2017.06.25 Aches, Music, and Assorted Whining
The two questions a person can find themselves bouncing between are:
- Who am I, really?
- Who do I want to be?
Now, theoretically, by the time you've reached your 40's, it's generally assumed that most of #1 should be pretty well established by then such that one should be well underway focussing on #2. Mind you, this also assumes that one hasn't been too precocious about coming up with answers for #2, such that one runs awfully afoul of the answers from #1. Anyway, my actual point is that the review of #1 never actually goes away. Because, well, it's constantly evolving. Plus we have a tendency to get it wrong when we're strongly invested in a certain #2.
Shit, I'm babbling. Let's circle back around to the things that prompted this meta-mumbling.
For a long time, I was a skinny person with giant knobby knees. Like, ridiculously oversized knees that I had to be careful not to knock them on each other when I ran. They're the reason I tend to need pants that are 50mm longer than I would nominally need when standing in order for them to not ride up to mid-calf whenever I sit down. In an attempt to find some sort of bright side over them, I mused that they must surely be oversized for my mechanical needs and therefore should never have troubles with them.
And now they're starting to ache regularly. Probably a combination of just being not-skinny any more and regularly carrying my ever-heavier children. But still: dammit.
What the fuck do I say next?
Oh, right - musical truth about how lame I am.
See, I've long known that my taste in music is... not good. But I know what I like. Except, of course, too-careful examination reveals that much of my professed preferences in music have long been a carefully-manicured ensemble of eclectic classic Claytonisms. With an effort, I forced myself to admit that there was a lot of rather good music I have pretended to not like for some aesthetic purpose. But what's the point of that, really? So I permitted myself to own the fact that I find lots of Michael Jackson songs really catchy, and that there were Guns N Roses songs I feel are iconic, and all sorts of classic pop songs I've denied. And yeah, I do kinda like them - I hum along happily infused with a sense of cultural belonging. Then the realization hit me that what I actually like is not the original artist's work - but rather the Weird Al Yankovic mockeries of them.
I just downloaded "The Essential Weird Al Yankovic", and realize that I know every. fucking. word. of his versions. Oh, that's right: I've always been a happily snarky jerk.
So, clearly, this leaves a lot of room for self-improvement. Except, you know what? No. My old-man knees aren't something I get to mind-over-matter - I just need to stretch more before exercising and wear a knee brace when mountain biking. My deep trench of snark isn't something I can plaster over, even if I wanted to. It lets me laugh at myself and the shittier aspects of reality as I stumble through them. So the realms for self-improvement will have to come from elsewhere.
Marriage, parenting, work - that's my foci. Getting those right transcends my personal limitations and flaws.