The saying ‘sh*t happens’ isn’t really sound; sh*t does in fact happen, although it’s ridiculous to assume that sh*t happens in the sense that it’s endlessly piling up on top of you. In fact it’s quite the reverse; the floor just gives in and you’ve slid in and the steeper and deeper and faster you slide the more shit the earth is covered in; a fecal slip n’ slide leading to a circle of Hell where Ben and Jerry’s and wine-soaked Scrabble boards have no power whatsoever. It’s pitch black and smells like that Vegan Chicken Marsala they served for lunch and dinner at the Freshman Dining Hall. Pounds are gained. Internship opportunities are lost. Professors pick favorites. Whole departments within Private Universities are run by personifications of pure incompetence. People have four jobs. People feel lost and people feel the need to give everything back to their family. To buy a Summer House in France for their moms. Runs across the Brooklyn bridge become meaningless. The city you once fell in love with feels so small; the people within it in such control that they’ve lost sight of what control even meant and that fairness and sometimes not giving a sh*t once meant something greater.
AND THEN SOMEONE GIVES YOU A LEMON TART IN A CRAFTY PAPER BAG LEFT HANGING ON YOUR DOOR!
It’s from one of my residents in my residence hall and it was so tart I had automatically lost the after-breath taste of Aquafresh toothpaste. It was light and yellow as hell and to be perfectly honest I wasn’t paying much attention to how many bougie-ass references I could come up with to explain how it tasted. it was delicious. It was fresh. It came with a handcrafted and gorgeous ‘Happy Holidays’ card with dried thyme bundled up in twine and tied to it. It came in a paper bag with a doily that was all folded so perfectly I literally screamedwhen I opened the door. It was made for me.
My uncle gave me a quote when it was projected to my family out of the cosmos that I was having a bad day. It had said,
“I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself.” – DH Lawrence.
It stuck with me. So did his advice that followed it. I knew I had suddenly felt better by reading it, but there’s the pride to factor in- it wouldn’t let me off the hook too easy. I’d back off on the self-depreciation on a reverse logarithmic scale up until I was finally set and able to be content without anybody having to tell me all of a sudden, ‘I told you so’. It’s funny how we allow ourselves to think so greatly of all the terrible, terribly small things that happen to us, but are only able to think so little of the great things we’ve accomplished. I for one am proud to admit that I can eat a handmade lemon tart in under two minutes, and even prouder to say that I had one made for me. Iceland is coming up and that’s 500 miles of walking. Time to get used to moving along.