Little Darling, I Feel That Ice Is Slowly Melting, Little Darling, It Seems Like Years Since It's Been Clear, Here Comes The Sun, Here Comes The Sun
--"Here Comes The Sun" (cover) - Nina Simone
When I was fifteen there were three things I told myself I would never do--I would never drink, I would never smoke, and I would never do drugs. I rationalized it that it was a healthier lifestyle and that I didn't need any of these three things to make my life better. In some respect that may have been true, but the real reason I didn't ever wanted to get started on any of those vices was because at an early age I recognized I had a problem getting obsessed about things. From collecting memorabilia to watching television, when I found something that pleased me I almost invariably did it to excess. This was all well and good when it was something mundane like buying Magic: The Gathering cards. That may have made me broke, but it wasn't going to kill me. Any of those three things, however, if I got hooked, it very well might have.
I started drinking rather late. Breanne had been introduced to her first taste of alcohol at eleven or twelve. It took me till I had just turned twenty-one to take my first sip. But even then it was always one or two drinks to last me five, six, or even seven hours. I wasn't anywhere close to being buzzed, let alone drunk.
It took until 2004 and I went to Dallas with my cousin Vincent to have my first taste of really getting trashed would be like. I don't know why I did it, but I think it had something to do with the fact that I have no real reason to be afraid of getting drunk except fear. I got tired of telling myself it was strictly a health reason when everything about me--getting to the gym less often than I should, eating absolutely horrible things, and visiting the doctor about as often as Hailey's Comet--testified I really wasn't a big health nut. I got tired of just being afraid to do something because of what may happen to me. So, yeah, I get obsessed about things, but that time, during that trip, I decided that at some point I would have to grow up. At some point in my life I would have to learn self-control and it might as well start with an activity that was fun and socially accepted.
I can't say I ever started drinking like a fish, but, more often than not now, I'll order a beer or two with dinner. Also, every so often, I'll really cut loose and get into my bourbon. I've learned to moderate myself and I think I've pretty handily overcome my fears when it came to drinking and getting drunk.
Last week, I faced another test when Carly invited me down to her town to hang out. She mentioned something about going to a hookah bar, a concept I was totally unfamiliar with. I agreed to it anyway because I trust her judgment implicitly--probably more than I should, but she's yet to steer me wrong.
That night the two of us went to dinner, talked, did some shopping and generally had a good time. Yet the whole time in the back of my mind I was visualizing how I'd excuse myself out of actually going through with the smoking. I didn't want to disappoint her or seem like a total prude, but I'd yet to overcome the stigma that smoking still held for me. Even more than drinking I was sure, dead sure, that I would never even try smoking anything. It didn't hold any interest for me. It didn't look like very much fun. I didn't want to get caught up in that scene.
As the night went along and I grew more comfortable being around her again, it became less important to me to hold onto my high moral ideals and more important for me to not let the fun end.
When the time came to start smoking the mixed berry-flavored smoke, I was hesitant at first. It irritated my throat. I kept having to drink water in between puffs. It didn't look to be something I was going to enjoy. I just hoped I didn't bring down the conversation with my obvious lack of ability. For her part, Carly never said word one about how clutzy I was or how I uncomfortable I seemed. I kept at it, though, because this was something she liked to do and I really did want to give it its due diligence. I wanted to be able to tell her that I gave it a fair shot and that it wasn't for me.
After the first hour passed and I was still at it, I began to realize it wasn't that bad. Once I got used to it, it really was an interesting social activity. Sitting around the table, sharing smokes with one's friends, engaging in good conversations, wasn't the worst waste of my time I've ever experienced--far from it. In actuality, it was one of the most stress-free nights I've had in a long while.
After the second hour I couldn't even remember how awful those first few minutes were.
Into the third hour, the night began to wind down and I realized I'd survived my first smoking experience. I didn't keel over. I didn't have to be rushed to the hospital. I'd made it through the other side.
More than that, though, I came to the realization that there are a lot of experiences that I've closed myself off to without a really good reason why. I've been shy to jump into things that I don't know about and I've been stand-offish to a lot of friends and family members who only wanted me to open up a bit more.
Sure, it may have just been another case of a pretty girl talking me into doing something I thought I was dead set against, but I don't think that's quite it. I think it has more to do with the fact that I'm not some scared fifteen-year-old any more. I'm old enough to realize that there a lot of mistakes I haven't made yet and to try avoid messing up is no way to live your life. It's a lot more enriching to sample everything life has to offer, even if it means a few bad clams here and there, instead of only sticking with what you know. Sure, you'll be a lot safer that way, but I don't think that's really living.
Sometimes you've got to ask yourself if the juice is worth the squeeze before you do anything... and sometimes you've just got to squeeze anyway.
Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers
When I was fifteen there were three things I told myself I would never do--I would never drink, I would never smoke, and I would never do drugs. I rationalized it that it was a healthier lifestyle and that I didn't need any of these three things to make my life better. In some respect that may have been true, but the real reason I didn't ever wanted to get started on any of those vices was because at an early age I recognized I had a problem getting obsessed about things. From collecting memorabilia to watching television, when I found something that pleased me I almost invariably did it to excess. This was all well and good when it was something mundane like buying Magic: The Gathering cards. That may have made me broke, but it wasn't going to kill me. Any of those three things, however, if I got hooked, it very well might have.I started drinking rather late. Breanne had been introduced to her first taste of alcohol at eleven or twelve. It took me till I had just turned twenty-one to take my first sip. But even then it was always one or two drinks to last me five, six, or even seven hours. I wasn't anywhere close to being buzzed, let alone drunk.
It took until 2004 and I went to Dallas with my cousin Vincent to have my first taste of really getting trashed would be like. I don't know why I did it, but I think it had something to do with the fact that I have no real reason to be afraid of getting drunk except fear. I got tired of telling myself it was strictly a health reason when everything about me--getting to the gym less often than I should, eating absolutely horrible things, and visiting the doctor about as often as Hailey's Comet--testified I really wasn't a big health nut. I got tired of just being afraid to do something because of what may happen to me. So, yeah, I get obsessed about things, but that time, during that trip, I decided that at some point I would have to grow up. At some point in my life I would have to learn self-control and it might as well start with an activity that was fun and socially accepted.
I can't say I ever started drinking like a fish, but, more often than not now, I'll order a beer or two with dinner. Also, every so often, I'll really cut loose and get into my bourbon. I've learned to moderate myself and I think I've pretty handily overcome my fears when it came to drinking and getting drunk.
Last week, I faced another test when Carly invited me down to her town to hang out. She mentioned something about going to a hookah bar, a concept I was totally unfamiliar with. I agreed to it anyway because I trust her judgment implicitly--probably more than I should, but she's yet to steer me wrong.
That night the two of us went to dinner, talked, did some shopping and generally had a good time. Yet the whole time in the back of my mind I was visualizing how I'd excuse myself out of actually going through with the smoking. I didn't want to disappoint her or seem like a total prude, but I'd yet to overcome the stigma that smoking still held for me. Even more than drinking I was sure, dead sure, that I would never even try smoking anything. It didn't hold any interest for me. It didn't look like very much fun. I didn't want to get caught up in that scene.
As the night went along and I grew more comfortable being around her again, it became less important to me to hold onto my high moral ideals and more important for me to not let the fun end.
When the time came to start smoking the mixed berry-flavored smoke, I was hesitant at first. It irritated my throat. I kept having to drink water in between puffs. It didn't look to be something I was going to enjoy. I just hoped I didn't bring down the conversation with my obvious lack of ability. For her part, Carly never said word one about how clutzy I was or how I uncomfortable I seemed. I kept at it, though, because this was something she liked to do and I really did want to give it its due diligence. I wanted to be able to tell her that I gave it a fair shot and that it wasn't for me.
After the first hour passed and I was still at it, I began to realize it wasn't that bad. Once I got used to it, it really was an interesting social activity. Sitting around the table, sharing smokes with one's friends, engaging in good conversations, wasn't the worst waste of my time I've ever experienced--far from it. In actuality, it was one of the most stress-free nights I've had in a long while.
After the second hour I couldn't even remember how awful those first few minutes were.
Into the third hour, the night began to wind down and I realized I'd survived my first smoking experience. I didn't keel over. I didn't have to be rushed to the hospital. I'd made it through the other side.
More than that, though, I came to the realization that there are a lot of experiences that I've closed myself off to without a really good reason why. I've been shy to jump into things that I don't know about and I've been stand-offish to a lot of friends and family members who only wanted me to open up a bit more.
Sure, it may have just been another case of a pretty girl talking me into doing something I thought I was dead set against, but I don't think that's quite it. I think it has more to do with the fact that I'm not some scared fifteen-year-old any more. I'm old enough to realize that there a lot of mistakes I haven't made yet and to try avoid messing up is no way to live your life. It's a lot more enriching to sample everything life has to offer, even if it means a few bad clams here and there, instead of only sticking with what you know. Sure, you'll be a lot safer that way, but I don't think that's really living.
Sometimes you've got to ask yourself if the juice is worth the squeeze before you do anything... and sometimes you've just got to squeeze anyway.
Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers
posted by mojo shivers @ 2:17 AM
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