15 December 2023.
Had coffee with a friend this morning.
I got a cold brew with cream and he got a hot coffee and a breakfast sandwich. He paid for my coffee. We sat at a 2 top table in the corner and talked for 2 hours. We moved to the table beside us once we noticed the family next to us could use the one we were sitting at.
It’s nice talking to this friend because I feel like we can be mostly honest with each other. We’re also near the same age so we have a lot in common. I’m impressed by how independent he is. I’m plagued with the belief that no matter how bad I fuck up in my life, I can ask my parents for help and they’ll be able to write me a check to make it better. I obviously understand the countless benefits to this luxury but I seem, more often than not, to focus on its drawbacks. Isn’t that just like me? I realize to anyone who reads this that doesn’t enjoy this same position, how incredibly tone-deaf it sounds. But I don’t know how to put it otherwise. In other words, it’s my truth.
I find myself thinking about my life and how it’d be different had I not been born into this circumstance. I guess this is just me spiraling about myself again. Not new.
If I didn’t have the upbringing and circumstance I did, what about myself would be different?
It’s likely, I’ll say, that I’d be more motivated by financial reward. However, as it stands, and ashamed as I am to say, it’s not really something that motivates me. This is something I often feel ashamed of. Being unmotivated by financial success is, to my view, something most women my age find unattractive.
No matter how sweet, funny, and kind you are, there are few women in the world who want to be in a relationship with a 30 year old busboy, which, at present time, is one of the things I am.
So it’s a complex problem for me. Had I been born into a different family, maybe I’d be more inclined to seek money. And maybe I’d have more of it by now. And maybe, because of that, I’d be in love right now.
But I wasn't. So here I am, at 1:15pm on a saturday afternoon, writing this, listening to the leaf blower outside my window, while my french fries cook in the oven, just a few hours before an 8 hour shift bussing tables at one of the busiest restaurants in Nashville.
