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Don't be afraid of your freedom
Jan. 21st, 2008 | 5:53 pm
I have to admit something rather embarrassing. It's a revelation that will make me seem, well, not so free
and adventurous.
Remember that scene in Mr. Mom (don't knock it--it's a pivotal work for me and my siblings) where Michael
Keaton as "Jack" was dropping his son off at school for the first time? The kid, seeing his father driving into
the exit, repeats over and over, "Dad, you're doing it wrong!"
And then the crossing guard knocks on Jack's window and smiling wanly, says, "Hi Jack, I'm Annette.
You're doing it wrong."
The idea of "doing it wrong" scares the hell out of me. "Doing it wrong" inspires me to a life of lazy squalor.
"Doing it wrong" keeps me doing the same things the same way every day.
One of my favorite pastimes is laying around my cozy apartment, reading a book with Little Dog snoozing
with his head on my belly. Because THAT I've done, and I know I can do it right. I can read the pants off of
any book and lay around like it's my job.
I reason that if I do it the same way all of the time… if I run along the same routes, if I do the same activities,
if I drive to work the same way every day, then I don't have to think, so my mind will be free to be creative.
But, the truth is, I'm not creative. I'm in a rut. I have the same scenery, so I have the same thoughts. At that
one traffic light, I always think, "Am I running late?" On that bend around the lake, I'm always thinking, "Man,
I'd like to own one of these houses." Always the same places. Always the same thoughts.
The main reason I started this project was to see the beauty of Los Angeles and California before I leave
this end of the country. But a huge ancillary reason is so that I'm forced to get out and DO things. I have a
reason to go that place because I told people I would go there. I told people and now I have to go there.
Someone very close to me told me last week that he admires that I try things that I'm not good at: Running,
for one. Learning another language, for another. No, I don't have natural gifts, but I just do things anyway.
I'm thrilled he recognized this and reminded me, because your own good qualities and achievements are
very easy to forget. What he doesn't know, though, is that the most banal tasks can paralyze me with fear or
trigger my laziness instinct: "Well I would try that restaurant, except where would I park?"
I can do the major activities of daily living with relatively little anxiety. I can move to a big city where I know no
one. But the little things, like the nuances of street parking or doing what all of the cool people are talking
about, like hiking, just fill me with so much dread that I don't do them.
I've been on the receiving end of this statement more times than I can count living in Los Angeles for past
few years:
"Oh, you have dogs? You should hike Runyon Canyon. Or Fryman Canyon. Oh wait, you live near Griffith
Park. That's a fun hike!"
Is it?!? Please tell me how to do it! There are supposedly 53 miles of hiking trails and I don't know where
even one starts. Also, do I have to wear hiking boots, a fisherman's vest, and a pith helmet? Can I just show
up without registering or signing a release? Do I need a canteen or a mess kit? Snake repellant? Do they
allow single people and their dogs? Can you come with me? FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, TELL ME HOW TO
DO IT!
But I don't say any of that. Instead I say,
"Yeah. Beautiful place."
Because I don't know how to do it. And some rogue strand of my DNA doesn't want anyone to KNOW that I
don't know how to do it.
I told myself, "I'm not a hiker. I'm barely a runner and walker." When I pictured "hiking," I saw boulders that I
would have to scale, with Little Dog glancing out nervously from my backpack. I pictured being lost in a
desert or a blizzard. I pictured my friends and family saying to the rescue team, "But why would she have
attempted something like this alone?"
I'm not a fearful person, so I can only surmise that these pictures in my head were put there by my lazy, let's-
not-make-any-waves genes. Let's take it easy, my sub-conscious says. It's easy to do what you are used to
doing.
However, his observation and comment lit a fire under me: Hey wait! I'm the girl who's not afraid to mess
up or to look foolish. I need to live up to that! Because I don't know how to do it, is exactly why I should do it. I
drive past the mountains and canyons encompassing the park nearly every day. Don't I care what they look
like from the top?
So I woke up Sunday morning and harnessed up Little Dog and drove the five minutes up to Griffith Park. I
found a parking area, got out and just started walking. I saw a lot of other people walking, too. Soon I saw a
trailhead and before I knew it, I was walking on a fire road, up and around Mt. Hollywood. I got all the way to
the top!
It turns out, hiking is WALKING, in nature.
When I have someone else along with me, things get easier. If we mess up, we'll laugh about it together. In
this case, Little Dog was happy to oblige because of the many new plants and rocks to sniff.
Of course, when I got home, I was all excited ("I AM a hiker!")so I looked up hiking in Griffith Park on the
internet, and guess what? There's a LOT of information about where the trails start. The internet of all
places!
And now I'm saying this, more for myself than for anyone:
Get the hell out of the house. Go to a place you've never been. Go find some new scenery. Take your
camera. Buy a Moleskine and write down what you see. Get on a bus. Take a train. Get lost! Start over! Do it
wrong! Do SOMETHING!
And guess what else? No one gives two shits about what you're doing and how you're doing it. You can do
it whatever way you want.
So what if you fuck up and look like an asshole? The real asshole is safely in her apartment, laying
comfortably on her couch, reading a book.
My backyard just got a billion times bigger. And I'm free.
Comments
Click to enlarge
Jan. 21st, 2008 | 5:53 pm
I have to admit something rather embarrassing. It's a revelation that will make me seem, well, not so free
and adventurous.
Remember that scene in Mr. Mom (don't knock it--it's a pivotal work for me and my siblings) where Michael
Keaton as "Jack" was dropping his son off at school for the first time? The kid, seeing his father driving into
the exit, repeats over and over, "Dad, you're doing it wrong!"
And then the crossing guard knocks on Jack's window and smiling wanly, says, "Hi Jack, I'm Annette.
You're doing it wrong."
The idea of "doing it wrong" scares the hell out of me. "Doing it wrong" inspires me to a life of lazy squalor.
"Doing it wrong" keeps me doing the same things the same way every day.
One of my favorite pastimes is laying around my cozy apartment, reading a book with Little Dog snoozing
with his head on my belly. Because THAT I've done, and I know I can do it right. I can read the pants off of
any book and lay around like it's my job.
I reason that if I do it the same way all of the time… if I run along the same routes, if I do the same activities,
if I drive to work the same way every day, then I don't have to think, so my mind will be free to be creative.
But, the truth is, I'm not creative. I'm in a rut. I have the same scenery, so I have the same thoughts. At that
one traffic light, I always think, "Am I running late?" On that bend around the lake, I'm always thinking, "Man,
I'd like to own one of these houses." Always the same places. Always the same thoughts.
The main reason I started this project was to see the beauty of Los Angeles and California before I leave
this end of the country. But a huge ancillary reason is so that I'm forced to get out and DO things. I have a
reason to go that place because I told people I would go there. I told people and now I have to go there.
Someone very close to me told me last week that he admires that I try things that I'm not good at: Running,
for one. Learning another language, for another. No, I don't have natural gifts, but I just do things anyway.
I'm thrilled he recognized this and reminded me, because your own good qualities and achievements are
very easy to forget. What he doesn't know, though, is that the most banal tasks can paralyze me with fear or
trigger my laziness instinct: "Well I would try that restaurant, except where would I park?"
I can do the major activities of daily living with relatively little anxiety. I can move to a big city where I know no
one. But the little things, like the nuances of street parking or doing what all of the cool people are talking
about, like hiking, just fill me with so much dread that I don't do them.
I've been on the receiving end of this statement more times than I can count living in Los Angeles for past
few years:
"Oh, you have dogs? You should hike Runyon Canyon. Or Fryman Canyon. Oh wait, you live near Griffith
Park. That's a fun hike!"
Is it?!? Please tell me how to do it! There are supposedly 53 miles of hiking trails and I don't know where
even one starts. Also, do I have to wear hiking boots, a fisherman's vest, and a pith helmet? Can I just show
up without registering or signing a release? Do I need a canteen or a mess kit? Snake repellant? Do they
allow single people and their dogs? Can you come with me? FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, TELL ME HOW TO
DO IT!
But I don't say any of that. Instead I say,
"Yeah. Beautiful place."
Because I don't know how to do it. And some rogue strand of my DNA doesn't want anyone to KNOW that I
don't know how to do it.
I told myself, "I'm not a hiker. I'm barely a runner and walker." When I pictured "hiking," I saw boulders that I
would have to scale, with Little Dog glancing out nervously from my backpack. I pictured being lost in a
desert or a blizzard. I pictured my friends and family saying to the rescue team, "But why would she have
attempted something like this alone?"
I'm not a fearful person, so I can only surmise that these pictures in my head were put there by my lazy, let's-
not-make-any-waves genes. Let's take it easy, my sub-conscious says. It's easy to do what you are used to
doing.
However, his observation and comment lit a fire under me: Hey wait! I'm the girl who's not afraid to mess
up or to look foolish. I need to live up to that! Because I don't know how to do it, is exactly why I should do it. I
drive past the mountains and canyons encompassing the park nearly every day. Don't I care what they look
like from the top?
So I woke up Sunday morning and harnessed up Little Dog and drove the five minutes up to Griffith Park. I
found a parking area, got out and just started walking. I saw a lot of other people walking, too. Soon I saw a
trailhead and before I knew it, I was walking on a fire road, up and around Mt. Hollywood. I got all the way to
the top!
It turns out, hiking is WALKING, in nature.
When I have someone else along with me, things get easier. If we mess up, we'll laugh about it together. In
this case, Little Dog was happy to oblige because of the many new plants and rocks to sniff.
Of course, when I got home, I was all excited ("I AM a hiker!")so I looked up hiking in Griffith Park on the
internet, and guess what? There's a LOT of information about where the trails start. The internet of all
places!
And now I'm saying this, more for myself than for anyone:
Get the hell out of the house. Go to a place you've never been. Go find some new scenery. Take your
camera. Buy a Moleskine and write down what you see. Get on a bus. Take a train. Get lost! Start over! Do it
wrong! Do SOMETHING!
And guess what else? No one gives two shits about what you're doing and how you're doing it. You can do
it whatever way you want.
So what if you fuck up and look like an asshole? The real asshole is safely in her apartment, laying
comfortably on her couch, reading a book.
My backyard just got a billion times bigger. And I'm free.
Comments
Click to enlarge
Does this lady care what people think?
Did this horse worry about wearing the right shoes?
This guy uses ski poles to do his hiking. And he's happy!
Little Dog loves peeing dangerously close to the edge.
This is what I was missing.
And this...
