(Un)Welcome Back
Like a heavy-stomping, perpetual-furniture-rearranging, up-all-night, untz-untz-bass-music-loving Upstairs Neighbor, the loudest tenant in Sam’s Mind this week has been Self-Pity (which has caused Sam to forget the normal Pleasantries when beginning a, supposedly, friendly conversation with someone he hasn’t spoken to in a week; indeed, Self-Pity is denying You the very simplest of How-Do-You-Dos; please excuse Me, Kind Reader).
You might wonder why. Why would Sam pity Self? Surely, Sam has millions of things to make Self Proud, including, of course, last week’s inaugural Periodic Newsletter/Journal/Column/Internet Thing (aka Thing #1).
But, with steadfast ease, Sam makes space in Sam’s Mind for Self-Pity—space enough that Self-Pity soon escalates the commotion into a party attended by Self-Deprecation, Doubt, Distraction, Panic and Fear. Why? Because Sam feels Pressure. Thing #1 put Pressure on Sam. Thing #1 established Sam as Writer. But Sam fears he cannot reproduce Thing #1 into Thing #Indefinite; Sam fears he cannot even produce Thing #2.
Sam feels, I am not Writer, I am Phony Imposter.
All that lecturing in Thing #1: You Are What You Do; The Writer Makes Himself Write; You Are Everything, Continuous... Pshhhhhh, smirks Self-Pity.
What a load of bologna! Self-Sabotage said in Thing #1. Self-Pity, loud tenant he is, will not be outdone. Self-Pity one-ups Self-Sabotage: What a load of BS, you Stupid Idiot-Head, you Incompetent [censored] Piece of [censored]!
A More Proper Introduction
You, Kind Reader, hadn’t yet met (Sam’s) Self-Pity. Why? Well, for starters, in Thing #1 You only met a small few of Sam’s many Voices In Head. But, also, more importantly, Sam forgot about Self-Pity while writing Thing #1. It’s part of the reason he was able to write Thing #1, that Thing #1 turned out (vaguely) successful.
This is a more proper introduction: Kind Reader, Self-Pity; Self-Pity, Kind Reader. Play nice, you two.
Now that’s out of the way, let me tell You about Self-Pity.
Self-Pity makes Sam forget… a lot.
Like that Sam is (Good) Writer.
Self-Pity makes Sam forget about all the Good Ideas he had for Thing #2. A continuation of Thing #1. Sam was going to continue… Everything, Continuous. And, in his Continuation, Sam was going to include… (almost) Everything: a heartbreaking Sylvia Plath quote and an inspiring Kendrick Lamar lyric, an analysis of Grit by Angela Duckworth, non-advice on Setting (Keeping) New Year’s Resolutions, a reference to the ancient philosophy of Skepticism contemporarily employed by Flat Earthers & Co., Transcendental Poetry and The (American) Civil War, an analysis of Corporate America, a juxtaposition of Buddhism’s Four Noble Truths and Christianity’s Psalm 23, and a poetic pulling-apart-to-piece-back-together of Plato’s Essence Of A Chair Theory… all in little old Thing #2. WOW it was gonna be Good. (But also… maybe… Too Much for little old Thing #2.)
Self-Pity makes Sam forget about all the Good Writing he’s done before starting This, too. Like that Poem-Thing about trying to appreciate the snowfall on a day like today, staring aimlessly out of this very window almost exactly a year ago.
Self-Pity makes Sam forget that he is Boss of this Thing. As Boss, Sam gets to make the rules about when he shares writing (or not). Sam can choose to be Tyrannical Boss or ply himself as the more modern, Kind Boss (which, scientific studies have shown, more often yields Better Results). Kind Boss can encourage Sam, hold Sam accountable, but not push Sam to the edge, not burn him out in Week #2 of Writing Indefinitely.
Instead, Self-Pity makes Sam write a not-so-good poem titled “Idiot, Idiot!”. (Good for Everybody, Sam has enough Self-Respect not to reproduce it Here.)
Aiming
Self-Pity tells Sam to do what Sam Does Best In Moments Like These: Retreat.
Retreat into Book. Sam has already tried Retreat into TV, Retreat into Phone and Retreat into Stress-Eating for the last 3 days and… that hasn’t exactly helped.
Sam Retreats into Book by Famed Recluse. But not Most Popular Book by Famed Recluse (the one referenced in Thing #1, whose protagonist buys Infamous Red Hunting Hat). Sam Retreats into Book by Famed Recluse whose Narrator is Self-Pitying Recluse. Self-Pitying Recluse Narrator is writing about (idolizing, martyrizing) his Jesus-Like Dead Brother. Sam reads and feels connection to Self-Pitying Recluse Narrator, even if Sam doesn’t have Jesus-Like Dead Brother (How boring are you! You don’t even have a biological brother who can die so you can metaphorically resurrect and idolize him like Jesus).
Sam guffaws at the beauty of Recluse’s writing. The Self-Awareness, the Honesty, the Truth. Sam thinks about how, maybe, all that Reclusiveness helped Famed Recluse write so beautifully, achieve that Self-Awareness, Honesty, Truth. Sam thinks how disgusted Famed Recluse might be, were Famed Recluse still alive, to see Sam, supposed Writer, selling Self out via Periodic Newsletter/Journal/Column/Internet Thing (albeit free); to see Sam Enterprising, instead of Becoming Serious Writer, developing craft into something Real, something Meaningful—like, for instance, Book As Good As Famed Recluse’s.
Self-Pity reminds Sam: Ah! But you will never write Book As Good As Famed Recluse’s, obviously. Famed Recluse is one of the Best, Ever. He has inspired millions of People. People have been so moved by his writing as to literally assassinate. You, on the other hand, have (barely) written Thing #1. You’ll never inspire millions. No one will ever kill for you. (Those of us not plagued by Self-Pity might have the wherewithal to say: Hey, wait a tick; Self-Pity, are you glorifying senseless, passionate murder?)
Obviously, Sam fails to find Inspiring Quote he’s looking for in Book by Famed Recluse. You can’t even read a book properly! Sam gives up. Sam gives in.
Aimless
Self-Pity can’t stop staring, watery eyed, for some reason, out the living room window at Little Red Bird House hanging outside Neighbor’s apartment.
Self-Pity pities Little Red Bird House. Hanging from a hook, uninhabited, see-sawing in the wind, shivering under cold, grey sky, dusted by wet, white snowfall.
Self-Pity pities all the Possible Lives that live in Little Red Bird House. Sam’s Mind has invented many over the 18 months Sam’s Mind has stared aimlessly, watery-eyed at Little Red Bird House, accompanied by Self-Pity and other Voices In Head, trying to summon the likes of Poet, Writer or some other Productive Being.
Self-Pity thinks of all the Different Light in which Sam has seen Little Red Bird House. No doubt, Sam has painted many different portraits of Little Red Bird House. Self-Pity thinks: How sad. You paint this. Stupid, meaningless, uninhabited Little Red Bird House. Monet painted beautiful, dramatic Rouen Cathedral. Scoffs. You call yourself an Artist…
Self-Pity shifts attention to Roommate. Roommate is blissfully listening to music on headphones, tapping fingers to the beat, reading Funny Internet Things, occasionally answering Work Email, collecting Salary while joyfully relaxing, reclining on the couch. Look at him, not a care in the world, acting like Life is soooo Perfect, lying there rubbing it in our face—what an A-hole!
An Objective Observer might say that Roommate is minding his own business; literally (figuratively) just hanging out. But there’s no Objective Observer, there’s only Self-Pity.
Self-Pity scoffs, You, on the other hand… and reminds Sam: You have no Work Email. You have no Salary. You have nothing. And yet, you have not even written Thing #2. What is wrong with you, Sam? Why can’t you write Thing #2? Why can’t you just do it, huh? Write Thing #2 already! What’s wrong with you?!
Self-Pity pauses, remembers he has many Tools in Tool Belt to deepen this wound. However, Self-Pity doesn’t even need to fish for Right Tool, he just picks up the first one he can find—Any Tool will do the trick. That’s right, you’re not Good Enough.
Self-Pity has done it once again: made Sam forget. Like, for starters, that he’s being (unfairly) Judgmental.
Self-Pity makes Sam forget that Roommate has Good Life but not Perfect Life. Roommate has his own Troubles. Roommate is not Blissfully Ignorant. Sam should actually be proud of Roommate, who is actually doing Awesome Thing and just Enjoying Life for a moment, not Pitying his Self like someone else…
Self-Pity makes Sam forget other things, too. Like: Sam decided not to answer to Work Email. While Work Email did pay (Good) Salary, Sam did not like who Sam was becoming, what Sam was Contributing To World via answering to Work Email. Self-Pity makes Sam forget: this is Life Sam Chose. Sam could get another Work Email, if Sam really wants Salary, but Sam wants to Write, remember?
Instead, Self-Pity reinforces to Sam that he has Imperfect Life and scolds Sam for sitting here, staring aimlessly at Nothing—a stupid, meaningless, uninhabited Little Red Bird House—with no Pen & Paper, even. Look at this, you’re not even Prepared, not ready to Seize The Moment, to Capitalize on Sam’s Every Thought! You Idiot! You could be writing about this! Whatever “this” is.
But Sam keeps staring aimlessly at lesser-version of Rouen Cathedral, this stupid, meaningless, uninhabited Little Red Bird House.
Eventually, staring aimlessly for Long Minutes, Sam somehow comes to Great Realization: I am pitying myself. And, instead of becoming Angry, continuing to feed Self-Pity (and the untz-untz party with Self-Deprecation, Doubt, Distraction, Panic and Fear) Sam simply Acknowledges Experience. Self-Pity…? Hey man. What’re you doing here? You’re not being very nice, you know. It’s funny, now that Sam Acknowledges Self-Pity, he’s forgotten what it’s supposed to do to him. It’s like Self-Pity
Eventually, Sam stands up, picks up Pen & Paper and, aimlessly, sits back down.
When Sam looks up, he sees it’s stopped snowing on Little Red Bird House; the sun’s brightened away the grey.
Little Red Bird House and Roommate literally (figuratively) just hanging out
Quote by Famed Recluse, though not the one Sam aimed for:
“Could you try not aiming so much?” he asked me, still standing there. “If you hit him when you aim, it’ll just be luck.” He was speaking, communicating, and yet not breaking the spell. I broke it. Quite deliberately. “How can it be luck if I aim?” I said back to him, not loud (despite the italics) but with rather more irritation in my voice than I was actually feeling. He didn’t say anything for a moment but simply stood balanced on the curb, looking at me, I knew imperfectly, with love. “Because it will be,” he said. “You’ll be glad if you hit his marble—Ira’s marble—won’t you? Won’t you be glad? And if you’re glad when you hit somebody’s marble, then you sort of secretly didn’t expect too much to do it. So there’d have to be some luck in it, there’d have to be slightly quite a lot of accident in it.”
(Italics by Famed Recluse—J.D. Salinger, if You hadn’t solved the mystery—not This Writer)
References + More
Book by Famed Recluse: Raise High the Roofbeam, Carpenters & Seymour by J.D. Salinger (almost all references come from Seymour; including the long “Aiming” quote, which appears on page 236)
Inspirational quote in Seymour I was aiming to use but (due to Self-Pity, Impatience) gave up looking for and, instead, Googled and could only find fragmented: it starts and finishes with "all your stars out"; the heft, skipped-over in that first link is in what Seymour “was smiling at” … but, if you have the Book (and Time) I recommend reading the whole quote from 185-187, and, even, the whole Book.
Scientific studies on being Kind Boss are plentiful; though not super-modern this Harvard Business Review article from 2014 is both Comprehensive and also Edible for those of us not wanting to read thousands of words on the subject
Monet’s Rouen Cathedrals were part of his exploration of Light & Mood via Series (the critic Gustave Geffoy wrote about these Series that Monet translates “the tremblings of the atmosphere”)
References to Good Ideas for Thing #2 will be reserved for, possibly, future “print”