Russian Roulette

One year ago on this very day, I sat in my car at the top of my driveway, forehead pressed to the steering wheel. This was utter, utter despair. I considered running away, leaving my former life behind forever. I considered it, and thought, no. The very next night, I changed my mind and my fate and damn near ever'thing, and that's how I wound up in San Francisco.



To reiterate, last year my continent slipped into the sea. Bye-bye, glug. I didn't take a risk -- this was survival, pure fear. I followed my instincts and chose the best course. Thank you, biology.

Folks, no matter how careful you are, no matter how good your karma, your world will eventually turn inside-out like an umbrella in a windstorm. Nobody is impervious to fate's hurricanes. So how do we weather them? How do we find our way back to Auntie Em?

Well, here's what I've figured out (so far).

TRUST your instincts. If you are a woman, you're at an advantage here (I think -- don't mean to generalize on this point).

Be kind. To others and to yourself. Meaning, give yourself some slack. If you do, you'll find the best people you could possibly hope to meet. I did. Every time I think on this, I'm once again amazed.

Rely on your friends. I did. And first and foremost there's my best friend, G, who is the most loyal sister I could ever hope to have and who remains my best friend and (in my humble view of it) kin . She was there before that fateful day, on that day, and yes, after. Next there's my roommate, who saved my life for pure and unselfish reasons. She has a Phd in writing poetry, if you can imagine such a thing, and she's made it, she's lucrative! Unheard of! Then there's J who commiserated, made me laugh, boosted my self-esteem, and who has no fucking idea how much this meant to me in the long run. (Isn't he hot?)To sum up, it's okay to rely. Go ahead. You'd do the same for your friends, and you know as well as I do that you look forward to the day they cash in. . .

Have faith that things will turn out fine. You might as well. Look, I know how difficult this is -- when the worst happens, our minds tell us to prepare for more of the same. But believe me, you cannot begin to predict the worst. And you know, the worst rarely happens. Gamble on the idea that everything will turn out for the best. Because, here: if the world's hugest shit-ship docks at your port, odds are that there isn't another world's hugest shit-ship chugging along behind it. Expect the next vessel to be The Love Boat. So what if it turns out to be a Swiss barge full of cotton and styrofoam? If you expect the Good Ship, yo: you might end up taking some minute action that changes the course of things for the better.

And we know -- those of us who've watched, incredulous, as the worst happened -- that fate is in no way fixed. Remember The Great Depression? Me neither. Because, ha ha, I'm still fresh and full of life, like Mentos^®. Still, I know that events can get múy fucked and that we might as well enjoy what's left of what's left in preparation for the possibility that fucked is a fluke.

Feel me?