Summary

The text is a reflective personal narrative detailing the author's struggles with self-doubt, professional setbacks, and a lack of meaningful connections during the latter half of 2004, leading to a period of transformation and eventual personal growth.

Abstract

Sixteen years after a tumultuous period in 2004, the author revisits their past through an old journal, revealing a time marked by a sense of failure and self-loathing following a move from San Francisco to Southern California. The author grapples with a challenging job in West Los Angeles, workplace politics, and the absence of a supportive social circle. Seeking companionship, they turn to online interactions, engaging in romantic encounters and pursuing writing as a career, only to face repeated rejections. The narrative culminates in a moment of emotional catharsis with Bob Marley's "Redemption Song," which serves as a catalyst for the author's journey towards self-improvement and the pursuit of a more fulfilling life and career.

Opinions

The author views their time in San Francisco during the dot-com era as a formative period, contrasting it with their subsequent experiences in Southern California.
The workplace environment at the investment bank is perceived as toxic, with the author's manager described as a sociopath involved in unethical behavior.
The author feels a profound lack of meaningful connections upon returning to their hometown, leading to a sense of isolation and an attempt to fill the void through online interactions.
There is a sense of regret and self-criticism regarding the author's fixation on seducing older women and the superficial nature of these relationships.
The author is critical of their own writing abilities during this period, acknowledging their work as underdeveloped and lacking conviction.
The repeated rejections from literary publications contribute to the author's feelings of inadequacy and self-doubt about their artistic talent.
The author finds solace and inspiration in Bob Marley's "Redemption Song," suggesting a belief in the power of music to provide comfort and encouragement during difficult times.
The narrative concludes with the author's recognition of the need for change and their ongoing efforts to align their work with their identity, indicating a hopeful outlook for the future.

Eulogy for a Former Self

My season of sorrow and self-loathing in the latter half of 2004

Sixteen years on I have opened an old journal and upon paging through the tattered black book, it astounds me that the muses of self-destruction had not seduced me.

Summer of 2004: over a year passed since I’d slunk back home to Southern California after an eight-year sojourn in San Francisco. Living in Babylon by the Bay was my coming-of-age experience if there was one to be had for me.

I did make the best of living in San Francisco during the dot com boom and bust — for an individual of my middling ambition; which glosses over the reason why I ultimately had to move out of the city.

Leaving San Francisco also accounts for what felt like a humiliating return to the Inland Empire, where I grew up. Having relocated to the condominium where my grandmother spent the last years of her life. The thought of dying there as well, haunted me from a dark corner of my mind.

Remaining employed was never a problem for me while living in San Francisco. However, in Southern California, jobs were as diffuse and far in between as the municipalities that populated the region.

The first permanent job that I hired onto was for an investment bank in West Los Angeles. My shift started at 4:45 a.m., which required me to set my alarm at 3:30 a.m. I lost count of all the occasions I passed out from exhaustion while driving home from work.

The workplace politics at Jeffreys scored higher on my personal corruption index than at any other employer I had experienced before or since. My own manager was a sociopath who would straight out lie to journalists and stake claim to office real estate she wasn’t entitled to. My attempt to make a lateral move to a job opening at another office was inexplicably snuffed out by unseen, unknown interests.

Ultimately, my manager got us all fired after inciting a workplace harassment suit. Her screaming assault of a colleague from another nearby department prompted executive management to eliminate our team entirely.

Because I had few friends while growing up, there was no cluster of companions I could bond with upon my return home.

To ease the crucible of my solitude, I sought social interaction online. Looking back at the time, the explosion of social media platforms that would rock contemporary culture, had ignited just then.

I found that I was especially bereft of female companionship. Given my severely limited set of skills, I plied what meager literary aptitude I possessed to the instant message.

Through domains like AOL and Yahoo and dating sites such as Lava Life, I crafted phrases of a striking yet thoughtful quality that compelled the attention I sought.

Having dated and slept with an older woman just before my departure from San Francisco, I fixated on seducing and bedding as many attractive and willing divorcees as I could source.

There are a number of standout encounters that I think fondly of to this day. There also remain a few embarrassing occasions cauterized in my memory. Instances that illustrated my desperation to fuse a crude alchemy with another equally lonely soul.

A s I had entertained the idea of writing for a living, I submitted my work to numerous emerging online publications and literary journals. As a writer I now see how underdeveloped and lacking my style read. Just as damning of my chances for success was what little conviction I held as an artist.

Pile up enough rejections and one begins to doubt any inherent talent, if any had been present to begin with. At best, my effort struck me as a saddening act of self-delusion.

My failure to get published, factored together with my sleep-thieving work hours and a deeply humbling social life — a gauntlet of torments that so ground my inner life to powder.

One morning, it was still dark as I drove to work when the radio played a song I had been vaguely familiar with, but never associated with Bob Marley. “Redemption Song” opened with the reggae legend’s plaintive but defiant vocals. I broke down and my eyes overran with tears. At that moment it was a salve for my battered soul.

In my journey I was so very far from where I wanted to be. I had allowed happenstance and my self-inflicted doubt guide me: financially exiled from San Francisco; skirt chasing instead of seeking the counterpart to my soul; a glorified paper shuffler doing the bidding of a morally imploding investment bank.

As much as I would like to claim credit for walking away on that very same day, it realistically took some years to extricate myself. I did finally leave the Inland Empire and had the astounding fortune to meet, court and marry an amazing woman. As far as a career is concerned, my goal is to achieve a kind of transparency — where my work is equal to my being: that remains out of reach, but not for much longer.