Something’s been eating away at me for a few weeks. There has been an angst stirring within me that I haven’t felt in long time. Every woman driving an SUV yakking on a cell phone, every slob stuffing a Big Mac in his face while sneering at me while I’m on my bike/running, every 30 something yuppie faking it…it’s made me angry. I feel myself becoming like them – well, I’m not becoming a woman in an suv, but you get the point. I swore as a kid I’d never be what I hated. I didn’t know what that meant. I suppose I don’t know now either.
I’m not the sort of soft English/Art/Philosophy degree holder (although I do hold the English degree and for a single semester I was an Art major) that believes that anger is evil and best suppressed. How we act upon that anger is what defines us, because ultimately we can’t avoid it altogether. In my life I’ve found two refuges: writing and physically draining sports (wrestling/hockey/triathlon). I’ve been coping with my angst lately by writing again. I’m always running or hitting a heavy bag.
I haven’t posted in a few days, because I knew this post was coming. Over the weekend I bought new tires for Mrs. Figurehead’s car and today I found out that I’ll be buying a new central air unit. I wanted to smash something. Instead, I took a dose of reality; I went home a little early, skipped my workout, and hugged my wife and daughter. Two sides to being an adult – the harsh realities of struggling to get ahead while life constantly tugs you towards the bottom of the lake and the beauty of having a family who loves you even on your bad days.
So Henry, I’m with ya buddy. But Figurehead, we dont’ know what you’re talking about man. Some days are meant for understanding where you came from, the proverbial “formative years”. Some days I still wanna be Henry in this Black Flag vid: