Wednesday, January 22, 2014

START...Ready, Go.

I got this. I totally know what I’m doing, don’t worry. Hell, I'm wearing red lipstick, so I am clearly in control, merely by putting it on. What you are witnessing is me, living the dream. By simply starting, I am now in the midst of having it all.

I’m not some hack who has mined herself and her family too many times and finds her throat dry as she searches for ideas. I am no longer in the throes of panic because I started, say, yesterday in some terrible pressured rush, doubting my every written word. Nope. Not me. I started this exactly when I should have.

While typing away at my dining room table, listening to the dulcet tones of my cat puking on something of value, I decided to embrace opportunity. The mass edits and cutting I did were not exasperated deletions of failure. Rather, they were chances at a better life.

This revelation I have had is exhilerating. And it was with me all along. I want to share this joy, these ruby slippers, with all of you. Start is more than a topic, it is now the yardstick for all of my accomplishments. That's right. It's all Starts. And that's it. You see, we all know that the start is the best part of everything, and hey - It's my seven minutes, and I want you all to join me in the promised land. Fuck Finishes. Right in the eye. We're only going by Starts from now on.

Abandoning the crushing burden of Finish; putting that aside because it’s my microphone, my reality, I suddenly measure up to be quite the success. My day was perfect because it started well. I started organzing my closet last month, so now it's neat and tidy by this new decree. Think of it: all your relationships perfectly preserved in the amber of Starting, all gooey and jittery and full of flirtatious compliments and not once, not ONCE did they decide to bang your roommate or that they aren't ready for a relationship or borrow money you’ll never get back. Basing my life on starts, I have a successful career at several theaters since I auditioned and never got rejected. I had a baby, so she'll grow up kind and smart and strong. I have lost every pound by starting to diet and have worked out whenever I packed my gym clothes that day. Also, I have my college degree since that one paper for that one class didn't prevent me from finishing and therefore failing which was completely unfair and also a million years ago so I can...let that go. I started that paper. I'm good.

To the untrained eye, these successes mean as much as a youth soccer trophy, because everyone starts, so everyone wins. But that’s ok. If we are perpetually in the world of new love, first tastes, cars that always start and our houses are exceptionally clean because we bought paper towels, we will no longer care about who finishes first. Or at all, for that matter. No pressure to finish what you start or having the bad luck of being a nice guy because there is no finishing last. No need to finish your vegetables before dessert. You lifted a fork, that's good enough - fuck it, you're having ice cream. You'll start your diet tomorrow. This is bliss.

Conversely, If we only go by finshes, we are miserable. Life is breakups, ends of vacations, and perpetual death of grandparents and pets. We'd go right to the regret of drinking too much and be forever full of cake and in pain. Because we'd gorge ourselves on cake and booze if we were forever breaking up and all our pets were dead. This, truly, is no way to live.
Case in point: Porn.

Listen, the Start of a porn movie is ludicrous, but you don’t care. It’s an adventure! And you’re horny, so you’ll put up with plot of the dude delivering a pizza to a naked sorority party in space or whatever for the thirty seconds of dialogue.
My husband and I have a slogan for porn: After the Release, It’s Ridiculous.

Whether alone or with others, in your bed, on the couch, or standing brushing your teeth and trying to leave for work with a smile on your face, Porn is a GREAT idea. Until you finish. Then...then you’re looking up to see people who look rode hard and put away wet pretending they’re teens having lots of faked orgasms and they're all very tan. And you feel...icky.

If we remembered only that feeling, the finish, no one would watch porn ever. What a sad place. For us all.

Not that the finish of sex is bad, of course. See, we can’t have one without the other. And this part is better, so Finish be damned. Here's why:

Even every day sex is best recalled without the finish. Just the start of some intimacy with my husband shortly after our child was born was a beautiful thing. It meant closeness and love and a willingness to return to normal.

The finish was one of the strangest experiences, my being covered in sperm and breast milk and wondering how this was my life now.

Sure, sure. Those two fluids are starts in their own right, but it doesn't mean I want to wear them. So I'm leaving the finish out of that memory. Except for all of you, who can now not unsee that image. You're welcome.

Oh look, a new paragraph to redeem myself. A fresh start. Opportunity created out of thin air. Even the loud buzzing sound of finish cannot take that chance away, because it's already been set in motion. I'm completely prepared and confident here because I am living in a world of starts. I encourage you follow suit. I'm going to start my evening now with my third beer. I'll probably also start dinner when I get home even though I finished it an hour ago. This is utopia, friends. Live it with me. We're just getting started.