The high cost of low living

waysuckier.png

An expensive jar of pickles finally gave me some perspective on…perspective.

One of my more finely-honed skills is buying shit that I don’t need. I maximize the potential by occasionally purchasing an item that I don’t need AND I don’t want. Some people consider these items “mistakes,” but when you turn the Hater Mode dial down a few notches, it becomes pretty clear that life has blessed me with “opportunities to learn.” The more you know, the more you grow. (Credit: Either LeVar Burton or Dr. Seuss)

When I have an uncontrollable urge to spend money, I stay away from stores with big-tickets items. Those “learning opportunities” are too hard to hide. I only know this because I once bought a daybed with a big gaping hole in the center where the mattress support beams should have been. Even when the sales associate expressed doubt that I would find replacement parts, it still seemed like a solid purchase. I mean, 70% off the original retail price. It’s a little greedy to expect everything for almost nothing. Harv asked questions like “When you tell me not to go into the library, don’t you think that makes me suspicious?” and “Isn’t a daybed useless if we can’t put a mattress on it?”

I’m not really a fan of people who show off their reasoning skills.

I now limit most of my reckless purchases to the grocery store. When I spotted the elegantly-shaped jar of pickles for twice the price of the crunchy little bitches I normally enjoy, I immediately recognized it as a need AND a want. My family claims that I have an unrefined palette, but would a non-foodie invest in a jar of artisanal-quality pickles? Be real.

In my haste to get all of the groceries into the house from our subterranean garage, I condensed the normally nine-step process into two. When I finally had all of the bags on the landing at the top of the stairs, I accidentally kicked the pickles and watched as the jar popped out of the bag and started rolling down the steps. Maybe it really did roll down slowly or maybe the trauma has colored my recollection. Six steps down, the lid loosened and brine started splashing out.

As I watched those expensive bitches tumble towards the bottom, I winced and thought, “UNREAL. This is the worst thing that has ever happened in my entire life.” And I really, really meant it.

When the jar finally crashed into a wall, most of the liquid already gone, I braced myself for the breakage, shards of glass everywhere. But it remained intact (probably because those motherfuckers weren’t kidding around about that artisanal-quality hype), except for the lid which fell off and the two pickles that followed with it. I did what I thought was best: I retrieved the jar, wiped it down, and stuck it in the fridge.

While I cleaned pickle juice off everything else, it occurred to me that no one is immune to feeling the dings of everyday life. Those small dings can feel so huge and overwhelming in the moment. As a former runaway, homeless pregnant teen, single mom, welfare recipient, and abused partner, I still couldn’t help thinking that a ruined jar of pickles was the worst fucking thing to ever happen to me.

I allow so many inconsequential people and events to affect my sphere on a daily basis, and each ding ruins my day and makes me unhappy and makes me wish I had a car wash for the sole purpose of burying people under it. Tiny grievances take root and break my peace.

My own behavior is the only piece I can control, and when I can’t even reign that in, the most basic action I can take is to keep my perspective in check. I’m currently living a life that is so far removed from the bottom place where I started. Even when I recognize the incredible blessings in my life, I still forget that there are people who face so much more. Things that actually matter.

But in the world of things that don’t matter, I guess pickle wreckage is still pretty fucked up.
__
P.S. My friend, Bennett, recently founded Onionflix.com. I think it’s a pretty dope concept. He’s committed $100,000 to buying videos from both amateur and professional filmmakers who are interested in promoting a “good cry” with positive inspiration. Bennett started Onionflix to honor his parents and the true love their marriage exemplified. Read more here about their amazing story. “Life is fragile. Don’t waste a moment holding grudges or worrying about the little things. Don’t screw up amazing relationships with impulsive temptations. Don’t be lazy. Be honest. Be bold. Most importantly, find someone to love unconditionally.”

P.P.S. Stay connected by subscribing to Flourish in Progress on Bloglovin.
“Like” the Flourish in Progress Facebook page and follow along on Instagram (username: flourishinprogress) for between-post updates and not-seen-on-this-blog pictures.

image via blueq.com

Thug Matrimony

gigiFlourish in Progress on Instagram

I don’t want to brag or anything, but I’ve only forgotten my wedding anniversary twice. Since I view life as a series of small victories, I’m not shy about reminding Harv that I’ve remembered FOUR out of SIX anniversaries. If you’re math-minded, that’s well over 50%.

We celebrated this year by going to an Earth, Wind & Fire concert, not only because their pimp game is still strong, but because it’s the one band we can enjoy together. Usually, I’m on the rap grind, and Harv likes Nerdist podcasts. I can’t remember the last time I heard music in his car. It still pinches my insides to know that Harv doesn’t understand any of my Trick Daddy references, but I’m a big believer in the Hands Off Policy. I never force the people I love into bettering themselves. Instead, I offer gentle reminders that they’re living in darkness.

I might say, “You’re only a dime-store version of yourself without _______.” (Possible endings: regular exercise, a multivitamin, self-worth, Tupac) (Note regarding endings: I don’t exercise or take supplements, and I have ongoing issues with self-worth, but I listen to a lot of rap so that makes me an expert in life, money, boss bitches, cars, parole, and Tom Ford.)

Harv never dismisses any of my helpful and extremely valuable suggestions. Instead, he always stops what he’s doing to make eye contact and listen. And even when I change my mind halfway through a thought and divert the conversation in another direction, he doesn’t act like he’s chatting with an elderly shut-in suffering from dementia. Only a handful of people have made that comparison, so it’s probably not even a real thing.

After six simultaneously long and short years, I’ve realized that these everyday courtesies differentiate bomb marriages from bombed marriages.

The problem in our marriage is that only one person is being courteous.

I’m the other person.

Once in a while, I’m a good wife. Harv brought home half a pound of candy from a business trip last week, and I saved him three jelly beans. Actually, it ended up being only two beans because the tip of the third one had already touched my tongue before I remembered anyone but myself. After I put the bean back, I couldn’t stop thinking about germs, so I ended up eating it. Not giving contaminated food products to a spouse is also another form of courtesy.

I’m quick to point out imperfect minutiae, but on the rare occasion Harv offers a suggestion, devoid of judgment, I’m all Your high standards are unreal, broseph. Everybody throws wrappers on the floor if a trash can is too far away . LET ME LIVE MY LIFE. 

Harv has never given up on me, even during the lowest moments of my depression and self-sabotaging behavior. When I ask him why he stays, he replies, “Because I think you’re worth it. I hope one day you know you’re worth it too.”

Instead of feeling gratitude, this always makes me wish he had married someone else. It must be hard waiting around for the woman you think your wife could someday become to show up. It’s a lot of pressure to know that someone chooses to see the best in you, despite daily reminders otherwise.

Last year, on our fifth anniversary, I tattooed the title of a song I’ve been listening to for over ten years on my arm. It’s my promise to Harv that someday…I’ll fly with you.

Subscribe to Flourish in Progress on Bloglovin.
“Like” the Flourish in Progress Facebook page or follow along on Instagram (username: flourishinprogress) for mildy entertaining but mostly useless (t)hug life nuggets.