One day, I went for a walk

I don’t remember what day it was that I quit my job, because that was also the day that I decided I don’t particularly care for calendars. I do remember, however, that the day began quite ordinary, without any foreshadowing of what was to come. Some days that are ordinary are nearly too ordinary, a quality which alludes to something life changing on the horizon. However, this day wasn’t like that at all, there was no indication of the great change underway. 

I woke up at a reasonable hour, and laid tangled in my blankets for a few minutes, watching the timid,gray light peer through my window. While I didn’t have much desire to leave my bed, even though it wasn’t especially comforting, I did anyway. I rose with the same mild reluctance as I did every morning, placing my feet on the frigid floor, which I had stopped being alarmed by long ago. I showered, not paying much attention to the feeling of the water on my skin or the scent of the shampoo in my hair. I brushed my teeth and, without much interest, observed my mostly expressionless face in the mirror. I left my towel on the bathroom floor, my toothbrush in the sink, and then returned to my room to dress in clothes that I didn’t care about enough to dislike, but that didn’t excite me in any way. The clothes were the sort of thing that I was supposed to wear according to the observations I made about how the other women at my office dressed. Certainly they were adequate enough, and functioned as clothes should. However, I felt no joy when I put them on that morning, as I did every morning. I hardly felt anything at all, besides dull acceptance. And anxiety. Anxiety that was with me at all times, an emancipated hand that constantly rested on my shoulder, or caressed the nape of my neck with its narrow fingers. An anxiety that reminded me of the ceaseless effort I had to supply in order to gain the approval of other people, and that despite this effort, I would still never be sufficient enough to be truly loved. Anxiety that made me acutely aware of all the time I was wasting, but yet made me feel as if there was nothing I could do about it. Anxiety that told me, in malicious words, that I had no control over my life and that always weighed my existence against that of someone else, comparing my progress to that of a traveler on a different journey than mine .Anxiety that manifested itself in pure exhaustion, a depletion of energy and joy. I knew none of this then, as I believed this feeling was the inherent nature of life. Because when you’ve been sitting in a dark cave your entire life, waiting in distress for someone else to turn the light on, you don’t realize that the switch is right beside you. You just do as you think you’re supposed to, praying for illumination. Let’s say somebody did eventually turn the light on for you, then you’d be indebted to them. The enlightenment you would have gained would not have been without a cost, the price being your peace. It’s so painful to wait for something better that may never arrive, or may turn out to not be that good at all. That’s why when trapped in a cave, you have to choose from the few available options of benefit. You must either find the light, start a fire, or learn to be happy in the dark. 

That morning, I opened my bread box to find that the bread was moldy. I always bought the white bread (even though I like whole wheat better) in order to save some of the money that I made at my job, which I didn’t enjoy, but used to pay for my apartment that I didn’t like. “Huh,” I thought to myself as I took a knife and scrapped off the mold. I toasted it for a few minutes and then put on a rather measly square of butter, and ate it while staring at the crack in the plaster of my kitchen wall. I’d been meaning to get that fixed for a while…How long had it been? I don’t know, and perhaps it’s good that I never remembered, because I’m certain that I would have been terrified by the amount of time I spent living in that apartment.  

I walked out the front door and went to work, not taking time to pay attention to the scenery. Had I looked around me instead of in front of me, I would have realized that there was so much beauty in the world that day. It wasn’t as if the conditions were perfect or it was my favorite weather, but the fact that it was morning and things were living is always more than enough. But yet, I walked with my head tilted slightly downwards, thinking of what an annoyance it would be to have to go into the office and make meaningless small talk with my coworkers, and fake excitement for the approaching staff party. Regardless, I went inside the office, set down my unattractive, discount purse and then discovered my “friend” (A woman named Janice who I actually didn’t like very much. Her constant chatter made me uncomfortable. Besides, the first day I met her I immediately noticed how much prettier she was than me, and I decidedly resented her, maybe even hated her, for that) and we went outside to sip bitter, stale coffee from our thermoses and smoke. I hate cigarettes because they remind me of my father and gas stations, specifically the smell of diesel, but I smoked regularly because I thought some people might look at me smoking and think I seem exciting. I don’t know if this ever happened or not, but I’ve also since stopped caring what other people see when they look at me. 

I worked at a place that I believed to be unremarkable in every sense of the word, for a boss who’d I’d never actually seen before. I had, however, heard his voice, so in my mind he was a faceless, silhouette with a distinct sound. His voice was like radio static; discomforting, flat, manufactured. I worked in a position that I thought to be entirely void of fulfillment, that lacked much power or purpose. On that morning, I had just been about to sit down and begin my extensive list of mundane tasks, when I briefly thought of the mold on my toast. All of the sudden I found myself still on my feet, walking with a confident stride towards the front desk, as if bewitched by some peevish sprite or omnipotent force. 

Without defiance or contempt, I addressed the woman who worked at the desk, and said simply “I quit.” 

She looked slightly taken back, perhaps not by the statement but rather by its toneless delivery. “Oh,” she said with slight confusion”You’re quitting?” 

I had a short moment of reflection, before saying with both surprise and nonchalance,”I guess so.”

“Well, I suppose this will be your two weeks notice then,” the woman said, pursing her pale lips”And you’ll have to fill out some paperwork. I’ll go grab it for you from the back.” 

“Okay,” I replied. Then I shrugged and walked out the door, not minding her calling after me. She didn’t know my name, even though I was almost positive she was the one who showed me around on my first day and I’d been invited to her Halloween party, so she just shouted”Lady!Lady!” However, she didn’t care enough to follow me out the door. 

I walked for quite a while, not for an exceedingly long time but still long enough to get far away from the office. Oddly enough, on my walk I didn’t consider what I’d just done, or where I was going for that matter. I just took bounding, aimless steps around the city, remembering how when I first moved to the city, I’d been thrilled by the idea that if I wanted to, I could simply step out the door and walk until nobody recognized my face, completely lost in someplace where nobody would care if I found my way home. Somehow this excitement over the enormity of the city had dissipated, and in its place there was a steely stone of fear and crippling insecurity. I suppose it’s like how when we were children there was an excitement for everything; chasing bubbles, dancing barefoot in sprinklers, sliding down the stairs on your butt ( a much less efficient way to get where you were going, but one more worth the while). We lived without fear of stupidity or judgment. We lived exercising our human right to a truly liberated life, a right in which I believe has been violated for everyone by everyone to different extents. Instead of living for other people, we lived for our own sweet, dizzying joy without harming anybody else, no obligations or complications to hold on to things that hurt us but rather letting them go simply because they hurt us, no further reason necessary. Now, as an adult, most people might call such a way of living unproductive or selfish, but I call it peace. Because that’s another thing I don’t particularly care for; being concerned with the opinions of others. Of course, it’s good to have people view you in a flattering light, but just the same it’s good to let them be wrong about you. If you are happy in yourself, then you have nothing to prove. 

Although I walked for a long time, I eventually found my way home somehow. When I got there, to this apartment I didn’t like very much with neighbors I didn’t know, I looked around. I’d always been somewhat disgusted with how my apartment looked, everything about it was unappealing to me, from its boring, rectangular windows to its jagged door frames. It wasn’t the sort of place that people would want to take pictures of or describe as their dream home, and it wasn’t mine either. So I gave a soft chuckle, and I said to myself“I don’t want to be here forever, but that doesn’t mean I can enjoy this as it is now.” With that, I turned on some music, old music, the sort of music that feels so encompassing and real, nearly tangible, as if you could sink your teeth into it and the song would stick to the top of your mouth like peanut butter and honey. I scoured the cabinets for any sort of edible ingredients, and went to work producing something that ended up having some resemblance to banana bread. It probably didn’t taste the best, but I hoped that I’d put in enough chocolate chips to make it enjoyable. I made two trays and left them on the door steps of each of my next door neighbors, with a sticky note with a smile reading “From you friend in apartment 74.” 

Then I went back inside my apartment, opened the window, laid down in bed, and slept until the day broke at its back, bleeding into night. I woke up the next morning both calm and elated, and went into the bathroom and cleaned everything. I decided that although my things weren’t the prettiest things, they still deserved to be taken care of, to be appreciated and loved, and by doing that, by appreciating and loving them, they became beautiful to me. I spent a minute looking in the mirror and thought to myself that I looked pretty, a feeling which I smiled at. In the past, I’d only ever felt pretty if someone told me so. But when I looked in the mirror then, I decided that I no longer needed people to see me, but that my own understanding of myself was enough. After that, I took a shower, savoring the consistency in which the drops of water rolled down my body and the smell of my shampoo, which delighted me as I realized it was sort of like honeysuckle. I got dressed in what I wanted to wear, which wasn’t exceptional or spectacular, but comfortable and authentic to how I was feeling. I left my house, noticing the radiance of the dawning sun. I felt no need to claim the view as mine or take a picture of it, but was rather just grateful to exist alongside it. While watching the sky I considered how tragic it was that humans observe nature with such scrutiny. The term “evolution” is a word people use to describe growth in nature, however humans generally forget that we are part of nature too, and must also evolve or be stunted. Then, I went into the local grocery store, giving people genuine smiles as I saw them approaching towards me down the isles, and picked up a large carton of ice cream, which I took home and ate for breakfast. For the next eleven consecutive days, I ate ice cream for breakfast, and probably would have for much longer if it weren’t for the pain in my stomach. After a sharp contraction in my abdomen, I decided that toast was still alright sometimes too, and went back to the store, where I bought a large loaf of whole wheat bread. 

 I don’t know how long I stayed home. I read books, some of which were remarkable, compelling pieces of literature and others not so much (I endured one novella about an innocent college student and a business tycoon/gang leader. The book was 50 percent sexual innuendos, 50 percent sex), created art that was, if nothing else, endearing in it’s ugliness, and wrote seemingly “unimportant” things down (what I did with my afternoon, a list of restaurants I’d never been to but wanted to visit, the description of a dog I’d seen trotting past my house who stopped to explore the grass), attempted to cook non poisonous food, and went for lingering walks. During this time,I looked at pictures of beautiful women, the sort of women that I once wanted to be. I now realized that I could still admire these people without feeling envious of them, but rather just appreciating their goodness without seeing it as a threat to my own. 

Eventually, I did return to work, as in my solitude I discovered the uncomplicated fact that I love people, and I love being kind to people. I walked into the office with a beaming smile on my face. I told the receptionist that if my job was still available, I had decided to return. She asked me why I was smiling so much, if I was high. If I had wanted to be really obnoxious, I could have said “Yes, high on life.” which would have been true, but still slightly annoying, the sort of thing a dread locked, weed scented hippie would say. But instead I said something that was equally true”No. As a matter of fact, I’ve never been more grounded.” After some persuasion, and paperwork, I did get my job back on account of all my dedicated years of work. Work which sure, was tedious and at times infuriating, but also stable. I didn’t want to stay at that job forever, knowing that my capabilities and purpose were beyond stapling papers and answering phones, but also knowing that it was important for getting me where I wanted to go, and that it didn’t have to be a miserable experience. So, on my first day back, I went up to Janice with true excitement to see her again, and told her how I had always thought she was so beautiful. For once, she fell silent, and contemplated me with wide eyes. “Really?” she questioned”I always thought you hated me.” To which we both roared with laughter, and since then we’ve been real friends. I’m no longer very bothered by her seemingly endless talking, remembering that there is no harm in having a lot to say, and that what may be considered “faults” are the product of narrow perception. 

I no longer see time in terms of numbers, or even seasons, but rather distinguish it by the periods in which I’ve hurt and healed. I do wheelies with the grocery cart, I run on the side of the road, and I cry when I feel like I need to or want to. I love hearing about people’s days, and watching steam rise from the warm earth on rainy afternoons, and looking fondly at strangers, and going to bed early and staying up late and taking bugs outside of my house instead of hurting them and keeping my room clean but not feeling shame if it’s messy, and looking around as I walk. I’ve also come to know that one of my greatest goals in life is to be gentle enough that if I go into the forest, the animals will trust me.  

One day at twilight, there came a soft rain. The street wasn’t busy and there was a large puddle in the middle of the road, so I pounced on it, laughing all the while. I began spinning, arms out, giggling because it felt like I was winding up for some sort of take off. While spinning, I overheard the conversation between two strangers standing on the damp street corner. 

“God, look at her. Who the fuck does she think she is, huh?”

“Clearly somebody who doesn’t care who the fuck you think she is.” 

And that made me smile.