And At Christmas, You Tell The Truth...

DAY ONE HUNDRED AND SEVEN: The Pauper's First Christmas

Our perceptions of reality have always been altered.  Conflicting ideologies paint the beliefs some people are willing to die for.  As children, we are taught that we celebrate Thanksgiving because it's when the Indians and Pilgrims sat down together and became best friends forever.  Until, of course, the Pilgrims raped the Indians, spreading incurable communicable diseases and stole their land only to essentially rape and pillage that as well.

The most egregious application of the taintification of reality would be the romantic comedy.  (Yes, even more so than the decimation of an entire people.  And yes, read the sarcasm, sit back, and enjoy an acerbic blog post from a Christmas Scrooge.)  I recently revisited a newly anointed Christmas perennial, Love Actually.  I believe it was Christmas of my 16th year of life the first time I caught it in an overpacked theater with some friends that preceded a ladies' dinner date at Pargo's Restaurant (R.I.P.) in Frederick, Maryland - my hometown.

I can't fully articulate what made me want to see it.  I had been a staunch cynic having come up completely and utterly empty-handed in the love like seriously, can we just pretend like I at least have lady bits department.  So rarely did I feel like spending my Friday or Saturday nights paying 8 bucks to spend an hour and a half Liz Lemoning all over a crowded theater.  But for some reason - maybe it was the allure of British accents or the undercooked French fries with that perfect style of Honey Mustard at Pargo's - that had me agreeing to see it.

And something weird happened to my body while doing so.  I smiled.  I laughed.  I got this warm gooey feeling inside of me that should not be read as inappropriate, you ass bags.  I had done it.  I had thoroughly enjoyed a romantic comedy.  Who am I?

By the time college had started, I purchased it and made it my own tradition to watch it every year at Christmas in the time leading up to my familial Christmas traditions.  And an away message quoting the infamous "Carol Singers posterboard" scene played an integral role in a pseudo relationship when I was 19 - the details of which are too pathetic and therefore rife with self-effacing humor to be told in a sentence or two.  So stay tuned.

So I carried on my tradition.  Even as I grew up and realized just how insipid the plots were, and how cringeworthy the writing is, and how cloying the music can be; I still always enjoyed that little warm and gooey Christmas pick me up.

Until the year I decided to spend Christmas alone instead of heading off to see my family in the same stupid city that stupid movie was stupid filmed in.

I'm not sure why I thought it'd be a good idea.  Some kind of masochistic inclination triggered by some late night whiskey after a long day at work.  Nevertheless, it happened.  And it wasn't pretty.

Everything I was willing to forgive was no longer unforgivable.  Hugh Grant falls in love with some girl just because she was silly enough to swear in front of *gasp* the prime minister?!  It's not the fucking pope.  And even he seems pretty chill by today's standards.

Alan Rickman, as Laura Linney's fucking boss feels it is appropriate to probe into her love life and make her feel awkward as hell just because we need a plot device?!  JOBS ARE HORRIBLE!  COMPANIES ARE NEVER AS COOL AS THEY ARE IN THE MOVIES!  UNLESS YOU WORK AT FUCKING DIGITAS WHICH I HAD TO PASS IN THE ELEVATORS EVERY DAY AT WORK AND WATCH AS WHAT CAN ONLY BE DESCRIBED AS A CORPORATE FUNHOUSE APPEARED BEFORE ME ON A DAILY BASIS ON MY WAY TO MY SOUL-SUCK OF A JOB!

But I digress.

Sam doesn't give a shit that his mom just died?!  DUDE!  Put the insipid puppy love on hold for a second and mourn the woman who has loved you unconditionally since you were a fetus.

So all these flaws started to come through the cracks.  I got mad at this movie I loved because it made my poor, blackened heart believe that Christmas was a time for goddamned miracles.  Christmas was a time you never had to feel alone.  Someone would be there for you.  Someone would care for you.  Someone would walk up to your front door and pull some elaborate, speechless speech to tell you how much they love you.

We watch movies like this because they give us hope.  Hope is the thing that keeps us going in life.  People cling to religion in the hope that life isn't just over when we die.  People with suicidal tendencies don't always go through with it because they have to hope that things are going to turn around.  And 26-year-old women still believe in fairy tales because it hurts too much to face reality.

Some naive part of me still believes something magical is going to happen in two days.  But the part of me that clings to those silly hopes is quickly dying.  Because even when you get the fairy tale, you only get the portion most movies allow you to see.  It's the law of gravity: what goes up, must come down.  After the fairy tale is over, life gets all mumblecore on us.  And what's really more depressing to watch?  The truth, or a fabrication of life too impossible to be real?  This Christmas, I'm going to pop open my Netflix, open up a bottle of whiskey, and watch some Blue Valentine.

Let it be known that Hannah's new Christmas tradition shall be watching the demise of Ryan Gosling and Michelle Williams' marriage.  And watch Michelle Williams lose their poor dog.  Aw, poor dog.

The Railroad Tracks on the Horizon

DAY SEVENTY-EIGHT: The Pauper Gains Perspective

I'm about to blow your mind grapes: We all see things differently.  Not simply because our life experiences dictate how we perceive any new hurdle presented to us, but because of perspective.  Perspective is the reason this street art:

Is not nearly as impressive as this:

It's the reason members of the Academy in 1942 believed How Green Was My Valley to be superior to a movie that is now widely considered the greatest American film ever made.

Sorry guys, though it fits most of the above description, this movie unfortunately didn't come out until 2011.

And it's the reason someone like Chris Brown can't understand why the world would be a better place if he simply moved to Northern Canada and let the polar bears deal with him.

But even the polar bears beg for sweet, sweet respite.

We see things how we see them because few of us have the range of [e]motions to comprehend a life outside of where we stand.  To do that takes experience.  So for the unexperienced, we often need to take alternative measures to see the truth in a situation.

I had a conversation with a friend the other day.  I wasn't feeling particularly optimistic about my circumstance.  I had made the difficult choice to spend my first Christmas alone in the name of waiting tables.  I've made very little progress in the search for a better "grown up" job outside of submitting resumes until my fingers bled.  And a lack of creative confidence still plagues my thoughts as I stare into the abyss known as "social media helps me see why everyone is so much better off than I am."  So my friend did the best thing he could have done for me, he told me I was being "daft".

He proceeded to point out the fact that I made a decision knowing it would take some time.  He pointed out that it had been roughly 6 weeks since I left my job.  That I have multiple creative opportunities on the horizon.  That this job is only as temporary as I want it to be.  That in order to be what I truly want to be, I am exactly where I need to be.  He gave me perspective.

Some times it's easier to get a hold of perspective.  In the case of the street art, you could just stumble upon the correct spot to view it's ingenuity.  

Other times, there's no way to gain perspective outside of time doing all of the work; as is the case of a film like Citizen Kane losing the title of "Best Picture" in 1942, while being lauded as the great American masterpiece nearly every subsequent year.

But when you don't have the time or the internal ability to avoid a state of mental collapse, the brutal honesty and insight of others can help you see what you can't.  It's a gift for which I am incredibly thankful.  And though my perspective will waiver as my days ebb and flow, I can fall back on the knowledge that where I am now is not absolutely where I will always be.  A simple truth that isn't necessarily so simple when you are too close to the edge of despair to see properly.

Now who is ready to Clockwork Orange the vitriolic piss out of Chris Brown with me?

Opportunity, Meet Change

DAY SEVENTY-THREE: The Pauper Tumbles with the Weeds

So I have taken a job.  A job shilling pizza pies to customers in the Loop.  A job that will pay my bills, force me to improv with humans on a daily basis, and could possibly prevent me from seeing my family come this holiday season.

And with that, I had a bit of a breakdown last week.  I was overwhelmed by a new position.  I was overwhelmed with the possibility of not spending my Christmas season with loved ones.  And I was overwhelmed with the idea that I will never supersede mediocrity.

I am essentially at the same place I was when I graduated from high school.  A little backstory, if you will allow.  When I graduated from high school, I had very little stakes in quitting my job at Bon-Ton (an east coast version of JCPenney's.)  If I had no income, I wasn't going to lose my home (thanks, Mom and Dad.)  If I had no income, I wasn't going to lose my car (thanks, Mom and Dad.)  If I had no income, I wasn't going to starve (thanks, Mom and Dad.)

But at 17, those responsibilities were figments of my imagination.  Instead, my reality was, if I have no income, I can't go to the movies (Revenge of the Sith came out that year!)  If I have no income, I can't drive around relentlessly with my friends while chatting about life.  If I have no income, I can't go to T.G.I. Friday's this Friday and get the the chocolate cheesecake swirl dessert (I settled for the side of fries.)

So I searched.  I searched for a job anywhere I could find it.  But with the legal age of serving alcohol in Frederick, Maryland being 18, my options of growth outside of Bon-Ton were limited.  I applied to non-alcoholic restaurants like IHOP and Waffle House.  I contemplated going back to my first job, Quizno's.  I searched high and low.  Until one day I applied to Carrabba's Italian Grill to be a hostess.  On the day of my interview, my (future) boss admitted that there were no hostess positions available, and that I was still too young to serve.  In a moment of sheer panic, I shouted at him, "I'll bus!"  He looked at this young white girl for a moment, and returned, "You want to bus?"  Knowing that I was only 17 for one more month, I nodded vigorously.  "I'll bus."

I finagled my way into a job.  A job I didn't want to do, but knew it would lead to better prospects once I turned 18.  And it did.  It was the job I returned to every summer and winter break from college.  It was the job that made my study abroad travel in Rome possible.  It was the job that meant I didn't need a job during college semesters.  It was the job I got my heartbroken in (multiple times).  It was my favorite job.

And now, here I am, a college graduate for more than four years, and I am in the same place I once was as a lowly high school graduate.  I'll admit to a feeling of shame when a class from Loyola's law school came into my section last night, and I proclaimed I studied undergrad there (and here I am now!  Serving you pizza.)  I admit that nearly every time I learn of someone's job (Marketing!  Designing!  Microbiology!) I cringe realizing where I am now.  And I admit that life feels especially hard right now.

But I had a conversation with my dad the other day.  **Please keep in mind that the person writing this blog once had an epiphany on a bus ride down Lake Shore Drive that she no longer wanted to be an actress because the idea of having an uncertain future scared the shit out of her.**  As I cried to my father over my current status, my inability to spend Christmas with my family, and my murky future; he said something to me that resonated.  He told me that right now, I need to let life take me.  I need to stop trying to make things happen and just let them happen.

It felt like a ruse.  I need to be in charge of my life decisions, Goddamnit!  I am, as Destiny's Child so proudly declared, an Independent Woman!  I am the master of my own destiny!  I cannot just sit back and watch what happens.  I need to take control.

That, in and of itself, is not a bad way of thinking.  However, there are moments - times - in your life that you have no control over.  I quit my job knowing the consequences of my decision.  But knowing the consequences and living them are two very different experiences.  It's difficult to relinquish control over your life.  But sometimes, for the sake of growing up, you must.

I may have steamrolled myself into a job in the summer of 2005, but my decision to leave my dead-end "stand behind a register and fold clothes" job left my possibilities wide open.  The thing about life is, you never know where it's going to take you.  And riding out the journey is the part where you grow the most.  It won't always be easy.  But if that were the case, you'd never change.  And if there's one thing I've learned from improv, it's that the transformations are the most fun to watch.