Dark Night

Work

Shit. Why do my friends have to be so insightful?

So I started to work on that too. And as I started to let go of my rigid expectations and mannerisms and habits, predictably I started to feel like my life was falling apart. My therapist stepped up our appointments--finally--to help me navigate. And she helped me to see that I really wasn't falling apart. "Change isn't a descent into chaos," Is how she put it. My grades were still awesome. But that was due to the classes not being as hard as I thought they'd be, at least not yet, and the fact that I prioritized the work because that was the rock in my life, where I could put in the work and get out what I put in. And this provided additional revelations.

One night I went across the complex to the other apartment building and knocked on a door. John looked at me, surprised, and invited me in. "I wanted to apologize," I said straight away. "I didn't understand really what you were going through with the skating and real life and all. But I've realized that I've started to use my studies in the same way that you had skating--something I could be really notable in, where hard work pays off, pretty much without exception. Apparently when I was studying my brother I picked up a lot more than I intended." I laughed without humor. "I'm using it to get attention, to make up for things in my life I'm lacking, and I'm just so damned good at repressing my feelings. But it's been brought to my attention that it isn't sustainable, and in fact that focus could hurt my career  because work product isn't the only determinate in promotion."

John listened to me without comment until I shut up, then tentatively reached over to pat my shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said. "I know it's hard. And the temptation is always there, when you're really good at something, to make it the center of your life so that there's something you're good at when everything else doesn't make sense or is... I don't know. Disappointing? Maybe. Because part of my problem was learning to let go of the adrenaline rush of competition, the anticipation at the beginning, the satisfaction at the end of a successful performance, the ego boost of people asking for a selfie with me, an interview, or my autograph at a competition. Without it, what was I? Somebody who was pretty smart, but without a lot of hobbies or interests, nothing to stand out from the herd. I wasn't special anymore."

"You just didn't see how special you were," I pointed out automatically. "Skating was just the most public thing about you." He smiled.

"I could say the same thing about you," he said mildly. "You're so smart and so good at classes. You've got important memberships in prestigious honor societies and you've been admitted to selective programs at a great university. But maybe you've fallen into a trap that makes you think that just because you're so good at those things, they're what you are. But you're more than that, and it's not a character flaw to remember it. You don't have anything to prove to anybody. Paul said that your parents are proud of you. They can't ever undo what they did to you, but they're proud of you now. They're paying attention. Paul ran into your mom in the store over the summer and she had so many questions about your life on campus."

"It's embarrassing that she's grilling my friends," I said, gritting my teeth.

"You've shut her down pretty thoroughly," he said gently. "And that's your right. You don't have to have more of a relationship with them than you want. They've been pretty horrible to you in the past. They can learn too, though." We sat in silence for a bit. "People have always liked you, you're fun and personable, interested in everything. I'd hate for you to lose that gift by focusing too hard on one aspect of your life."

When I left his apartment, having gotten something unexpected, more than I'd anticipated from my apology, I also had a recommendation for a guided meditation recording. I looked it up on Amazon, listened to samples from the tracks, and bought it. I also downloaded some soothing recordings of the surf and made a playlist for bedtime using the surf sounds to make me receptive and the meditation to relax and get my mind off its hamster wheel. I started devoting time here and there during the day to news websites and pop culture. Made time once a month to got see a movie in the theater. Every week or ten days, I spent a couple of hours in a museum, usually the Getty or LA County, with and without friends. Every other week, I met my brother for dinner and we talked about everything but our classes. Campus life, dating--Stan was popular with the ladies--extracurriculars. It was a real learning curve. I wasn't dating; my struggle to inject some variety in my life was taking a serious effort and was actually more tiring than my classes. I started using the Pusheen stuffed animal that Stan had given me after the bombing as a therapy animal every so often since Invisible Steve wasn't available. I started meeting John for lunch on campus once a week; we didn't talk much about classes but it wasn't forbidden, and he was also ok if I was too tired to talk. I was trying really hard to make this a gradual process, part of my life again rather than making so much of an effort and checking it off my 'to-do' list.

Just before Thanksgiving, Will's engagement to his girlfriend was announced. I knew we were over, but it still really hurt. My friends were really supportive and didn't say much when I focused on my studies. I promised myself that it would just be a temporary coping mechanism. Stan stayed in LA for Thanksgiving, which was kind of throwing me a bone because he had a longer vacation. Cass also stayed, and the three of us tried our hands at cooking a traditional Thanksgiving dinner at my apartment. It was a pretty basic menu--turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, Grandpa's stuffing recipe, green bean casserole, a fruit salad, and pie (pie making was relaxing but I never managed to think of it as therapy)--but we did a good job with it. And then it was time to get serious about finals.  

Maya and Zayna and Stan were done before we were, but Cass, John, Paul, and I caravanned back up to Dukes Crossing together. John had replaced his cute little Mustang with a Honda Civic coupe, also cute and sporty, just without the pedigree of the pony car.  We stopped at Pea Soup Anderson's for a delicious late lunch and finished with their honey bread pudding, yum. I was enormously relieved and happy when I pulled up in front of Grandpa's and he came out to greet me.