The shoppers card, man, it’s the shoppers card

Standing in line at the grocery store with a carton of eggs under my left arm, a half gallon of ice cream in my hand with a loaf of bread balancing on top of it while I dig around my purse for my shoppers card.

This is my life.

Holding tight to the necessities, the nutrients, that I know I can’t go on without, mostly because, well breakfast…—the eggs.

Grasping hard onto the sweet things that I don’t necessarily need, I guess it’s more of a want, but let’s be real here, it’s a need—the ice cream.

All the while balancing what’s thrown at me, hoping it won’t fall, but if it does, it won’t be a catastrophic event, only some dings that can be squished back into place good enough for a sandwich—the bread.

A plastic card that represents “discounts” and “‘loyalty” is what makes things hairy. Implied loyalty, and the search of a good deal suddenly becomes more important than your health, your desires, and your opportunities. Placing such trust in your left arm, the less dominant one, the weak one, to search for a symbol of your crutch is what can fuck your shit up…The whole thing can come tumbling down, but still, you balance. You look like a damn fool, but you balance and search. Why? Because it’s important. We hold what we can, and search for the tool that will get us what we want. Because if we don’t go after what we want these items will only be that, items. Items that fill yourself up, take up room, and just stay there. They don’t have a purpose nor a direction. Not until you scan that shoppers card and get the $2.50 in savings for shopping there.

Not to piggyback on the successful credit card slogan that Samuel L. Jackson has hammered into our brains, but, what’s in your wallet?

the haze we see through

I’ll tell you what it’s all about.

As an adjective, casual is defined as: relaxed and unconcerned.

As a noun, it is defined as: a person who does something irregularly.

Comfy pant Saturday nights, drinking pumpkin beer on a cold fall day, festival hallucinogens, tie-die Fridays at work, hungover shower pees. It happens, casually.

Some human activities are meant to be casual. We can’t do everything in a concerned and tight manner, and people who have no irregularity are boring. But, keeping it chill translates into no strings attached which really is an excuse to live day by day which means that you really aren’t trying. Living casually is a way to get by. But when it comes to that part of the day when you find yourself alone, the ticking of the clock is the only song playing, you realize casual is what’s making your life hard. It’s keeping the goods at bay.  It’s too easy to be casual and to treat things as so. Causal feels good. Looks good. Intends to be good. But that moment when you treat what you want as casual, is the moment that you lose it. Because, some things should be treated with purpose and definition. Some things need to be grabbed by you with swagger and dignity. Because in the long run, casual can translate into indifference which can lead to carelessness, and all the while can let the things in your life that you could actually want slip right on through. It feels damn good acquiring something that you didn’t casually get.

Have casuals, but don’t live casually.

Live with purpose, and do casual things with people you enjoy…or by yourself. Act with pursuit, and casually boast about it.  Because it’s not about the things you did half assed and occasionally. When you’re old, you’re not going to remember what wasn’t important. You’re not going to remember the casual living. So, don’t let it consume your life. Don’t let it dictate your future. Don’t let the good things pass you by because they required more permanent and directive thinking.

Figure out what you want. Decide to get it. Feel it in your hands. Have it.

That’s what it’s all about.

 

 

 

It’s the ducks!

We’re all a bunch of phonies. As Holden Caulfield might say.

It’s about this time of year that I re-read my favorite book, Catcher in the Rye, by J.D. Salinger.

I can’t really tell you why it’s my favorite. Maybe it’s my copy of the book, which is older than me and the print looks like it’s been stamped on. Its spine is all cracked and the pages have turned a bit golden. The book is kind of about nothing, but then everything at the same time. If you’ve read it, you know what I mean, and for some reason I’m compelled to pick it up every year.

I think it’s because of Holden, the main character. I like the way he talks. He’s real, you know? Like he sees things as they are. No bullshit. Just people, life, and ducks— A conversation about ducks I think is the most interesting thing in the book. And I’ll let you in on something, it’s not that interesting. Like at all. BUT. It makes you think. About, ducks. About, why ducks? And then, usually, the next thought you have is something profound. It’s weird. It’s a weird book. Real though.

And let’s be real, people need to be more real. I see it everywhere all the time—people putting on faces that aren’t theirs. Cover ups that aren’t covering up shit, only making it more obvious. Say what you mean. Mean what you say. Know what you’re saying. Original thought is often easily misplaced when having a conversation. We react how we think we should too often rather than how we really feel. We reply with “I’m good,” when asked how we are because, well hell, what else are we going to say? This is us. Phonies. Because we are never just “good.”

So, learn something from Holden. Go find out where the ducks go during the wintertime, maybe.