I have reached a conclusion. Not just any conclusion – it’s a realization of my life, who I am, and why the crap my life is so incredibly strange. And I owe it all to a mid-afternoon trip to the movies, too many hours spent grocery shopping, the pleasing delirium that accompanies buying new ugg boots, a rather unnerving health scare, and a ridiculous late 90’s sitcom.
Picture this: it’s nearly one in the morning and I’m in my pajamas, sitting in my basement watching ‘Dharma & Greg’. Now, don’t get me wrong, I certainly don’t think ‘Dharma & Greg’ is the epitome of high art. It’s not even the best sitcom I’ve ever seen. But it’s fast becoming a tradition of mine to treat my insomnia. When I’ve had a bad day and I know Kafka Dreams are looming, I usually grab a bowl of cereal, head down to the basement, and laugh at inane little jokes. It almost always helps – Kafka Dreams go away, bad day bugs scatter, and I’m free to sleep in peace.
I’ve been doing this for a few weeks now. Tonight, however, I wasn’t watching it because I couldn’t sleep. If you’re unfamiliar with the show, it aired some time in the late 1990’s on ABC and starred Jenna Elfman. It was about the impromptu Reno wedding of a trust fund baby lawyer and a wild-haired flower child hippie of a woman, and all the ensuing hilarity as they realize their differences in day to day life. Rather silly, I know, but anyway. I digress.
So there I was, laying on the couch, watching tonight’s episode which happened to be about Dharma (the hippie in the couple, if you couldn’t tell) receiving an unjust ticket and her fervor to go fight City Hall, to change the unrighteous law, to set the record straight! I couldn’t help but laugh as she marched up to City Hall, determined to get the law on her side, because you know what? I’ve been there before. Granted, Dharma wasn’t as successful as I was – she got tossed about in the bureaucracy, whereas I went straight for the jugular, pulled a Perry Mason, and got my tickets thrown out. That’s where the seeds of my conclusion began to be sown.
I see a lot of myself in Dharma. Or, at least, I hope I do. She’s kind, understanding, thoughtful, passionate for what she believes in, and most of all, empathetic. However, I certainly am no hippie. I’m not green even though I do care about the environment, I’m not as “free” as she is, and I certainly don’t share her tastes in lots of things. That’s where the other half comes in: Greg.
That’s the other half of me. I’m wrapped in the plain candy shell of a conservative lawyer who understands the system, strives for sophistication, could easily belong to a country club if I wanted to, and has a passion for fine German automobiles. I’ve even seriously considered becoming a lawyer, and I would do, if America had the same system as Britain and I could be a barrister rather than a solicitor (it’s the paperwork that’d do me in.)
To be honest, I’ve always struggled with this mishmash of a personality. It has given me talents and traits that - while I’m proud of them - aren’t exactly easily understood by others, or are at all moldable into marketable career goals. I like who I am, I like what I’ve accomplished in life in spite of all my hardships, but at the same time, I never fully understood myself either.
But it’s starting to make sense. I’m the confused love child of a hippie and a trust fund baby. Now suddenly, everything makes sense! Perhaps that means I’m just an idealistic realist? A naïve wasp? I think it all boils down to the fact that I have this vision of how I want my world to be, but at the same time, I understand what’s really out there. But that doesn’t keep me from molding and shaping my environment to fit my ideal surroundings. The only problem with that is, there will always be outside influences that remind me just how ugly people can make things, and then the hippie in me gets really depressed for other people. Occasionally I meet people who don’t understand that. And that’s okay. Cause I’m happy with being a confused hippie/conservative love child. I can handle that, now that I know what it is.
Then again, perhaps this is all really the result of being on some pretty tough pain killers. I’m hoping that when I wake up and I’m fully sober again that I won’t look back on this and hope I never posted it. Wouldn’t that be funny? Well, I guess it’s a good thing I’m going to the hospital tomorrow morning – I won’t even be able to read this for a while! So ha, the joke’s on you! You all get to be the grand experiment that my gall bladder is playing on me at the moment, keeping me up, making me get loopy on pain killers to hold me over until morning, forcing me to entertain myself with reruns of old sitcoms and reality shows about some dude in Beverly Hills opening a salon.
This entry got a lot longer than I thought it would. Maybe I'll read for a while before going to sleep and dreaming about turning into a giant bug a la Franz. Maybe I should avoid reading Kafka for a while, what do you think? :)
