Sup friends, family, and future folk, I have returned from the depths of my desk where I serve the public. Its kind of weird because when I was younger, I told myself that I never wanted to sit at a desk, but here I am... sitting at an (ergonomically correct) desk.
This isn't some weird horror story where I sit at this desk for 35 years and retire as a jaded old white man who has a farm in the country where I breed little murderous horses that only attack on the second Friday of the month during golden hour so they look great for Instagram (please help me Kickstart this b movie that I am trying make more appealing to a new demographic (small town farmers who are cross breeding animals for new age cute internet memes)).
This isn't some heartwarming story about how I worked a mundane job, but all of a sudden we were allowed dogs in the workplace and everyone's hatred slowly dissipated (working title: WorkBud).
This story is more like the story of the horse from Horsin' Around, and beloved Netflix celebrity, BoJack Horseman. Its real. Or at least it feels real. Its one of those weird twisted moments where on the outside, everything looks like. But it doesn't feel right.
Imagine eating Chinese leftovers that you forgot to put in the fridge two days ago, and think about how that feels. It tastes great, you are satisfied with the crispiness of the Chow Mein noodles dripping in black bean sauce. But moments later, as you run to the closest bathroom, you realise that your feeling of satisfaction is only temporary. And as you sit on the porcelain throne, the reality of what you have done starts to settle in and you vow never to step foot into Yang Sheng Chinese Takeout after 10PM ever again.
For a while, I adopted this two-day-old Chinese food mantra. Satisfying in the present, and worry about the rest later. I'm always told that I have to live fast, die young, bad girls do it well (okay, maybe not that part but I wanted you to read that in MIA's voice). Cause a life without regrets is a life not lived...right?
Regrets, I've had a few. And I don't really see anything wrong with that. If I didn't regret things, how would I motivate to do the things I did once regret? If regret didn't exist, why would I even try new things? If I lived a life without regrets, would I regret that on my deathbed? Is regret a fucking walking paradox?
I can name three things off the top of my head that I regret more than anything else in the world:
- Not taking enough pictures with my parents as a kid. They are adorable even though the selfie is a concept that can escape them from time to time.
- Not taking a gap year. I had no idea what I was doing in school. I've graduated and I have no idea what I did in school.
- Not watching Friday Night Lights earlier in my life because Coach Taylor has spit some real shit for five straight seasons. What Would Coach Taylor Do (WWCTD) is a way of life.
These are just off the top of my head as I sit here at my ergonomically correct desk. I do this a lot actually. I sit at this same desk, look at the same picture of my nephew and just thinking about Metamodern Sounds in Country Music.
So what has sitting and thinking at this desk (which is ergonomically correct, if I may add) taught me since May 30th? Regret is almost inevitable. But regret is temporary.
Why? Because I am 22, sitting here, trying to survive capitalist culture at a job that I never thought I wanted. Do I regret this? I used to. Then I realised I was in transit. That where I am now, is not where I will be forever. How do I know? It's because I'm 22. Twenty. Fucking. Two.
Friends, family, futurefolk, live a life full of small regrets. Live a life where you eat that leftover Chinese food that's been out for two days. Try and breed killer Instagram-able horses. Try having a TV show that was famous in the 90s. And it if doesn't work, you just realised what you don't want to do. So try and not do it again. Can't break the habit of never-ending regret? Watch Friday Night Lights. Why? Because I just want a friend to talk to about it.
CLEAR EYES, FULL HEARTS, CAN'T LOSE
ps. did you know Golden Girls was suppose to be called Miami Nice?