Letters To My Little Brother: Misadventures In Growing Older (6 page)

Here are my requests to people who drink:

• Don't try to get me to drink. You aren't the first person to try, but I promise you aren't going to be the magical person who finally breaks down my wall of pretentious principles. Many people (lovers, friends, and acquaintances) have tried it before you, so don't think you're the special one that'll get me to change.
  
• That being said, just because I refuse to drink doesn't mean I don't like you. It just means that abstaining is a decision that I've thought long and hard about and one that I, as ignorant as you think it may be, refuse to reconsider.
  
• I will let you try to convince me about the existence/non-existence of God, the null article, and extraterrestrial life, but I refuse to entertain any discussion on why I should drink.
  
• I don’t enjoy discussing my tee-totaling not because I am uncomfortable with telling you, but because it puts a major downer on the conversation.
  
• If I wanted to sip your drink (or taste it or whatever), then I would've asked. So please, stop offering. See Request #1.
  
• Don't insult me by saying that I will loosen up if I drink (or anything akin to me "having more fun"), and I won't insult you by saying that you need alcohol to be comfortable in your own skin.
  
• Don't tell me the reason I don't like alcohol is because I haven't tried a certain kind. Beer is gross. Wine is gross too. Champagne is a whole nother ballgame of grossness. Bailey's isn't better and neither is vodka. Please stop trying to find the holes in my alcohol history and let me drink my water/soda/air in peace.
  
• Don't tell me that I'm not allowed to dislike alcohol because I dislike the taste. I also dislike the taste of broccoli, cauliflower, Cocoa Puffs, salmon, and quiche, yet I don't see you trying to convince me to eat those, do I?
  
• Don't tell me that it's fun to be drunk. Even if I believed you, I have lots of other ways I can have fun (especially ones that don't run the risk of being dangerous, unhealthy, or destructive).
  
• If you are hosting a party or a dinner, you can offer me a drink without feeling awkward. It is common courtesy, after all. When I politely say, "No, thank you," we should just carry on normally.
  
• If I put myself in a situation involving drinking, please try not to feel awkward because I’m not drinking. I’m trying not to feel awkward either.
  
• Drunk people often do funny things. If you’re laughing about something you did while drinking, I’ll probably laugh too. Just because I take my abstinence seriously doesn’t mean I don’t have a sense of humor.
  
• Drunk people often do incredibly frustrating things. I will try my best to be patient with you but, like any human being, I can’t guarantee that I will succeed.
  
• Just because I don’t drink doesn’t mean I think I’m super-human. I still have a lot (A LOT) of weaknesses and, yes, vices.
  
• Don’t say you’ll go “cold turkey” with drinking after a certain event or milestone (i.e. graduation). Don’t say you can later avoid the habits you’re creating now. It’s bad to lie to me, but it’s worse to lie to yourself.
  
• Don't use inebriation as an excuse for your actions and I won't judge you for them.
  
• Even if you drink like a fish, I will respect you and your attitudes if you respect me and mine.
  
• It doesn't make me less of a person because I don't drink like you do, nor am I trying to take the "high-ground" (whatever that means) by abstaining. You're not more mature than me because you drink wine with dinner and I'm not more mature than you for refusing to shotgun Naty Light at a party. At the end of the day, we're all human and
  we are all beautiful, imperfect creatures
  .
  

I hope you’re not discovering the world of drugs and alcohol. I don’t think you are. You’re probably more likely to inject yourself with some HGH and horse tranquilizers than you are to test the ganja, but I thought I’d advise you nonetheless. I’m always looking out for you.

Please know that I will love you no matter what you do in your life. You could be an alcohol-drinking, baby-seal clubbing, California-style driver and I would still love you. And, in the event that I don’t, I promise that I will always try.

Love you always,

-Big Boy

CHAPTER Six:

How to Take on the working world

Dear Squirrel,

I’ve heard that you need an internship for the summer and you’ve yet to find one. Smooth, bro. I like the “wait until all my options are gone and then convince Mom and Dad that it’s okay that I don’t have an internship and that I can just watch Netflix all day” plan. I’m sure it’ll go over great with them.

But, since misery loves company, I feel your pain. Job hunts suck. How do you possibly find something you might actually enjoy doing when you’re really just trying to keep our parents off your back about being unemployed? How do you avoid them calling you a lazy bum who avoids all forms of effort and plays antiquated video game systems all day? (Just because I still play Pokémon Fire Red doesn’t mean I’m trying to relive my childhood!) And once you finally find that job, how do you actually get it? All these firms out there assure you that they “respond to every applicant within two weeks” but they never do. Ubisoft and Bungie haven’t returned my email in [at the time of publishing it’s been 4] years and I’m pretty sure I won’t be hearing them for at least another two (hundred). Why is it so hard to find a job with the least amount of responsibility a la
American Beauty
,
especially when all you want to do is make enough money to pay for at least two Chipotle burritos with guac every week?

Trust me when I say that I can empathize. I just had my first real business pitch a few months ago. It was a little strange for me because I’m fairly unaccustomed to the business world. While my arrogance and ego should be a perfect fit, I know more about Diagon Alley than Wall Street. As you can therefore imagine, it was the most nervous I’d been since the first time a girl had seen me naked. No, wait. That’s not true. The most nervous I’d been since eaten at Mellow Mushroom. (Their pizza does a real number on my bowels.)

I spent a whole week preparing a 15-page proposal. For someone who intentionally sets his own work hours, and therefore doesn’t work more than 5 hours a day, I grinded pretty hard. I was doing research and design analysis and writing and all sorts of stuff that I literally didn’t know about until I was writing the pitch. It felt a lot like the time I learned that I couldn’t actually build a lightsaber. I was a pretty devastated 13-year-old. (Well, maybe 16-year-old. My memory is intentionally hazy…)

The big day finally came. I printed and picked up my proposal at my local FedEx store. I didn’t eat any Mellow Mushroom pizza, but my nervousness went straight to my intestines nonetheless. I dropped a really vile fart at the counter. The guy next to me was picking up a poster on the many types of Judo throws, so I scampered away in fear after crop-dusting him.

I drove to a nearby hotel for my meeting. I’m not sure I’d been there since someone’s bat mitzvah in 7
th
grade. It was a lot cooler than I remembered. There were so many fake plastic trees that it felt like a recycled-dildo dump remodeled as the Amazon Rainforest. The indoor pool created this hovering cloud layer and the glass elevators seemed to rise straight out of the leaves. The floor was just as dirty as a jungle too, but I’m pretty sure no anteater would’ve eaten off it. (OMG go Google “giant anteater” right freaking now. They’re….giant!! Whaaaaaaat!? Mother Earth, you’re pretty awesome sometimes.)

By the time I entered the musty dunghole of a hotel, I couldn’t slow down my mental mania. Here is my actual stream of consciousness:

Alright, Matt, let’s do this.

My mouth is sooooooo dry! Why didn’t I bring some water!

You’ve prepared. You’ve made an awesome proposal.

I shouldn’t have chewed that gum. Blue gum always makes my mouth dry. Should’ve gone with the Double Mint. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Matt! Focus! Just focus.

That sounds a lot like “fuck us”.

“Fuck us”? Oh fuck me…

I’d rather not.

Hey, did you see the season finale of
NCIS
?

Yeah. It sucked. The penultimate episode was infinitely better. Tony and Ziva…*swoon*

They’re kind of perfect together. I think the fact that I eaten a PB&J for dinner for the 5
th
-straight night probably just compounded my distaste for the finale.

You could’ve mixed it up and gone with PB&Banana.

That would require slicing. Way too difficult.

Good point.

Hey, weren’t we supposed to be doing something?

Fuck me!

I’d rather not.

The presentation!

Oh crap…Double fuck me…

[I edited some philosophical questions out that I had about sexual orientation and Polyjuice Potion. Hit me up if you wanna get involved in that discussion. It’s a mindblower.]

I made it to the meeting and sat down. My mouth was parched. I wasn’t quivering at all. I operate surprisingly well under pressure. I was just hoping my sphincter could keep it together for the next 30 minutes.

The discussion that followed went something (aka nothing) like this:

CEO:
“So, Matt, what makes you qualified to make this proposal?”

Me:
“Nothing. Nothing at all. Honestly I’m doing it cause I have nothing to lose.”

CEO:
“Nice answer. How old are you?”

Me:
“Far too young to be telling you I’m capable of doing the things I’m saying I can do.”

CEO:
“You’re overselling yourself? Smart move. You’re making a great pitch.”

Me:
“Thank you. I’m trying really hard not to drop a major cookie right now.”

CEO:
“Don’t you worry about that. We’ll just blame Bill for it. Oh, Bill…”

Bill
: “Everyone always blames me…”

Me:
“Shut up, Bill.”

CEO:
“Nice display of leadership, Matt! I like your style.”

Me:
“I like your moves.”

CEO:
“A
Starsky & Hutch
reference? Niiiiiiice. Why couldn’t you make sweet references like that, Bill?”

Bill
: “I’ve got brain damage from trying to asphyxiate myself with the carbon monoxide out of my tailpipe.”

CEO:
“No one likes excuses, Bill. So, Matt, want to talk tomorrow?”

Me:
“About the contract?”

CEO:
“Yeah. But also about
Iron Man 3
. I’m a big fan of Shane Black.”

Me:
“
Kiss Kiss Bang Bang
was probably Val Kilmer’s best movie since
Heat.
”

CEO:
“You’re very film literate. Bill, why aren’t —

[CEO turns to see Bill jumping out of window.]

CEO:
“Look at Bill. Always finding a way out of doing work.”

Okay, fine. The meeting went absolutely nothing like that. We mostly talked about my competencies and my strategy on how to move their company forward. Hopefully they liked it.

It’s fascinating to have that first business meeting experience. You really don’t know what to expect (much like the aforementioned first time being seen naked). And, more importantly, it’s interesting to think about what the other person expected. Did they think I’d have a patchy beard? Did they think I’d be as serious as I was? Did they expect me to have more answers? Those same questions went through my mind about being naked. And a few more like, “Should I have trimmed that up a bit? What do you think of this mole right here? Why are your hands so rough? Do you do kettlebell or something?”

So, in order to help you with your fruitless job search, here’s my advice:
Be you.

That’s it. It’s honestly the best piece of advice I can give you. Just be you. Be unique. Do what you do and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. The world is disgustingly monotonous and the best thing you can do for yourself is stand out from the crowd. It’s not just about differentiation in an oversaturated, overpopulated market, but it’s also about discovering the self worth to give a middle finger to the uninspired, unambitious, uninteresting, unhelpful world and saying, “You’re goddamn right I deserve to be here.”

Think about it. You’ve got broad shoulders, a firm handshake, and a head that’s still attached to your neck. That’s three more things than a lot of people in this world can say for themselves. You have an education and you know what the “wherefore” in, “Wherefore art thou, Romeo?” means. You’ve read the both
The Communist Manifesto
and
Player Piano
. You’ve been to two other hemispheres and you’ve mastered throwing a slider. You might not think any of that makes you special, but how many other people do you know with all those traits? I’d bet exactly no one, right?

Wait — did you actually think someone else out there is like you? Well fuck you for thinking you’re not special. Fuck you for thinking that you don’t have a voice and, even worse, thinking that you shouldn’t demand for it to be heard. Following your voice is the only thing in life that actually matters. I know we’re always chasing ass, money, and 15 minutes of fame, but what does that mean in the end? They don’t put “Matt McKinney — sexually and financially fulfilled, dull and soulless, only mildly interesting husband, father of two kids, owner of a dog and a house with a white picket fence” on your tombstone. So why the hell should that be your final goal in life?

When I was debating whether quit my job a few months ago, you didn’t answer the phone the seven or eight times I called you, so you never learned the real reasons I resigned. Here they are:

I was becoming a drone.
My life was dictated by someone else’s terms, not my own. I buzzed around from task to task, laying more and more anxiety on myself until taking notes felt like toeing the rocky line between life and death.

I was becoming a clone.
I was just like everyone else. I learned what to wear and who to talk to and what to say. I learned what was good and what was bad, what was right and what was wrong. After a few months of looking in the mirror, I didn’t recognize the shade of the man I staring back at me. I was slowly losing my individuality — my love for language, Supreme Court rulings, confronting authority — because it would make me a better employee.

I was becoming an empty suit.
Unique thought was encouraged, but only if it stayed silent. I was told to keep my head down and my mouth shut. I learned that the tallest blade of grass is the first to be cut down. I learned to be a better “yes man” than Jim Carrey. And, worst of all, I accepted it.

I still have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve got some jobs now and I’ve started down a new road, but I have no clue where I’ll end up. Not in a week, not in six months, not in five years. I’m just along for the ride right now.

But none of this was an accident. None of this happened by chance. I am working for myself and writing and reviewing and thinking and living the life I love only because I had a supportive family and a pair of balls big enough to make me jump into the abyss of the unknown.

Sometimes I fall asleep thinking about how so many people ended up doing the life-sucking work they do. Did they always intend to become middle managers at a large and faceless corporation? Do they actually believe their easily-replaceable jobs make them happy? At what point did they decide to succumb and sell out? Was there no other place for them to go? Could they not find a different path to greater success and greater fulfillment? If they couldn’t, does that mean I’m doomed to the same fate?

All too often I hear people complaining about their jobs and their lives. They see their circumstances as inevitable. They see no way out of their dark, lonely caves. They see no better option than to acquiesce. I know this because I was one of those people. I once believed that I had reached the highest point to which I could climb and I adamantly denied there was nowhere else for me to go. In the end, I had three choices: quit my job and pray I might find something better; stay in a low-paying, mind-numbing job until I’m well into my 30s; or decide not to decide and simply end my conundrum by driving off a bridge. You’d be surprised how close I came to the third option.

I understand that some people’s lives are dictated by circumstances (financial, spiritual, physical, etc.) but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t kick and scream and fight like all hell until your voice is finally heard. My stomach turns when I hear about my friend who gets rejected by a law school because his resume isn’t written in the standard, straightforward, dry format as every other applicant’s. I feel sick when I learn about my friend who is forced to wear a tie and crunch numbers all day when all he really wants to do is live on the beach and fall asleep in the sunshine. It’s disgusting how much value the world places on homogeneity.

There’s a reason I had an obscure major and a non-linear career path. I was terrified of being like everyone else. I respect kids in law and business school, but I never, ever wanted to be one of them. I never understood how I could ever want to be told how to think and how to work and how to live. I don’t want someone else telling me what success means. I’ll decide that for my own goddamn self. They might know the difference between top line revenue and habeas corpus, but I know something they don’t: that anything I think, feel, or say is every bit as legitimate as everything they do.