a day, many of whom just so happen to be the youth of America. And you know what? I’m starting to realize they are not that bad. I’m getting better at being a conversation starter. I’m getting even better at being a conversation continuer. Who knew I could say things that can make a stranger laugh? Who knew people I’ve known less than a year would be calling me on the phone to ask my opinion on things? And then thank me when I give it, instead of call me stupid, threaten to never speak to me again, and angrily hang up.
Yep. Things are looking up. Who knows, I may still be destined for Vegas trips and fund raiser dinners. I most definitely will win a Grammy.
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