Sometimes I have visions of myself as a perfect model citizen. 'How does he do it?' they whisper to each other, astounded. I wear nice yet modest clothes. Nothing name brand or flashy, just clean. Lint-rolled. Conscious of appearance for reasons that no one could mistake as vanity. My jeans, when I wear them, are not ripped up at the 'cuffs'. They fit and I don't tread on them. On a rainy day I don't have to worry about my ankles getting wet due to my pants fitting over my shoes completely. Or I intervene with the problem and roll them up slightly. I wear colors that work together. Maybe there is something more innocent and beautiful in the fact I wear ripped up pants. I'm not sure.
Either way I'm smiling a wide knowing smile. I smile like I am conspiring with the world to promote positive social change. I'm the reliable, innovative man whose extensive knowledge of people and situations helps me to fit soundly in with any group of people, while at the same time standing out. In this vision, I have an aptitude for reading people that borders telepathy. Rivals clairvoyance. The word is TASTEFUL. I know what to say and I know how to say it. I help get things moving and am always available to assist friends launch their ideas. When my mind wanders, it wanders to the right places. The places where answers can be found. I can think on my feet. I am confident. In this vision I exude an air of confidence. I completely understand thick accents and know how to reply to make the other people feel comfortable. I have a mastery of how words are used in the English language. I never stutter. When I wave it does not look accidental or sardonic.
I spend time cultivating various talents. In this vision I am good enough at the things I love to share my talent with others. I can write beautiful poetry. I can write symphonies based on feeling alone, with no academic knowledge of music theory. I can paint naked portraits on sinking ships before a cold and imminent death tears us away from each other. I can focus on a single project until its completion before moving on to the next. I am an efficient perfectionist. I don't hinder myself by flirting with erroneous detail. I speak clearly without mumbling and when I speak off of my guard I still do not sound sarcastic. My self-esteem is high enough that is raises the hearts of all around me. Hey it's not so bad after all, thanks Nate for comforting me, they say. I can patiently listen. I can fix my broken skull candies. I have at least partial mechanical knowledge. you know. To know the things a modern man needs to know if he wishes to save some money. I do not squander money, in this dream. I am aware of my bank account balances and the compounding interest. I find loopholes in the system to make modest profit off of simple things. Counting cards. Stock market. Sending in stories to be published in literary journals, to be torn apart by bored critics who wish to release alcohol-withdrawal anger on some poor newcomer.
I usually imagine myself walking into some sort of high tech building where everyone knows who I am, as if I own a business or something. We have ethical concerns about how to run a business. I am in charge and I make damn sure that we never embezzle or steal or borrow unlawfully or work with shady individuals. I would implement a rigorous application process where the final test is to go out to brunch with me, in a casual suit without a tie. Because we have ethical concerns we will never come out on top. That is not what it is about. For me, it's about keeping my head, and my employees heads above water. The dark churning waters of darker temptations. My reputation precedes me and I always smell nice.
I eat healthy and fair trade products. My body is a biological example of the perfect body. I have a rare blood type and I donate regularly, directly at the hospital so it can save lives faster. My knuckles don't crack. (Where my dream, my image, my idealization of myself becomes troublesome is the fact that the majority of these things, to come true, require a certain commitment and a regularity, a set in stone schedule that I live by in order to achieve these goals.)
In the dream. This perfection. My aspiration. I am committed to every goal I can conjure up. Every little idea I execute to some extent. Simply to try out perhaps. If I like the rough draft then I can rewrite the script, revise the experiment, and try again with more gusto. More zest. I have myriad ideas. I realize these ideas and bring them straight from my head into reality. Once there I can hold meetings with esteemed colleagues to revise and edit the ideas. So many ideas. I have the courage to present ideas to board meetings. I have courage to ask women on dates and many of them are decently successful although I'm not in it for a lay. I could get laid if I wanted to, mostly based on how genuinely nice I am. Amiable. Amicable. They want to be around me and I try to dish out my time to all of those who are important to me. I never "try too hard." I always try just hard enough but tend to appreciate when a relationship simply falls into my lap. Some cosmic connection between a sovereign heart and my own. Something that snaps and scatters like a bottle rocket. In this dream I am given the decision to choose exactly who to hang out with regardless of where in the world they may be. I invite a teleportation agency perhaps. I have extensive knowledge of the universe and its inhabitants. I sleep well every night and wake refreshed every morning drinking coffee as a reward rather than an inclination.
I keep dreaming about this person. And if, one day in a mirror, I will be introduced to him. I'm trying but it seems I don't have enough hours in the day. This man is a stranger to me. He never procrastinates and always knows how to react to a situation. He has experience. Life experience. Genuine life experience and he doesn't cry when others need him to be strong but he has shoulders to cry on when he needs them. These reliable friends. The favors are reciprocal. He is organized, clean. Wastes nothing. Never wastes time. Wears a watch if he cares to know exactly what time it is. Mostly he operates on gut instinct because he is so incredibly tuned in to the world that every action seems to be catered to his way of operation. The world was made for him. Billions of years of evolution. Failed prototypes of human beings. He is the real thing. He is real, tangible. Radiant. There is a positive glow about him. He is god. He avoids conversation about religion but tends to nod towards the Eastern ways of thought. The Buddhist mantra. And of course, loving thy neighbor. Strangers in the street rush to greet him because he looks like such an interesting person to talk to. Strange and beautiful girls do not shy away into their phones or their oblivion as he walks by them. He is polite and obeys the rules of etiquette that he believes in. He does not say bless you when someone sneezes but says thank you if someone says bless you for him.
He is a walker and a talker. A go getter. A spark plug. The essential comic relief in any solid group of lifelong friends. He never tries to hurt any living creature. He will hurt himself to avoid trampling some poor cricket hopping across the sidewalk. He is a martyr to his beliefs. He has unconventional but realistic beliefs about the world but never shoves his opinion down anyone's throat. If someone insults him, he counters smartly but non combative. He always knows what to say and how to say it.
I make lists. Constantly lists. To bridge the gap between myself and him. To take those first steps. I would be a waste of existence. I must become the model citizen. The model citizen in my own eyes. Not what others project. They project bad things. Drugs and tasteless jokes.
