It’s so painful to be so close

Balancing on my hands trying desperately to get further into the splits during Ketamine and stretching, which is exactly what it sounds like, I asked my freakishly flexible friend whether this gets easier. No, she said. It gets harder. You see big results quickly when you start. Then as you get more bendy, every extra millimeter of progress gets harder. 

I recently enjoyed slow, sweaty, incredible sex with an ex. I’ve actually been having great sex with several exes lately. Nothing like a plague to decrease the appeal of new people and increase the appeal of the risk-averse introverts who already know how to fuck me. It was the first time since we broke up and it was better than I expected. Afterward I felt something akin to a coke comedown, except instead of craving another bump I craved the times past when I felt this electric physical connection in combination with psychological safety and feeling seen. Sometimes having one without the other leaves me feeling like someone pulled the rug pulled out from under me. 

This week, in a conversation about my life goals, my therapist asked me how Alabama me or DC me would think about SF me. Alabama me would be amazed. I never thought I’d make this much money without having to wear a suit and manage a team doing non-writing marketing stuff at a boring corporation. DC me would be disappointed. I wanted to be the libertarian Ann Coulter when I arrived.

My therapist told me that it sometimes actually hurts more the closer we are to what we want. I didn’t really get it at the time. 

When I was in DC, it was incredibly deflating to realize:

1. Just how small the market is for principled libertarian commentary 

2. As a product, libertarianism needs improvement more than it needs better marketing 

3. Ann Coulter isn’t actually in the business of changing hearts and minds, she’s in the intolerably boring business of preaching to the choir

Thinking about it this week, I realized I’m closer to my goals than ever before.

What I’ve always really wanted was to change hearts and minds in order to erode unearned power while earning enough money to run a tolerable risk of becoming a financial burden on my family. (Being a repetitional and psychic drain is plenty punishment for loving and claiming me :))

But he’s right. It’s so painful to be so close to having what I want. Whatever it is — to do the splits, to love and be loved, to change hearts and minds — I round it all down to zero. No matter what I’ve accomplished, what matters is that I’m not where I want to be.

I blame myself and my circumstances. I didn’t grow up wealthy. I don’t have enough of a safety net. I’m not smart enough, pretty enough, charming enough. I’m not brave enough. I’m not focused enough. I am not strategic enough. I’m not working hard enough. 

I’m realizing how this dissatisfaction has served me. 

In 2011 my life became intolerable. I couldn’t envision an acceptable future in Alabama or with my husband. My life became a bare-knuckle brawl in which who I had to be started beating the shit out of who I was.

Satisfaction didn’t propel me out of my home state with a couple grand in the bank and a stoner boyfriend who drove a scooter. “I am enough” didn’t get me to write op-eds drunk after happy hour because I was doing marketing at my dream company and I wanted to write full-time. Self-compassion isn’t why I told the most talented video producer I knew that we should start a YouTube show so people would read my op-eds. It didn’t get me on TV. It didn’t get me a job writing, editing, and pitching libertarian op-eds full-time. 

There’s too much unnecessary suffering in the world for me to ever be satisfied. 

But there’s another part of this.

My therapy homework (I always ask for homework) this week is to think about the specific, uncommon things I appreciate about myself. He apologized for the hokeyness of assigning this task for Thanksgiving week. But I’m a corny bitch and also this is the only thing I have planned to celebrate (other than an OnlyFans photo shoot).

As “not enough” as I may be, I am something. 

At least as much as I’m a victim and a failure I’m blessed and successful. My dissatisfaction compels me, but so do my advantages. To whom much is given… I feel a deep sense of responsibility to use what I’ve been given to alleviate unnecessary suffering.

And what I’m realizing in therapy is the utility of prioritizing my own unnecessary suffering. 

This week I’m going to think about what makes me uniquely useful and enjoy it. I’m going to appreciate it. I’m going to hold it. I’m going to try to love it. 

I’m not going to berate myself about how I’m not fully putting my talent, my beauty, my health, etc. to use toward fighting unearned power. Or, at least I’m going to do it a little less. Or, if I can’t manage that at least I’m going to be more aware of the fact I’m doing it and cognizant that there’s another thing to do instead or in addition. 

My goal in all this is to find out if there’s a more pleasant way to achieve my goals without sacrificing speed or efficacy. I don’t mind suffering to alleviate others’ suffering. I have always suffered and fully plan to always suffer. I’ll take a speck of meaning over a heaping of less suffering. But suffering that isn’t necessary or helpful? That’s a “No thank you,” from me. So the goal is to find less-painful ways to propel myself forward. I also want to take a step back sometimes and appreciate how far I’ve come to blunt the pain of being so close to the things I want. Which is probably a good goal for most people this week. 

And to finally do the splits again. But that’s probably more a “me” thing.