Mr. Un-important

At times I wonder... if I truly manner at all.

When Descartes exclaimed "I think, therefore I am!",  he presented such words not knowing what I know. Not feeling what I feel. Not uncertain of what I am quite uncertain of at this particular moment.

Take heart. This is not "that" kind of post. In fact, it's all about a figurative Post-It Note.

My life is fine enough. I have plenty of friends, and some fantastic business opportunities ahead. But there are times when things just simply don't go one's way. And sometimes, many of these things happen all in a single day. When that occurs, which is more often then I'd prefer to admit, it lends itself to a bit of reflection.

Since middle school, and well into my adult life, I've found myself in a perpetual "no man's land" of social interaction. Many of my friends in school were of the popular variety: class president, hot babe, cheerleader (at my high school, "hot babe" and "cheerleader" didn't always travel hand-in-hand), opponent-crushing jock (baseball only... we positively sucked at football), etc.  Between the bells, I'd conversed freely with the populars, hung out at lunch with them, and was, for the most part, generally one of the group.

For the most part.

Yet, as the weekend approached, Saturday party lists were being jotted and scribbled feverishly in the midst of another boring American History class. Best friends would bang heads, wondering who should and should not be invited. The populars would divvy out marching orders, and exclaim with complete certainty. "This is gonna be the best party EVER!"

I'm sure it was... if I'd been invited.

Only on Monday morning did I learn of the incredible party at so-and-so's house. "Wow! Did you see what (so-and-so) did? Dude, he totally digs her".

I'm sure it would've been a sight to see... if I'd been invited.

Knowing somebody doesn't necessitate a solid friendship, let alone a friendship at all. I realized this in the most embarrassing manner possible as high school ended and my collegiate life began. I won't dive into elaborate detail as to what happened my freshman year at Cal State Nowhere (Northridge, or CSUN, for the non-Angelinos), for it still hurts a fair amount just typing the words of this sentence. Let's just say it involved a childhood pal, pledging a fraternity, a false sense of belonging, and the proverbial rug being pulled from beneath my feet at the height of my confidence.  Weeks of pledging, monthly dues, mandatory assignments, hampered grades, two long road trips, and a ton of fun. And in the end, as the fraternity set up shop for its ceremonial initiation in the living room, the surviving pledges gathered in the garage, confident of their future brotherhood. I couldn't wait. Already I'd been blabbering to neighbors and co-workers about purchasing a Greek hoodie once initiated, which now seemed an inevitability. As the frat prez circled us, he dropped a bombshell: there are still two cuts to be made! One was a guy named Carlos, who'd worked his tail off as the unofficial supply sergeant of both the pledge class and the fraternity. He, understandably, was devastated.

The other, was me.

As I made my way to to my car, I couldn't help but wonder how much of the 12 week pledge period was a flat out lie. I'd done nothing wrong... but had I done enough "right"?  Was it simply about the money? No, I wasn't the coolest freshman on campus, but as I peered back at a house now off-limits to me, I could count no fewer than four remaining pledges who deserved initiation less than I. Yes. It hurts a fair amount. It's also fair to say I lost a fair amount of trust for human beings at that exact moment, and that mentality has followed me ever since.

It's also, I think, the beginnings of my superstitious nature of not discussing anything in my life in great detail to anyone until it's a sure-thing.

To this day, I carry the notion that I'm simply not as integral to the lives of others as it appears. I'm like a Post-It note within an appointment book. The words inscribed upon the note are inconsequential, for the note can be placed, re-placed, or simply mis-placed, without a drop of permanent ink touching any page within one's organized life.  I try to make the best effort possible for people I know and care about. In return, it appears, the effort is rarely reciprocated. Appointments,  re-scheduled. Lunch dates, cancelled. Business opportunities, disappear.  I'll admit, more often than not I defend neither my name nor my honor as fervently as I should. When a person cancels on me based upon weaksauce reasoning, I really SHOULD call them out. When I feel I'm being marginalized, I SHOULD let my feeling be known.

Sometimes, I shouldn't let ANYTHING slide. I just, well.... do.

I can be opinionated at times, but never wholly negative or dark. I'm a realist -- and I comment on what I observe, rarely sugar-coating my words. I take a shower every day. I wear pleasant-enough deodorant (if your consider Axe "pleasant"). There is no gi-normous wart on my nose, nor am I grotesquely hideous.  Sometimes events DO unfold in my favor, at which times I'm pleasantly surprised and grateful.  And, there ARE people in my life who care as much about me as I do about them. Just, in my eyes, not nearly enough.

As people predictably disappoint. As business opportunities vanish into nothingness. And, as I sit here writing this blog, I have three of my own children's book (wait for the Hollywood catchphrase) in various stages of development, untethered to a flaky client, a teaching gig beginning in September, and fewer blondes in my life than two months ago... but that last note is for a separate blog post.

Yet, as I step back several paces and observe from a distance, many of these disappointments were, in fact, nothing to begin with. The people. The jobs. The opportunities. When viewed from a less subjective position, rear their ugly heads to reveal to surprising truth -- it is not I who is the Post-It note... it is THEY who are the Post-It notes. The perpetual flakes and ego-laden wannabes. The too-good-to-be-true opportunities that were already dead in the water before they left dry dock.  The fast, cheap chatter of feather-light promises of which cannot hold the weight of air itself once slight pressure is applied.

I'm a trusting soul, and one who, in my 40's, is still waiting for an extended winning streak. I've learned to be guarded with talk of upcoming success, which makes it seem I'd rather not discuss my life at all. And, I've learned not to place a job opportunity on my whiteboard until it's a solid "go".

Unless it's the illustration job that's been delayed a month and a half.

Or that children's book project the client keeps placing on hold.

Or the cooler than awesome client branding gig that was "promised" as a sure thing.

Hmph.

Perhaps I should lose the whiteboard altogether and instruct people from this point forward to put up, or shut up.