Motivation logo

The Joys of Giving Up

There's a Certain Dignity About Pathetic-ness

By C.G. RemmetPublished 6 years ago 7 min read
Like
Me on any given Tuesday at 2pm 

Rewind to about a year ago.

If you asked me where I'd be in 5 years, I'd tell you I'd be cruising down the PCH in my long-coveted 1986 Lamborghini Countach, windows down, blasting Def Leppard or Van Halen or some heavy metal crap, headed to my bitchin' mid-century modern home located somewhere with an enviously-posh ZIP code. All my money came from some ingenious, world-changing idea I came up with, which I make loads of money on without getting name recognition from it (last thing I want is people following me around or badgering me). I have a horse, at least one dog, and a partner I am madly in love with. Oh boy, am I living the life.

Flash forward to the present; to me, sitting in my squeaky computer chair, typing up another mass of words. Where am I going to be in 5 years? Hell, I don't know where I'm going to be next Tuesday. And, you know what? That's cool with me.

Don't get excited and thing this is some sort of self-acceptance, "love yourself!" kind of article. It isn't. Nothing I ever write will ever be even slightly resembling a self-promotion, self-love schtick. I don't know where I am going to be in 5 years because I dread even thinking about it. I don't know where I am going to be next Tuesday because I don't even wanna IMAGINE next Tuesday. Dear God. Tuesday? How many days until Tuesday? Ugh.

These last few months have been, what I like to call, my time of great unraveling. All sorts of crazy shit happened to me that has brought me from having a Wolf of Wall Street mindset to having a Big Lebowski mindset. "Fuck it" has been my go-to phrase since about October. I have not done anything I can consider productive or beneficial to the greater good in about 6 weeks, and I'm not being generous with the number of weeks it has been.

Before I went up the junction (that's also the name of a great song by Squeeze, look it up if you want a good depressive episode), I was ready to claw and scratch my way to success, or die trying. I was gung-ho for long nights, early mornings, and weekends to achieve what I wanted, and what I wanted was fat stacks. Of course, I wanted happiness and love and self-fulfillment and all that stuff, too. I'm not a total psycho (jury's actually still out on that, stay tuned...). But money sure wouldn't hurt.

Then, shit hit the fan. My life seemed to only be getting better, then I hit a guard rail and spun out of control. I got my ego crushed, my heart broken, and my mind blown. All in about 2 months. Actually, the proper order is 1) ego crushed 2) mind blown 3) heart broken. I was limping along OK after 1 and 2, and then 3 really knocked me down and stomped on my face a little bit. That's when this glorious period of my life began; Post-Destruction Submission.

I have submitted to the idea that the world is, indeed, a cruel, heartless, gut-wrenchingly awful place. And that if you try to fight the natural way of things and make it great, you will just get knocked on your ass so hard that you won't know what day it is. You know, I hate to be a downer, but that's just how it seems to me. Don't like that idea? Sue me (please don't).

So I situated myself to walk along the lonely street of dreams and see what I could make of myself in the land of misery. First step: I stopped waking up before 11. Why, you ask? Well, why wouldn't I? What good would being awake in the morning do me? That was freeing for me. It would've been a lot more freeing if I didn't wake up every late-morning to the reality of my shitty situation slapping me in the face and groaning "OH GOD". But, I took what I could get. Let me walk before they make me run, c'mon.

I pulled out my good ol' sneakers and entered them into the regular rotation of shoes I wore (soon becoming a staple in all of my favorite outfits). This doesn't sound like much, so let me explain. In my life as an ambitious, future-millionare, I lived by the idea that you could never make a second first impression. I wanted to wow every person I ever came in contact with. Wow them with how I talked, how I carried myself, how my car looked, and how I dressed. Never did I leave the house without a good 20 minutes of grooming and a "smart-casual" (my go-to description of my clothes) outfit. My good ol' sneaks were UNACCEPTABLE (underlined twice and written in sharpie) in any situation other than walking my dog or every-other Sunday when I would spend the whole afternoon waxing and cleaning the interior of my car (ask me the last time I waxed my car).

Now, I wear my sneaks more than any other shoes. My clothes have gone from "smart casual" to "charmingly dishevelled" (I'm giving myself a lot of credit with that description). I enjoy wearing sunglasses to hide my hungover eyes, and also I look bitchin' in them.

One of my new favorite activities is drinking a whiskey on the rocks when I get home and playing Candy Crush until 1 AM, taking breaks only to stumble down to 7-11 for a Slim Jim or to drunk text people I haven't talked to in 3+ years. I found myself a job that allows for these shenanigans, though I am shocked and appalled to find that I do not reap the same financial rewards as my job where I was required to arrive dressed up and ready to perform every day at 9 AM (woe is me).

It's not all bad, though. I have to admit, I have improved. I no longer have a deep pit of dark despair and hopelessness in the center of my heart. Rather, a small-ish ditch. You could probably plant a few roses in it, if you ever felt the desire to do so. I decided to wake up before 10 AM every day, just for kicks. I decided I will not allow myself to eat more than seven string cheeses per day, in order to improve my self-discipline. I haven't cried in my car in a solid three weeks. I'm really moving up, if I do say so myself.

But, I'm still not who I was. To quote my best friend, "my life is one big 'yikes'". But, you know what? I've come to accept that. No longer am I filled with self-pity upon seeing my reflection in the 7-11 window, because as the title of this article states, there is some dignity in pathetic-ness.

When I'm out in the world, walking down the street at 8:30 PM in my sneaks, three Slim Jims in hand, I am being my truest self. I am not concerned about what passers by are thinking of me. I am not concerned with how I am presenting myself. I am not comparing myself to others, or coveting people who are supposedly "better off" than me. I am just there, being me.

This is who I am. And if others out in the world don't like it, well guess what? I don't care. I will not stop eating Slim Jims at 9 PM for them. I will not get a nicer pair of sneakers for them. I will not take off my sunglasses for them. You know why? This lifestyle is keeping me afloat. Sure, I don't always want to be like this. I don't want my permanent state of being to be that of a dejected has-been. I still want that Countach, that house, those pets, and that person by my side. But all that is for another day. Whether that be a month, five years, or two decades from now. I don't know. I don't really want to think about it. But the way I am now is getting me by. It was either living like this or pulling a Brian Wilson and not leaving my bed for three years. I like this better.

I'll get there. But for now, I'll be this. And I'll be damn proud of yanking my sorry ass out of bed every day, too.

healing
Like

About the Creator

C.G. Remmet

I like music, mean jokes, and a variety of gas station snacks.

Painfully honest about the messes I get myself into.

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.