April 05, 2005
Your designed identity makes success everlasting
A recent spam subject line - sort of like a fortune cookie message.
I've been laying low. One reason: installing, uninstalling, reinstalling TurboTax and downloading updates. I will move into the world of high-speed internet, someday. I'm wondering if the tax refund might not be better used towards an updated computer, instead of a Tivo or DSL connection. Or I could be practical and pay down some debt. At any rate, first I need to find out if we'll be getting a tax refund.
I read somewhere that if you work towards becoming who you ought to be, instead of thinking about a fantasy life, that you'll be much happier, more content with yourself. That's because you're working towards goals that are someday attainable. Makes sense. Not that we can't dream of having better lives - but if something matters enough, then the dream has to be translated into reality. Action has to be taken, change must be pursued. Maybe you'll find that the dream wasn't what you really wanted. But no matter - it's important to appreciate the pursuit, because sometimes just making it to the next day is its own reward.
I've been putting in some extra time at the office; makes me feel better to get things done. Setting aside things to take over to Goodwill. Reconnecting with friends I haven't seen in a while. Unexpectedly meeting people who read the Armoire. (If I were a superhero, I've done a poor job of protecting my secret identity.) Mundane things, like laundry, making sure I don't skip lunch too often. Thinking, writing, attending my weekly appointment - unloading the junk in my head.
Oh, and listening to Crowded House. Talking to other fans on mailing lists and message boards. We know how strange it is to feel as we do, so it helps to talk to people who seem to understand and are also trying to make sense of the loss of someone we admired.
I'd forgotten, briefly, that I have another personal Paul Hester moment. When the band played in Atlanta in 1994, right before "Sister Madly," the guys got a little playful. Neil hung the microphone over the audience and those of us who dared took a chance to express ourselves. I said "Tell people 'I love you' all the time!" and in response Paul yells out "I love you I love you I love you."
I don't know if it quite came across, but what I meant was that you should tell the people that you love that you love them - tell them those very words, because it's important that they know how you feel. But that was a mouthful, so I ended up saying an abbreviated version. Years later, I had the bonus disc to "The Best of Crowded House" playing on the stereo. I listened, absently, when the sudden jolt of recognition hit me. Wait...that's me. That's my voice! Omigod, that's me! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
Suddenly there just wasn't enough air. Then I ran around the room screaming in delight. Fortunately I was home by myself so no one had to witness this firsthand. Then I wrote to the mailing list to share my discovery. This wasn't a moment of bragging - it was just utter shock and excitement, giddiness that out of all the recordings that were out there, that this moment, special as it was to me personally, was also worthy enough of making it onto the live disc. It was so gratifying that people on the List understood. Now that Paul's gone, that moment of brief connection means a little bit more.
It's still important to tell people that you care about them. And it's important to know that life is too short to dwell on the past, to stay in one place, to be afraid of change. I feel like a broken record, but if I say it enough then I'll start to believe it, to really take this belief into my heart and become the person I ought to be.