For What It's Worth

Good News

I've been so remarkably busy up to this week. A trip to New York City that was a huge ordeal in and of itself, the subsequent trip to Baltimore ended up being a bigger ordeal and finally the trip to Raleigh for SoJam, which was an eye-opening experience to say the least, have all kept me reasonably busy for the past month or so. I've been around people most of the time, feeling important and necessary and all of that. Most of my duties at SoJam could only be completed by me, and there was a really rewarding feeling of having done something that others can't do, which adds to personal value.

But now that all of that is done- the traveling is done, the interactions are over and the duties fulfilled, I'm back in VA still in between jobs and now, more than ever, so lonely.

There's a strange penitential quality to my life here. Since being here, things in my family situation have all turned towards the remarkable worst. I got a job, then had to leave the job because of family situations. Have no money. Have no real goals.

But more than that, I feel, in some sense, as if I'm paying an emotional price for something I've done. I feel it more in a social sense, as if I'm being forced to be alone because it's something that the powers that be know I handle less eloquently than most things. In my previous few years, I've thrived almost entirely on my ability to entertain, my ability to exist as a social being, my talent at grasping and holding attention. Now, none of those talents matter in the least. They aren't helping me get a job, they aren't helping me find friends, they aren't affecting my musical work, and they aren't making me (independently, at least) happy.

How trite and cliche this tired old internal dialogue seems to me now. I've spent years- literally years- in which I've agonized daily over this same confusion about self worth. I've wasted so much time finding worth solely based on my own abilities, but I realize now that my friends and acquaintances have taken the same place that my romantic relationships used to fill. I need them to feel worthy and necessary, and the sooner I can detach myself from that unhealthy co-dependency, the sooner I can fully participate in the stupid business of 'finding myself'. Blah blah blah.


I got towed in Baltimore last weekend. It was actually early Monday morning- I went downstairs to walk to Peabody and meet Jeefy for class when I noticed that my car wasn't there. I had intended to leave Monday afternoon, but after calling the towing place, I knew that I wasn't going to be able to come up with the $265 in one day- they didn't take credit cards and were about seven miles out of downtown towards the East end, which is, to paint the picture, the backdrop for the show 'The Wire'. I finally figured out the money for Tuesday morning, but most city offices were closed for Election Day. I ended up not being able to leave until Wednesday.

My time in the towing office was terrible. I firmly believe that for people like me, that place is what Hell would be like. Hours of waiting in an unreasonably small, poorly circulated office, with angry, tight-lipped, hairsprayed clerks mindlessly and emotionlessly vomiting the same infuriatingly calm, scripted responses. The number I drew when I entered remained perpetually five or six more than the number on the electrical counter, and each new person headed up to the window leaving more upset than the last. When I finally did get called, the rude, loud-mouthed woman who dealt with me informed me that because I 'waited' an extra day, the fees had gone up thirty dollars. No amount of haggling could dissuade her from charging me extra for the Election Day time, and because I had to pay cash, I was short the thirty dollars. She told me to come back to the window when I'd found it.

These two guys were a window down, claiming a junked auction car, and they heard what was going on with me. They were both shorter than me, both layered for the cold, both dirty and unshaven (mechanics, would be my guess), and were having their own set of issues with their respective clerk. After the woman upset, I stormed outside and sat on the step trying to figure out what to do. One of the guys came out and asked me how much money I was short, I told him, and he mentioned how shitty it was. Then he left.

About half an hour later, he pulled up in his pick-up truck and hollered for me to come to the window. He asked me again how much I was short and then pulled $40 out of his wallet and gave it to me. I told him that I couldn't possibly accept it, but he told me that he could tell that I wanted to leave Baltimore, that he could see I was having a hard day, and that he had it to give so I should take it. I asked for his phone number and his address so I could pay him back, but he declined and told me to 'pay it forward'. I told him my name was Christopher, he told me his was Mike, and he drove off.

I paid for my car, got it back, and called my friend to tell him what had happened. Then, I sat in my car and sobbed for about five minutes, because even though I'd had such a terrible experience with it all, God literally provided me what I needed and showed me that there are still genuinely kind people in the world. I didn't think that things like that still happened.

I only write about this because I think on it now when I feel lonely and gross. There are people for me, and they're around- where I am in life is largely about circumstance, and it will hopefully change soon.

I should write more. I'm having a hard time organizing my thoughts the way that I used to.