The Pursuit of Happiness
I had a moment the other day. In my inbox was an email from PLU inviting me to a homecoming reunion for the School of Arts & Communication, to come reconnect and network with my professors, classmates, and other past and future graduates from our program.
There have only been two occasions that have yet to come to mind that would make me uncomfortable sharing my occupation for fear of being judged; the next time I meet a boyfriend’s parents, and this reunion. My immediate thought was that I should go, and then my heart sunk a little when I thought of any classmate I haven’t seen or Profesor asking me what I’m doing with myself...
A lot of people who have cared about me have had very high expectations of me, at least a firm belief that I was going to be some sort of successful career woman of some sort. I’ve given all of them the finger in favor of being happy in the here and now. Can I even say how many people look at me like I’m nuts when I explain that I have a PR degree, I have a great resume, and I’m a stripper by choice rather than necessity? I, LOVE, my job. I love what it means to me, I love how it’s changed me, I love how it makes me feel, and I LOVE that I’m not behind a desk in stuffy clothes with a natural shade of hair and miserably seeking any sort of advancement and approval I can find. Customers and co-workers alike have questioned me in disbelief; wouldn’t I rather be bettering, furthering myself? But, I am! I’m happy and doing exactly what I want to be doing rather than working my way up to something I desperately hope will be better or at least pay more or stagnating in miserable comfort, which is far more than most desk jockey’s can say. I’m making my youth count while I have it. I’m doing things on my terms.
And most of the time my own belief in this is more than enough. But for whatever reason this gave me pause. What would Diane Harney think? Rob Wells? Would that evil Amanda Feller who almost cost me my diploma get a self-satisfied smirk out of it? It took me a good five minutes to shake it. The fear. I took a good look at it and decided no, I am proud of what I do. And while some people would no doubt not approve of what I’m doing I think most would understand and respect my motives and happiness with it.
Haters gon’ hate. And I’m redefining success, because success shouldn’t be dependant on what others think of you, or what you assume others think or will think of you. I’m my own version of the “successful “executive who finally quits her cushy desk job and takes a risk opening the bar in her favorite small town she always wanted.
I lead an enviable life.
* * *
Micah has taken advantage of my admiration for what he does and swept me up into the epiem madness.
I’ve started doing a little nightclub photography with him, which is a lot of fun for me, makes me feel like one of the cool kids, someone important. I get to play a character, like I’m almost always doing really. But, masquerading as a pro photographer is a real treat... Funny; people actually believe I know what I’m doing!
Ha.
I would, eventually, like to really know what I’m doing. And it looks like at some point I might be on my own shooting Friday nights at HG Lodge. So the process of working myself up to buying a real camera begins...
* * *
Creepy...
I don’t even know what to say. I’m more and more impressed with him and with how well things are going nearly every day. And here’s the picture he took & edited of me that I was talking about...
His tie, his jacket, a vest & shirt, are hanging in my closet. I love it. Every time I walk by I can smell him, I catch a hint of Versace, Winston Lights, and warmth, and it’s divine...
He thinks I’m gorgeous. He says my writing is good and he wants me to look at something he’s written when it’s ready. He drunkenly, foolishly, said I was perfect. He actually cares when I get upset with him about something and does something about it instead of making excuses and telling me why it’s my fault. And he left things at my apartment.
*squee!*
I’m feeling pretty secure, safe, happy. But it still doesn’t take much to make me scared that he’s not *really* that into me, or that I’ll be taken for granted, made a fool of again. I’m holding back. Something I’m both pleased about and a little saddened by. Still. The status quo is disgustingly happy. Like, you’d either vomit, laugh to death, or tear up if you saw how we are when we’re alone. I’m cautiously optimistic
Oh, and via the magic that is Facebook + siblings, his parents are already aware of me, how long we’ve been together, and what I do for a living. His dad doesn’t give a shit and he told his mom that he knows, it’s not a problem. HUGE sigh of relief. Dodged that bullet before anyone even took aim... I’ll be damned.
* * *
“It only took four months...”
Ha. Only??? And it was worth the wait. Because really I’ve been waiting more than 10 years.
Sex is finally becoming all it’s cracked up to be. And then some. Oh my fucking god...
Truly one of the happiest moments of my life, maybe the. If you've been reading for a while, paying close attention, that's a loaded sentence. Which makes for even more of a relief/release.
There have only been two occasions that have yet to come to mind that would make me uncomfortable sharing my occupation for fear of being judged; the next time I meet a boyfriend’s parents, and this reunion. My immediate thought was that I should go, and then my heart sunk a little when I thought of any classmate I haven’t seen or Profesor asking me what I’m doing with myself...
A lot of people who have cared about me have had very high expectations of me, at least a firm belief that I was going to be some sort of successful career woman of some sort. I’ve given all of them the finger in favor of being happy in the here and now. Can I even say how many people look at me like I’m nuts when I explain that I have a PR degree, I have a great resume, and I’m a stripper by choice rather than necessity? I, LOVE, my job. I love what it means to me, I love how it’s changed me, I love how it makes me feel, and I LOVE that I’m not behind a desk in stuffy clothes with a natural shade of hair and miserably seeking any sort of advancement and approval I can find. Customers and co-workers alike have questioned me in disbelief; wouldn’t I rather be bettering, furthering myself? But, I am! I’m happy and doing exactly what I want to be doing rather than working my way up to something I desperately hope will be better or at least pay more or stagnating in miserable comfort, which is far more than most desk jockey’s can say. I’m making my youth count while I have it. I’m doing things on my terms.
And most of the time my own belief in this is more than enough. But for whatever reason this gave me pause. What would Diane Harney think? Rob Wells? Would that evil Amanda Feller who almost cost me my diploma get a self-satisfied smirk out of it? It took me a good five minutes to shake it. The fear. I took a good look at it and decided no, I am proud of what I do. And while some people would no doubt not approve of what I’m doing I think most would understand and respect my motives and happiness with it.
Haters gon’ hate. And I’m redefining success, because success shouldn’t be dependant on what others think of you, or what you assume others think or will think of you. I’m my own version of the “successful “executive who finally quits her cushy desk job and takes a risk opening the bar in her favorite small town she always wanted.
I lead an enviable life.
* * *
Micah has taken advantage of my admiration for what he does and swept me up into the epiem madness.
I’ve started doing a little nightclub photography with him, which is a lot of fun for me, makes me feel like one of the cool kids, someone important. I get to play a character, like I’m almost always doing really. But, masquerading as a pro photographer is a real treat... Funny; people actually believe I know what I’m doing!
Ha.
I would, eventually, like to really know what I’m doing. And it looks like at some point I might be on my own shooting Friday nights at HG Lodge. So the process of working myself up to buying a real camera begins...
* * *
Creepy...
I don’t even know what to say. I’m more and more impressed with him and with how well things are going nearly every day. And here’s the picture he took & edited of me that I was talking about...
His tie, his jacket, a vest & shirt, are hanging in my closet. I love it. Every time I walk by I can smell him, I catch a hint of Versace, Winston Lights, and warmth, and it’s divine...
He thinks I’m gorgeous. He says my writing is good and he wants me to look at something he’s written when it’s ready. He drunkenly, foolishly, said I was perfect. He actually cares when I get upset with him about something and does something about it instead of making excuses and telling me why it’s my fault. And he left things at my apartment.
*squee!*
I’m feeling pretty secure, safe, happy. But it still doesn’t take much to make me scared that he’s not *really* that into me, or that I’ll be taken for granted, made a fool of again. I’m holding back. Something I’m both pleased about and a little saddened by. Still. The status quo is disgustingly happy. Like, you’d either vomit, laugh to death, or tear up if you saw how we are when we’re alone. I’m cautiously optimistic
Oh, and via the magic that is Facebook + siblings, his parents are already aware of me, how long we’ve been together, and what I do for a living. His dad doesn’t give a shit and he told his mom that he knows, it’s not a problem. HUGE sigh of relief. Dodged that bullet before anyone even took aim... I’ll be damned.
* * *
“It only took four months...”
Ha. Only??? And it was worth the wait. Because really I’ve been waiting more than 10 years.
Sex is finally becoming all it’s cracked up to be. And then some. Oh my fucking god...
Truly one of the happiest moments of my life, maybe the. If you've been reading for a while, paying close attention, that's a loaded sentence. Which makes for even more of a relief/release.