Hear me out before you start to panic. Moving to New York City is not the big mistake, however, so far mistakes that should be long omitted from my repertoire have been peeking their little heads up.
Human beings have many immunities that our bodies have conjured up in order to protect us from harm, however, fucking up is not one of them. No one is immune to making mistakes. Whether it be forgetting to pay a bill on time, being late for work, not locking the door when you rub one out and a family member comes in…the possibilities are endless and we’re all guilty. Even worse are big mistakes. Ones that the curse of personality masks with a layer of stubbornness causing a false interpretation of what is right and what is wrong. If you don’t realize this, you are ever doomed with a downward spiral in your life, career, and relationships…
I am the biggest perpetrator of masking my fears with stubbornness. I tend to have an idea of how something should be and don’t step outside the circle of comfort to just let things happen. For instance, I have not been attending regular open mics in the city as I felt I didn’t need to go through that process anymore. However, when show time came around, my lack of rehearsal and rust shown through as bright as the reflection of the sun off of Joan Rivers waxy face. I was very ashamed of myself for acting that way. Sure open mics are brutal, but the lack of reciting my set regularly proved to be even more brutal. Struggling to remember tags, transitions, punch lines, and entire jokes made me sick to my stomach (which to be honest isn’t that hard as I’m pretty squeamish.). The audience responded well to my act, however, if it were an audition spot at one of the bigger clubs I fear I would have been passed on immediately. What if it had been a show that counted toward something bigger? What if industry people had been there to scout out new talent? How the FUCK could I let this happen? I’ll tell you how, because I allowed my stubborn mask, whether I knew it or not, blind me and I paid the consequences for it. Oh, but that’s not all…
Let’s get hypothetical for a moment. I think it’s safe to say that the older one gets the more inclined they are to spend time with people closer to their age. More often than not they have a preconceived notion in their head that anyone, say seven or so years younger than them does not posses the maturity level to carry on a relationship regardless of its level. But who are we to make such a judgment without giving it a chance? Just because science dictates the brain’s full functionality is not finished developing until age 25 does not mean that someone who is 19-20 cannot match or exceed their older counterparts maturity level. Having these preconceived notions will only cause damage to what could have been something great, all because the “older” one was too blind, scared, and immature to just let it be. Now one is left to suffer for their mistake; and even if they choose to end the cycle, they still missed their opportunity unless said younger counterpart can forgive. This is one of the biggest mistakes one can make…hypothetically, of course.
New York City is a lonely place. Those who know me well would say that’s a perfect fit for someone such as myself, but making big mistakes makes it that much lonelier. The daily routine here consists of commuting beside thousands of people in a small aluminum box, though eye contact is seldom made. Most of the commuters are staring down or reading or drowning himself or herself in their iphone screen trying to figure out a way to get more lives on Candy Crush Saga without a connection to the Internet. Point A to point B, that’s all that matters.
People often accuse me of having an old soul, telling me I have wisdom beyond my years or that my hyper sense of awareness has caused me to break the fourth wall and expose our lives for the meta-fictional series of errors it really is, however these accusations prove false as I am just a boy. A boy who tries to make the decisions of a man and ends up making mistakes that may hurt the ones around me.
I suppose the moral of the story is don’t underestimate the amount of work it takes to be good at something, and don’t underestimate another human being because of a number, especially in a city where human interaction is all but an accident. Hopefully these lessons will help me be a better man, but in the words of every woman ever…”Men Suck.” I’m most definitely not immune to sucking…
You should write here more often. :)
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