Like I Know Anything

Take it from me — don’t believe a word I say

A friend of a friend was in from Brisbane, Australia and I offered to take her along with me to a talk I was attending. She was excited to go to this talk in New York City and off we went. As it turned out, the scheduled speaker wasn’t there and someone else took her place.

And this other woman was awful! She complained and whined and blamed. She droned on and on about meaningless crap. I sank into myself sitting next to my new Australian friend. What must she think? Afterward, we walked along Houston Street and I tried to think of something to say, some way to apologize for dragging her along to that nightmare of a “talk”. I turned and she was smiling from ear to ear.

“That was brilliant! Thank you so much for bringing me along!”

See? What do I know?

For example, I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve dithered a bit and then hit publish, knowing full well that this one is going to sink like a sack of stones. One of those complete loser pieces? Like this one!

Clearly this is too cute and wayyyyy too snarky to make any headway. Well, for a start it’s totally uncuratable (see? I made up a word), but what do I care about curation anymore anyway? I haven’t had anything curated in months and I’m still getting readers, so hell yeah, I’ll publish this puppy. And it’s doing quite well to my continued surprise.

Another one that just will not die — which makes me very happy, btw — is one that I was sure would never get any real readership. Too intimate. Too revealing. Too obvious! Right? Curated in two topics, $ 224-lifetime earnings, and the thing gets new readers every damned day! How is that even possible?

My total inability to gauge the worth of my writing is only surpassed by my absolute cluelessness when it comes to what is good for me. As far as I’m concerned, this is what is good for me:

• Ice cream
• Sleeping in as late as I want every day
• Staying up as late as I want every night (see above)
• Taking buses everywhere instead of walking
• Only brushing the cat on the third Tuesday of each month
• Not getting dressed because I’m not going anywhere
• Not showering because I’m not going anywhere
• Did I mention ice cream?
• And potato chips

I did not in any way, shape or form expect that two weeks on my back in excruciating pain in Bellevue Hospital would be “good for me”. What good came out of that mess you ask? I learned that I’m vastly more resilient than I ever would have believed. Whatever else is keeping me awake at 3 am, it’s not worries about getting older and being in pain.

Racking up some $98,000 in student loan debt? Nope. Did not make the list of things I thought would be good for me. And, yes, I hate Navient and this entire higher education system that forces young people to mortgage their futures in a largely futile bid to achieve the glittering promises of capitalism. And, yet, having earned a BA in — of all things — literature writing from Columbia University got me to New York City, the only place I’ve ever felt completely at home, and a series of fairly decent jobs some of which I actually enjoyed and did well.

Here’s one that will have most people shaking their heads: leaving my first husband to go live with a junkie who was fresh out of the penitentiary. You’d have to squint a bit to see how that was a good thing, but George is probably the reason I’m alive today. Go figure.

As should be very clear now, I am not the person you should ever go to for advice on how to live your best life. And here’s a newsflash: neither are you! Basically, we’re all bouncing around in boxes with the instructions to our lives written on the outside. So don’t bother with the advice. Just read those instructions and then ask me to read yours.

But do not under any circumstances think that you have the first idea what’s good for you. Got that? Good.

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