A Night Out With The Elite 2003

Tonight, though I enjoyed the films and was glad I got to attend Reel Food, a benefit for Project Open Hand, I had rubbed into my skin, or perhaps stuck under the skin to permeate me with flavor while I was abraded with herbs (pronounced herbs, not erbs, because there's a fucking H in it), a simple truth about me.

I find rich people exhausting.

This is probably why I don't have a lot of fantasies about being rich. I have fantasies about being out of debt, about getting my family out of debt, about being able to actually afford property in California, and about not having to go to work, but I don't dream of spending my time on tennis lessons, driving my SUV to the spa, and buying Prada and Gucci and Tommy what's-his-ass (who is so desperate to be acknowledged he has to put his name in 48 point type across people's abdomens).

Tonight I saw a documentary called "Our Lady of Tamale" about San Franciscan Virginia Ramos who brings joy to Mission District barflies with her lovely tamales and I learned two things: give people love & it will come back to you and I love San Francisco & the freaks who call it home.

I also saw the premiere of a documentary about chef Cat Cora and learned two things: be true to who you are and I never ever ever want to live with a professional chef.

I've never expected to be what Fortune magazine calls successful. I want to be liked and respected by my peers and love & be loved by my friends & family. I want to tell my story and be myself. I enjoy connecting people with stories and ideas, first in bookstores, now through library catalogs and supporting local storytellers and authors.

So I guess I've made it. I am, by my own terms, a success. Now I can relax and enjoy the adventure. I'm not striving for anything other than to continue doing what I do well, and to do it better. Maybe I'll develop a new dream that I'll have to struggle for years to attain, like I did with my bookstore. Or maybe not.

Maybe the new challenge is to get good enough at my still-new-to-me-though-I've-been-at-it-over-a-year job that I can come home in the evening and on weekends and have energy for my own projects. The other product managers tell me it takes two years to really get your feet under you. I hope they're right that that's all it takes and that it will get easier and less tiring. I have stories to tell and broken links to fix. I have a basement to clean and walks to be taken. I'm proud that I don't let my work drag me to sickness and exhaustion as I used to, but I miss that energy that seems to have disappeared over the last few years. Maybe this is what cutting yourself a little slack feels like.

Comments

A Night Out With The Elite

Tonight, though I enjoyed the films and was glad I got to attend Reel Food, a benefit for Project Open Hand, I had rubbed into my skin, or perhaps stuck under the skin to permeate me with flavor while I was abraded with herbs (pronounced herbs, not erbs, because there's a fucking H in it), a simple truth about me.

I find rich people exhausting.

This is probably why I don't have a lot of fantasies about being rich. I have fantasies about being out of debt, about getting my family out of debt, about being able to actually afford property in California, and about not having to go to work, but I don't dream of spending my time on tennis lessons, driving my SUV to the spa, and buying Prada and Gucci and Tommy what's-his-ass (who is so desperate to be acknowledged he has to put his name in 48 point type across people's abdomens).

Tonight I saw a documentary called "Our Lady of Tamale" about San Franciscan Virginia Ramos who brings joy to Mission District barflies with her lovely tamales and I learned two things: give people love & it will come back to you and I love San Francisco & the freaks who call it home.

I also saw the premiere of a documentary about chef Cat Cora and learned two things: be true to who you are and I never ever ever want to live with a professional chef.

I've never expected to be what Fortune magazine calls successful. I want to be liked and respected by my peers and love & be loved by my friends & family. I want to tell my story and be myself. I enjoy connecting people with stories and ideas, first in bookstores, now through library catalogs and supporting local storytellers and authors.

So I guess I've made it. I am, by my own terms, a success. Now I can relax and enjoy the adventure. I'm not striving for anything other than to continue doing what I do well, and to do it better. Maybe I'll develop a new dream that I'll have to struggle for years to attain, like I did with my bookstore. Or maybe not.

Maybe the new challenge is to get good enough at my still-new-to-me-though-I've-been-at-it-over-a-year job that I can come home in the evening and on weekends and have energy for my own projects. The other product managers tell me it takes two years to really get your feet under you. I hope they're right that that's all it takes and that it will get easier and less tiring. I have stories to tell and broken links to fix. I have a basement to clean and walks to be taken. I'm proud that I don't let my work drag me to sickness and exhaustion as I used to, but I miss that energy that seems to have disappeared over the last few years. Maybe this is what cutting yourself a little slack feels like.

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