…and a viable one, at that.

Content wise, I have been resisting the urge to push links to other stories and articles.  We did that in KangWorld, which was fine, but Random Misanthrope is more about us and less about everyone else. Every now and then, I’ll stumble across a story and think “Hmmm…this needs to be shared” and then nope away from it because it’s not in scope; not what this iteration of Kang’s int4rw3bz fuckery is about.

Today, I’m breaking the law.  I’m washing the dog.  I’m being an editorial rebel because I just (fo realsies and shit) finished reading an article that was like an egg beater to the brain.  A much needed kick in the pants for me, at the very least.  A sorely needed reminder that it’s perfectly fine to fall flat on your face, owning it is good and sharing the failure is even better.

Professional Kang has never had a problem with owning her mistakes. Early in her career, she learned it’s an admirable trait and people appreciate honesty, chutzpah and the willingness to right the wrong. Personal Kang loathes failure.  In fact, she lives in visceral fear of it. Why she cannot apply what works so well for her professionally to her personal life is something she struggles with daily; especially since she knows she really is far too intelligent to have such a significant mental disconnect blocking her on-ramp to Happiness Highway.  :vomits in mouth a little:

With that blather done and addressed, I’ll get to the good stuff:  the article in The Guardian titled “My big fail:  losers come clean on their all-time low.”  I tried looking for a few passages to pull out as a teaser and, really, I don’t think it’s fair to the article to do that. Everything is compelling and to snag a snippet for click-bait would be…meh.  Not to mention, each of the vignettes deserves its full due.  I suppose the only thing I could really carve out and leave as a point to ponder is this:

“A failure isn’t always big. It might just be a realisation that you could be doing better things with your life.”

Ahead of me, tomorrow, is a long drive home to Philly with my ever-present sidekick, the Milkfaced One.  At some point, as we molder on I-95 in Virginia, he will fall asleep and I’ll be left with some quiet time to climb up into my brain and over-think just about everything in my life as I’m wont to do.  I will be revisiting my friend, The Big Bewildered Bunny of Borås.  I will be intensely auditing the past six or seven weeks of the clichéd “new normal.”  I will be wondering how and why it is that I use the right words on the wrong people and what I can do to correct that timesuck.  There’s nothing quite like the breakdown (or epic fail) of a major relationship in your life to get you thinking about all of your relationships with everyone else.  Who is worth the time?  Who isn’t? Now that you find yourself feeling pain, are you inflicting it on others and what the fuck are you going to do about that, sugartits, because that’s not a good way to go through life?

Then, I’m going to do something very bold:  I’m going to ask myself the question “What’s it going to take to make you happy?”  Supremely happy.  Because I have learned two things as I adjust to the “new normal” and they are:

1. Happiness:  it’s mine for the taking.
2. Failure:  just a synonym for opportunity.