Butterfingers

Signs of Life is packed right now. It's Valentine's Day, so all of the tables that seat two are full. Some of the couples are playing board games. Others are balancing words coming out of their mouth with coffee going in. They're all aware it's Valentine's Day. They're wondering what that means for the night.

A few weeks ago, I was in a three-way tie for fifth place in the NYC Short Screenplay Competition. The top 5 moved on to the third round, competing for money and face-time with producers. They settle ties based on your two previous scripts, and the places you had then. I had the lowest of the other two, bumping me out. I was points away from the kind of opportunity that changes lives. I was disappointed.

Last night I played poker at Crimson and Brews. The winner of the games played there every Friday take home around 400 dollars. That's a lot.
I made it to the final table, and ended up getting fourth. This put me out of the bubble, a little bit of money going to third place. It's pretty disappointing. I had opportunities to go further, but didn't take them up. I fell right out of the bubble. Third place got their money back. I was disappointed.

It reminded me of something my mom told me when I was in high school. We were talking about my grades, a common conversation in my household. During the conversation, my mom told me about the difference between an A and a B. She referenced something my brother Kuma said. Kuma told my mother that he would rather get a low B (83 or 82 percent), rather than an 89. He said knowing that he was only a single point away from an A is agonizing. He would rather know an A is unreachable. Know that he didn't obtain something for a reason out of his own power.

Is there a certain level of comfort in knowing some of our goals are unobtainable?

I don't know why I remember that conversation, but that always stuck with me. Working hard for something. Wanting it. and coming up just barely short. That's disappointment.

But that's what life is. A long, continues series of opportunities. They come and go. Some are more important than others. Some are easy to obtain, some stay in the stars. It's frustrating when the opportunity you want is way beyond your reach. But it's also frustrating when an opportunity right in front of you slips out of your hand.

But maybe we can learn from the opportunities we don't get. They remind us what's important to us. Maybe the best way to know you want something is to be reminded that you don't have it yet.

The couple directly in front of me is interesting. They're both drinking coffee, ordered cinnamon rolls, and are playing a weird board game I've never seen. The game involves a wooden board with pegs, a deck of cards, and a straw sticking out of the wooden board (which might not be part of the game). They've been playing it for a really long time.
I wonder how they feel about the game. Playing it on Valentine's Day. The girlfriend dressed up for the night. The boyfriend is wearing jeans and a beanie. I'm not sure if that counts.
It's not a matter of whether or not she noticed. It depends on if she cares. She knows that she's sitting in a coffee shop right now, dressed better than her date. She knows as much as the rest of us that she spent more time getting ready than he did. Maybe that's embarrassing. Maybe she wonders if his beanie and jeans are symbols for his commitment to their relationship, or the night. Maybe she doesn't care.

But it's been my experience that people tend to think about things you wonder if they're thinking about.

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"What do you want?"

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-Ryan

(Former) Client

Currently I am a practicum student at Johnson County Department of Corrections Therapeutic Community. It is a 6 month inpatient program for convicts with drug problems. As part of my graduate program, I spend 16 hours of my week on site providing therapy.

Last week, a client came forward to the staff and informed us that he had gotten his hands on methadone and used it. TC has a pretty strict "no drug use" policy, so he's probably getting kicked out. He was my client, so I had the opportunity to sit down with him for his last few hours at TC. 

I've worked in the mental health field for a few years now. Eventually, you tend to hear the same things from clients. Excuses for their behaviors, Everyday events that cause them anxiety. Problem behaviors they want gone. But the conversation I had with this particular client was different from most. 

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"There's no high like heroine. I'm sick of being a walking cliche. Every day saying the same thing. That I have the willpower to stay clean. Telling the other clients here that this time is different. But I always just end up eating my words. I've let down so many people in my life."

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He'll probably die from drug use. Without this inpatient program, it's only a matter of time before he starts using again. So the only question is, "When?"