As Columbus said in Zombieland, “Fasten your seatbelt. It’s gonna be a rough ride.”
This journey is not going to be easy. It’s going to be uncomfortable. You may begin to see things you do not like about who you have been or who you are. This will be a symbolic “look in the mirror”. And it won’t be pretty. I can tell you that right now. If it was pretty you wouldn’t be reading this. You have issues. And they’re ugly.
I was driving south down I 69 towards Indianapolis in my 1986 Ford Bronco ii that I picked up 2 years earlier for $800. Windows wide open. I was enjoying the roaring silence of the white noise. I loved that truck. I had just got off the phone with my best Friend, Shawn. As was the norm, I was bitching about my ex wife, my girlfriend, or some other stupid shit. As I spoke I began to noticed that I would counter every event he had going on in his life with an event in mine. Swapping misery. Though his wasn’t misery. His was stuff. Normal “I am an adult” stuff. Mine was self loathing bullshit that droned on and on. Oh, I was passionate for sure but it was the same shit. He was sort of indifferent which was unusual. He hung up and the white noise swallowed me up. I thought of who else I could talk to. My friend, Ray? My Sister? My mom? I NEEDED to talk to someone… To vent the nonsense that was battling between my ears destroying my ego. No one was available at the time but that didn’t matter. I realized that none of them could give me what I needed and I didn’t even know what that was. I was completely alone.
At that moment in the cab of my small truck I realized that I was completely alone. I remember touching the ceiling and the dash feeling boxed in with my new found solidarity. Every problem, every circumstance, every relationship that, in my mind, had been entangled with other people was releasing and crashing down on me. Crushing me. It was painful. And freeing. And powerful. And profound. I had cut the proverbial cord from everyone. My problems were no one’s but my own. I couldn’t run to mommy. The few friends I had left couldn’t help. It’s not their job to help. In fact, I was dependent on those few brave, patient souls. The longer I depended on them the longer it took for me to grow up. Fuck this. It’s on me now.
I was 33 years old.
I still didn’t grow up.
Take stock of your life. How long has this been going on? How long have you chosen to experience THIS life? I’m sure its going ok… you’re on the right side of the dirt. And it needs to stay that way. But you need to change the game you’re playing. You’re playing on novice but the game sucks. Get to expert and win at a game that rocks.
Look at this fucking clown. Of course, it had to be a clown. No, it HAD to be a clown. And it had to be Wichita for me to finally understand that some rules are made to be broken. Time to nut up or shut up. Fuck this clown.
Of course in this scene Columbus, who hates clowns has a show down with a zombie clown. The rule that he references is his own rule #17 Don’t be a hero.
Fuck this clown. Be a hero.