Down with Inertia. Sometimes.

I hope to be out of this tiny, ancient apartment by Christmas this year.

I have been here more than two and a half years. Most people stay in this ancient building no more than six months to a year. It is sort of an in-between situations type of building, so I have been here longer than most tenants.

I moved in here as a sort of last minute solution to a problem. My brother lived here before me, and he worked it out with the landlord; if I moved in right away, the rent would stay the same for me as it was for my brother. I wasn't quite ready, but I accepted, thinking that in a year or so, my finances would improve enough to afford something better.

My finances didn't improve, sadly, and still have not. Neither has the apartment. If anything, some of the difficulties are even worse now than they used to be. I won't bore you with the particulars in that regard, but suffice to say if I listed the problems here, you'd wonder why I didn't move out long ago.

The answer to that legitimate question is what makes this topic worthy of this blog. I have not moved out yet because like with many things, I have been Too XYZ to do so.

I have had it in my head that I have not earned the right to move out. I hate the idea of being labeled a flibbertigibbet who runs around living in 12 places a year, so a large part of me has figured that if this place has a roof to keep the rain out, and a heater to keep me warm in the winter, with running water to wash in, I have no right to live anywhere else until I am rich enough to live anywhere. I know it seems weird, but that is how my head works. And since my finances did not improve, I felt obligated to stay here. Even if I could find a place that is the exact same financial burden, I felt I had to stay here until I could make more money. That wasting the time and energy I have been given on moving out, when staying here is still safe, was somehow a sin.

Put more simply, inertia is keeping me in place.

But in recent months, not only have certain things about living here gotten worse, things in my mind have changed as well. I have begUn to believe, or at least force myself to believe, that sometimes change for the sake of change is good, when it comes to venues.

We need not treat venues like people.  They have no feelings. We don't have to treat them with particular consideration. They don't care if you stay in them, or leave. They don't care if you are good or bad. They are buildings. It is I that have the feelings, and if mine are not operating at optimum levels because of where I live, I deserve to try something else. Shifting around doesn't require a special invitation or permission. It just requires it being possible, and it is possible, if I don't try to live outside of my humble means in my next apartment.

Nor do I have to justify myself to others. Two and a half years in a less than ideal place should inoculate me from being seen as flippant with my life. Yet even if they do see me as a flibbertigibbet, I shouldn't let that matter. If I can legally, and safely, and responsibly change my venue, I should. Simple as that. Sometimes being somewhere just wears out its usefulness in our lives. Though I am Too XYZ to always feel justified in making a change to benefit my comfort, the place someone lives and spends the lion's share of their time should not be a place of misery. It may not be perfect, and I may not be able to afford luxury, but the law of averages indicates I should be able to at least find something better for me. And in so doing maybe somebody who would find this place perfect for their needs could move in.

Comfort and peace matter, even if it requires a bit of an extra pain in the ass to obtain them.

Have you ever let illogical inertia keep you from doing something, no matter how minor, that would make you feel more at ease with life?

FiND iT FREDERiCK Magazine's Latest Issue, Featuring Me!

Great news! The latest edition of FiND iT FREDERiCK Magazine is out, and one of my articles is featured in it.

Click on the name above for the online edition. Or, if you happen to live in or near Frederick, Maryland, pick up a hard copy of it today! Give support to this excellent publication, and the good people who work there. (Who have treated me very well, and been most kind at every step.)

Belated Sense of Direction

This blog was designed not simply to offer personal advice and observations about succeeding,  but also to, in as frank a manner as possible, examine some of the reasons I may be so far behind society's (and sometimes my own) definition of success. While much of my lagging behind remains a mystery to me, years of introspection have led me to realize a great many possible reasons. Some could not have been avoided. Some could have been. Some are huge, and some started out quite small, and would, in theory have been easily rectified if I had as much self knowledge at the time as I do now. I'd actually like to talk about one of the small things today.

Driving. I'm not especially bad at it, and once I have driven somewhere, oh, about 100 times, I have no problem with doing it. But there has always been a slight tension in me associated with driving. Especially when driving somewhere new. It's better now, but for the first few years I drove, it was almost clinical.

It was a combination of things, really. First, my sense of direction is garbage. If I could park in a giant paper bag, I probably couldn't find my way out of it on my own. Owning a GPS has for the most part eliminated this problem for me today, but for the longest time it kept me from things.

I don't think you can really learn that. My mother has an exceptional sense of direction, and she is the one that taught me to drive. (My father died when I was a child, and ZERO people stood up to help fill the gap. Another reason I don't have all the tools I need,  but also another post.) So her sense of direction didn't rub off on me.

Mom, however, is also a slightly nervous driver. Never takes highways except in an emergency. Doesn't like to drive after dark. Likes to hover just under the limit. Because this was the type of driving I was exposed to 85% of the time growing up, and as I was getting a licenses, I did inherit those things.

So combine a lousy sense of direction with a pretty constant fear of other people in traffic, and you get someone who doesn't drive more than 10 miles from home very often between the ages of 16 and 21.

When college came, I very rarely ventured further than a few miles from campus in the car for the same reasons. I feared getting lost, or hurting somebody. Fortunately in college there were more caravans on which I could hitch a ride to do stuff than there were in high school. But as far exploring nearby towns and such myself...never happened. Maps just look Greek to me.

To this day I do not do highways very often. (But more than I used to.) I won't drive certain times of the evening or morning. Traffic makes me a wreck. (No pun intended.) So through the years, my job hunt, (a dismal failure anyway for much of my life) always took one thing into consideration first; can I reach the place via public transportation. If I couldn't I wouldn't apply for the job.

Now I am somewhat fortunate in that I live within the Washington D.C./Maryland/Virginia public transportation vortex. Trains. Metro. Buses. If I had ever gotten a job in those places I could have swung a public commute in most cases, I dare say. But this is beside the point. I am sure you can tell that such a timid view of driving, seemingly an insignificant character quirk for the longest time in my mind, was actually a moderate to severe limitation on my creating opportunities for myself in all sorts of areas. Career. Recreation. Social.

Could this have been different had I been taught to drive by a more adventurous, relaxed driver than my mother? Or was it a symptom of a deeper psychological situation within me that could not have turned out any differently, regardless of who taught me to drive? I imagine the true answer to that can never be known. But I mention here because without a doubt it was something that initially seemed to be rather small; I don't like driving. But over the years it became a significant hindrance.

And it remains a problem to some extent even now.

But I have improved. Again, the GPS has helped a great deal. I try to make plans that allow me to drive in lighter traffic times. Sheer practice on the horrible Route 340 in West Virginia, (whose traffic flow has increased by 65% since I first took it to a theatrical rehearsal 7 years ago) make things easier than they otherwise might have been.

But there is still no way in hell I am driving the D.C. beltway, no matter how good the job.And it would have to be very important for me to attempt I-270 in Maryland. But I do things now I didn't do as a teen. Maybe in a few years I will be doing even more. If I'm not Too XYZ for it.