Suspension

On Friday, I didn't go to work--I wasn't feeling well, and I already woke up late, so I texted my boss to let her know that I would be about 30 minutes late, and then she told me that she thought it would be good if I took a day to myself. I just finished up finals for my summer class, and I've been relatively busy, so I took her up on it. I went over to our apartment's pool because I hadn't gone swimming all summer--there was always something more important to do. The lifeguard looked like he could care less about pool safety, and the kids at the pool were on the shallow side, so I took my shirt off, and I jumped. And down there in the deep end, I let out as much breath as I could, and I floated down toward the bottom... gently abandoning the air above for whatever was resting down there, but I couldn't completely hit the concrete. I could feel my stopping point just inches below me, but I couldn't quite get down there: I was suspended--stuck somewhere between the top and the bottom.

And outside of being in the water, being suspended is one of the worst places in the world to be. My favorite definition, according to The Free Dictionary, of suspension is: a postponement as of a judgment, opinion, or decision. See pause. It reminds me of one of the most humanizing days of my life. The first time I ever watched someone die was the first time that I really ever understood what the definition of suspension was. Because as my friend and I took turns diving in to the Little River looking for this man neither of us knew, I would take these moments to just exist in the middle of the water--mostly because I was afraid of what would happen if I found him. We were diving to the bottom, stirring up all of the silt and the algae, so the water was thicker than smoke. I would dive and search, mostly feeling around for a stray hand or perhaps a foot... maybe a head, but to keep my sanity about me, I would also just wait. I would stop in the midst of the silt and pray that the river might pull me away... to someplace where someone wasn't dead, I guess. I suspended myself from life, and for the few seconds I did, I didn't have to be apart of a world that I didn't want to. But the last time that I dove in, I paused for too long; I found myself at the bottom of the riverbed without a single breath of air left in me, and I looked up to the top of the water, and I could see the blurriness of the sky. I grabbed at my throat and pushed as hard as I could toward the top, unsure if I would make it or not, and inside the goggles I could feel tears start to scorch the corners of my eyes. I had paused too long. I was caught in a point of suspension. I began to feel my throat close, but I wouldn't open my mouth--I refused to be the second body we were searching for, and once I finally made it to the top, I pulled the goggles off, and I said that I couldn't search anymore.
Within a minute, we found the body, and once it was pulled to the surface, I was the one who pulled him out. And that's when I watched him die--suspension was over. I think we knew that he was going to be dead within the first couple minutes of searching, but it's nothing that anyone wanted to say. And even in the less extreme cases, it seems that's the way it goes. We find ourselves suspended in every stretch and aspect of life, but it's never something we want to admit because we would rather live in the comfortable hysteria of life instead of figuring out a way to potentially deal with it. But for me, the only place that I can comfortably be suspended is, in fact, in the water. I sat there in the middle of the pool, letting all of my air out and waiting for my body to respond to what it wasn't getting--and that sounds morbid. It's morbid, isn't it? I wouldn't dare tell that to someone outright because I'm sure it sounds like I'm trying to off myself or something, but I feel like it's the opposite. I think the reason I let myself float in the middle of the pool, as what little air in my lungs decreases and decreases, is because I want to remember what it's like to value life so much. I want to be reminded of how scared I was to stop living because, as of late, I've been stuck in that metaphorical suspension--I've forgotten what it's like to want to live for something bigger.
I suppose it's something that happens to all of us from time to time, but for some reason, I've become so self-aware of it. I'm not the most conventional Christian that's ever existed, but at one point, I went to church every Sunday, and the only sermon that I remember is one about being comfortable. Our pastor, Corey, told us about how dangerous it is to be comfortable, and whenever you become comfortable with your life, you should take a moment to enjoy it, and then find a way to make yourself uncomfortable again because nothing gets done when you're comfortable. And I'm going to take a moment to step away from the Millennial stereotype and respond to all the people who are saying, What do you have to complain about? You're in a giant city with a great education and a job. And to that I would say, you're absolutely correct. By all standards, I have nothing to complain about because there are people in the world that have barely any of their needs met.
But no matter where you're at in life, we all have needs: we need to feel like we're alive or that we're working toward something with greater meaning than we understand now. For most of my peers, that's a spouse... or at least someone to share their lives with. And I respect that, and I guess I want it too, but not now. That's what makes the feeling of suspension more terrifying. When you're suspended with company, you don't feel as compelled to move--we're a species who loves company. That's why we throw dinner parties and call our friends when we're drunk. But when you're suspended, as if you can't breathe with everyone else, and their oxygen comes in the form of intimate relationships, you feel even lonelier. You have to make a choice: acquiesce to what is normal, or rather, should be normal... or you rise above the suspension. You find the bottom of the river or the pool or what-have-you, and you push harder than you ever have before... because you want to find the happiness you're searching for within yourself. If you can get to the top, there's got to be some other people up there who feel the same. They want to be excited about life; they want to work to achieve something bigger than they had ever imagined. And what makes us so essential to each other is that we want something that everyone else seems to be desperately trying to escape from: most of us like people, but right now, in this body of water and confusion, we want to find the answers we want inside of ourselves.
As I semi-drowned myself in the pool, the lifeguard who didn't originally look that interested in saving lives started taking notice of me. He eventually asked me to come out of the pool to show him my pool pass, which I think was his way of saying, Listen, I'm really not up for pulling your body out of the pool, so I'm going to need you to cut the shit. I didn't try and explain what I was doing to him because I don't feel like he would really get it: I wasn't trying to kill myself; I was just trying to remember exactly what it was like to be alive. I think we need to be reminded what it's like to be alive sometimes because if we aren't, we're just going to waste it. And the light at the top of the water may be the only light we see--we can't be sure that there's anything bright and shiny on the other side, but in my final moments as my respiratory system starts to seize and my brain begins to shut down and I float into that place where your body calms itself to pass peacefully, I want to know that I was reaching for that light. I want to know that the person I share the rest of my life with was right there, pushing for something more as well. I want to go out fighting.

You're a Libra, Aren't Ya, Darlin?

As an Aries, I know that the common characteristics of my astrological sign are some of the boldest and most extroverted of any of the other signs. My horoscopes are always black or white. At my last internship, we would sit and read them to each other, and Aries would always have something like, Today is the day you will meet the love of your life. Everyone will love you, and you will somehow win an Emmy. Go, Aries. or Today you will butt heads with people--you will tell them how worthless they are and alienate everyone in the process. Apparently, when it comes to an Aries, things are pretty cut and dry. But that's assuming that you believe in the powers of astrology. My roommate went on a date with a girl who believed in earth signs and astrology more than any religion in the world, so it obviously means something to at least a few people, and even if you don't believe per se, it always leaves a little bit of something in the back of your head: the astrology, the Tarot cards, the palm readings... the results can be pretty tempting.
And though I don't particularly believe in astrology, I also can't help but to agree with the characteristics that are associated with my sign: eager, impulsive, enthusiastic, optimistic, and "doesn't like to be bored." So that's why when I started feeling lonely and bored at a party last night, I knew that I had to use my Aries-ness to turn the situation around in my favor. Better yet, I knew that I had to you astrology to bring the attention back to where it belonged: with Aries. But before we talk about last night...
I'm no stranger in the mysticism circuit. My parents told me to stay away from Ouija boards, and the like. My dad told me to never deal with Tarot cards or palm reading or any of it, and their cautious fear of fortune-telling only made me think of it as a bit of a hoax. My brother Casey and I would go around the house mimicking Miss Cleo, announcing You're a Libra, aren't ya, darlin?! at every chance we got, and when she was brought up on charges of fraud and deceptive advertising, Casey and I were a little sad. Later on, I got my "relationship Tarot card reading" with a friend, so it was only a matter of time before I had to take the cards into my own hands.
While sitting in my freshman dorm, I was waiting on all my friends to come back from their Friday night plans. My night had ended especially early, so all I had was my scarf and a bunch of leftover paper from someone's abandoned art project in the lobby. So with nothing else to do, I borrowed a marker and scissors from a resident and I took the stars into my own hands. In a matter of minutes, I had transformed: I was Swami Justin. I wrapped my scarf around my head and arranged the cards on a small table in the lobby. As people began to walk in, I'd startle them with my forced Mediterranean accent, Oh darlin, you want your cards read, don't ya? It may have been in boredom or possibly just that inkling of curiosity we talked about earlier, but very few people could resist getting their cards read by the Swami. For my first attempt at channeling the future, I kept it pretty basic, with most cards being more of a humor piece than an actual Tarot card symbol. People loved it, and after three hours of disparaging cards referencing people that lived in our building, I hung up my turban and Mediterranean accent and called it a day. Even with my faux cards and ridiculous readings, I knew that my power with the unknown... well, it was too strong.
The swami within had been hibernating for almost five years, and then last night, he reared his ugly, mystical head. My roommates and I decided to go to our friend's house for a birthday party. I had trepidations about going before the weekend even came. I can usually tell when I will be annoyed with a situation before it even happens--we'll just include it in my psychic powers. And it wasn't long into the party that exactly that happened. After a couple rounds of shots and two different renditions of Rick Springfield's Jessie's Girl, everyone started to couple off. Being the self-indulgent person I am, by the time I realized that most everyone was missing, my pickings were slim. I eventually settled on someone who had adamantly protested, and failed, for everyone to go to "da club." After talking for a bit, mostly about her, I said I'd love to hang out with her sometime, and then she got really nervous and apologized a lot. Then as we walked downstairs, we had passed everyone who had been missing, and she told them about how awkward it felt for me to ask her out: a common obstacle that I imagine must be incredibly taxing for her.
I had lost control. The party was quickly spinning out of my social hands. Both of my roommates had disappeared into the night with their lady-friends, and that just left me, a pack of cigarettes, the girl who had become blatantly forlorn at the concept of us hanging out in the daylight, and a feeling... a feeling to change, or rather predict, the future.  I just had to wait. I knew that if I could bide my time, someone would come back downstairs, parched from all the necking and alcohol intake; they would need water, and I would pounce. So when someone walked onto the back porch with his lady friend, I knew I had found my target. Somehow, the conversation had turned to reading palms, and lady friend said, I've always wanted to get my palm read. I felt the Swami begin to take over, but I couldn't stop him. He announced, I can read palms.
After a couple minutes of reasoning as to why I read palms, including a story about how my dad's untimely death was predicted by a palm reader (for the record, I'm pretty sure my dad was sitting at home last night having a beer. I called him today, you know, to keep karma in check), I had finally convinced her that my powers were as real as any other psychic in the world. She asked me to read her palm, so I snatched her hand and held it in my own, softly caressing her palm while I tried to read her "energy." She watched attentively as I traced the wrinkles in her hand, only able to remember that the line from the base of the thumb to the pointer finger is called the "life line." I began to tell her about her life, coming up with the greatest generalizations that I could. I told her that she would have two marriages, one short, the other long, which was a line directly pulled from the book Eat, Pray, Love. Thanks, Ketut. Then, it happened. I traced her life line up and told her that it begins to fade toward the end, and the end of her life would be gradual, not sudden. Death obviously made Lady Friend nervous, and she said, Will I get sick? I responded, I don't know. And she followed with, Am I going to get Alzheimer's? And by this time, I was dizzy from all the power... I couldn't comprehend how this girl was hanging on my every word, so I simply responded, Yes. She jerked her hand away and started to become visibly upset... not with me, but with the damning future that her palm had given her. She looked at her hand as if it had just slapped her in the face. Damn the future! Damn that hand.
As she became more upset, I worried that the jig was up. Someone was going to do me in, I just knew it. Enough people had shown up at this point that someone was going to do me in, so I just got quiet and waited for my inevitable fall. When people asked her what was wrong, she said, He figured it out! He read my palm, and now I'm going to have Alzheimers! I closed my eyes, waiting on someone to put me in my place when a girl walked up and said, I can't believe you can do it! Read my palm! And then I began going to from hand to hand, tracing lines and making up names like, "The Relationship Line," and "The Future Line." I had done it--goal achieved. I may have not gotten my mouth on anyone else's last night, but before the night was over, almost everyone was waiting for the next reading from my lips. The light was mine. My roommate walked up and said, If you can read palms, read mine. I could see the look in his eye, twinkling with a maliciousness that the other party guests didn't have. So I jerked his hand into mine, quickly ran my finger across his palm and said, Looks like you're going to die. Probably at 60. Sorry. Nothing could bring me down--I was simply a psychic, floating among the constellations at that point.
To finish off my astrological high, I texted as many friends from home as I could remember to let them know that the Swami had been resurrected with greater force than ever before... but just as fast as he appeared, he went into hiding again. I don't know when he will appear again, or where... maybe in the tea leaves, or through some kind of new medium, hopefully having to do with food. I can't say exactly where the power comes from, but I know that it's strong, and most of all, it brings the room's attention back to me. But honestly, it didn't take a psychic to see that that's what the future held.

A Dusting on New Year's

Well, congratulations, we did it. Unless you did something really bad, really fast, you've made it to 2013. It's a feat that we all kind of considered unlikely in the back of our heads (oh you tricky, Mayans), but in the face of apocalyptic threats and the other unfortunate things we've done up to this year, we've happened upon a year that wasn't supposed to be. For those of us who never really worried about the future, this New Year's doesn't mean that much, but for those of us who did things in the face of a potential world ending, you're responsible for correcting those boo boos and actually planning for a long term future.

New Year's has always had this vague importance in the back of my head because I love the idea of a fresh start. After you graduate, you don't get "new semesters" anymore, so you're left reaching for as many fresh starts as life will allow you. You can make these resolutions that probably will not be fulfilled, but it's cool because at least you took the time to realize there is something that can be improved upon. In my case, I always made big goals that ultimately went completely ignored about 17 hours into New Year's: massive weight loss, the dismissal of red meat, no sexual interaction with anyone at all. That is until recently when I decided to tackle resolutions that were more attainable, which includes but is not limited to: learning the Nicki Minaj part to "Bottoms Up," and watching every episode of Will and Grace.
But my greatest superstition surrounding New Year's is that the way you spend your New Year's Eve is representative of how the following year will play out. In my case, the superstition has always proven to be somewhat true, especially in the last couple of years. Last year, for instance, I spent the better part of my New Year's Eve at a fraternity party watching a freshman down an entire bottle of Jaegermeister, while I casually sipped on a couple of beers. In the final thirty minutes, I rushed home with a friend so that I watch the New Year's ball drop on television with my family. In return, I watched a decent number of people, including myself at times, party senior year away. Then, I entered the chaos of post-grad life, and just in the final moments of 2012, I have settled down enough to catch my breath.
But New Year's Eve has not always been so docile, and it's usually reflected in the year that followed it. My sophomore year of college, I went to a party at my friend's house; it was my first year I had ever spent New Year's away from my parents and brother. I was intoxicated with the idea of running into a cute girl, talking by the beer cooler, and possibly... just maybe... getting that New Year's kiss that I had so desperately longed for ever since I found out that was what people do. My friend's attendees were not people that I was used to though considering that I was apt to get tipsy off the small amount of mouthwash I didn't spit out after brushing my teeth. I was the valedictorian of my graduating class and not well-versed on social decorum, so I immediately felt out of the loop. In between moments of Zak introducing me to his cohorts, I sat on the couch, channeling Dick Clark (may he rest in peace) and trying to hear the musical performances. I remember partially making a breakthrough after accidentally making a joke about Natty Light. When someone pulled it out of the cooler, I casually announced, Hey! That's what my Mamaw drinks all the time. It wasn't until I joined a fraternity that I understood the humor in the joke. Other than that, the night seemed to drag on.
Zak would always introduce me to his friends as "our valedictorian," then go on to tell people how smart I was and how I would go on one day to be a lawyer, which in essence was a complete lie, but whatevs. People seemed to be impressed until a stronger alcohol or cute girl came by, so I embraced it. By eleven o'clock, I had met just about everyone at the party, and I needed to go to the bathroom. I walked in and two people were in there... I know what you're thinking... you thought they were having sex, right?? Nah, just cocaine. The guy turned around from the bathroom counter and asked me if I wanted to do some blow, and without having the educational lyrics of Kesha (or Ke$ha, if you prefer the stylized version), I had no idea what to say. I quickly backed out of the door, falling over a bucket on my way out.
Soon after, I found Zak and told him that I was leaving without trying to explain my run-in with Johnny Depp and Penelope Cruz in the bathroom. I just wanted to escape quickly before the cops came and busted the snort-sesh happening just a couple rooms away. My dear acquaintance/pusher who really seemed to like me about ten minutes before came out of the bathroom, and I told him that I was leaving. Apparently, what you're not supposed to do is act sketchy or deny people who offer you cocaine. When I told him goodbye, he flipped out saying "Dude, you come up in here thinking your f*$&ing better than us?!" Then he lunged at me as if he were going to hit me. Zak immediately dove between us, and all I could think about was that I had somehow stumbled into a scene from The O.C. I had always considered myself the Marissa-type, but I just wasn't jiving with the idea of doing cocaine, or fighting someone who was doing it, for that matter. Eventually I escaped, but the year that followed proved to be as tumultuous as the night that ended the year before.
The night did teach me a lot. One time, my roommate in college did cocaine, and I remember what would happen if I tried to fight him on it, so when he came in rubbing his gums and announced that he had done coke in the back of a club in the Old City of Knoxville, I just kind of high fived him and told him it was cool. I Wikipedia-ed cocaine to make sure he wasn't going to die, then I made him watch Blow the next day as I spread pixie sticks all over our coffee table. But moreover, I learned that sometimes New Year's is best spent in doors.
People asked me what I would do with my first New Year's in DC, and what eventually happened is that I stayed in with my roommate, watched Carson Daly (oh how the times have changed), called my mom at midnight, then forced a neck nuzzle upon Andrew at midnight because I still haven't gotten that New Year's kiss. Eventually, I dominated an entire bottle of champagne, then I went to bed. No, I didn't party it up in DC, and I don't know what that night spells out for the rest of my year. From the sounds of it, it sounds like I'm just going to be chillin with one dude for the year, occasionally making trips to the gas station, and end the year drinking a lot by myself... but then again, the final night of the year has never been a literal translation, so there's still hope. No matter what, it's nice to know that this year contained a little less illicit drugs and a little more of my norm: friendship and wine.