Choosing Happiness: Day 2

It's November 10th, 11:30 AM, and the world has already decided to fuck me.

Nearly everyone around me has completely lost their shit. I'm flanked on all sides by anger, frustration, stress, and bullshit. Not only that, but I'm the whipping boy of the day. Passive aggressive comments are being thrown my way as often as opportunity allows. Not only is this negativity hanging around the office, it's actively attacking me at every turn.

Choosing to be happy is one thing, but making a choice counter to your environment is another. It's like choosing to not move when someone throws you into water. You'll drown.

So, I chose to swim.

If I'm going to choose to be happy, I can only make that choice when the circumstances support it. So, I got the fuck out of there. I didn't return to my desk for a good long time. At one point, I went into a closet by myself, raised my arms in the air, breathed out and said my mantra: "I choose to be happy today. Fuck all that sad nonsense. I'm happy today."

I'm not going to lie: The day didn't get a whole lot better. People were still in a shitty mood. It was still a very busy, stressful day.

The one thing that did change was me. I made the choice to not be a part of all the aggressive negativity. Something else happened though: Since I didn't make the choice to be angry or resentful towards my coworkers, those feelings were replaced by empathy.

Choosing to not be a part of their pain allowed me to view it through a different lens. I saw people that were working hard and feeling unappreciated. I saw people that had reached their limit, and they reacted accordingly. I saw people that wanted to lash out against someone, and I was the easiest target. It wasn't personal. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It astounds me how basic these lessons are. My mother, an amazing special education teacher, always told her students that everything they did was a choice. They can choose to be one way or another, but ultimately how they behave and view the world is completely in their control. If only I had listened more than her students.

I've chosen to be happy. So far, I've learned three lessons from choosing happiness:

1. When you choose to be happy, you alter your surroundings. People and places become brighter simply because you've chosen to make them so.

2. Choosing to be happy eliminates anger and promotes love. You no longer resent others. You choose to love them. This love breeds empathy, kindness, and understanding, which makes choosing happiness much easier.

3. Sometimes, choosing happiness means walking the fuck away. Because fuck that sad nonsense.

Blog Zombie / A Week of Happiness

(DISCLAIMER: While some of this is a bit whiny, I implore you to read through if you're struggling in life. Hopefully you'll find some solace in my ramblings)

YOU THOUGHT I WAS DONE!?!?!? YOU WERE WRONG!!!

You weren't that wrong though. . . .Many of my blog posts were about my awful commutes to 34th street. Since I changed jobs, and now I work in DUMBO, my commute is pretty pleasant. I get to sleep sometimes, and rarely encounter overcrowded trains. Tis a blessing. Tis.

There was still stress in my life, but it was far more sinister and hidden. I was losing my sense of self.

While this new job is great in terms of practicality (money, consistent schedule, free alcohol after work, etc.), it certainly is a killer of dreams. I haven't even thought about anything creative in months. This has taken a toll on my happiness.

This brings me to my personal view on happiness: I've always seen happiness as a natural occurrence. Like a joyful mathematical equation.

You eat cake + You eat ice cream = You are happy
You win a game + Your foe cries like a baby when you win = You are happy
You find true love + They love you back = You are happy

I also believe sadness to be exactly the same.

You lose a loved one = You are sad
You fail to live up to your potential = You are sad
You drop your phone in the toilet = You fly into a furious rage and then become sad

While my views on sadness and happiness are very practical and reasonable, they have been challenged in the recent months. I seem to be sad a lot. All the time. I have no desire to do anything creative or proactive in my life. I just have enough energy to go to work and come home. My mathematical equation of happiness sucks. . . . .if it is a mathematical equation.

If happiness and sadness are natural, mathematical occurrences, then what does that mean when you are constantly happy or constantly sad? Is it the case that some people are just far more fortunate or misfortunate than others, therefore more naturally happy or sad than others? While it is true that people are more fortunate than others, there are incredibly sad rich people, and very happy poor people. Being fortunate certainly has it's advantages, but it doesn't necessarily equate happiness.

So then what the fuck is my problem? When you look at my life, things are pretty good: Good job. GREAT wife. Good friends. What do I have to be sad about? I'll answer that in a second.

Lets change directions: Think about that one person you know who is happy all the time. You all have that one person. That person who walks around with a smile on their face, never complains, laughs a lot, and is just plain happy. Now, think about their life. They aren't especially fortunate, are they? They live a normal life, filled with normal things, yet they always have a shit eating grin like they just won the fucking lottery.

There is only one answer: They CHOOSE to be happy.

For those people, happiness is not a mathematical equation. Things didn't add up to equal constant happiness. How could they? We all know life doesn't work like that. These people choose to remain happy, despite what bullshit mathematical sadness comes their way.

Now, back to my question: What do I have to be sad about? The answer: Nothing. I have no reason to be sad. I could find a reason to be sad. In fact, I've found several over the past months. I made the choice to find sadness, and it hasn't paid off at all.

So, I decided to give this whole "choosing happiness" thing a try. This week, I am going to wake and say out loud to myself "I choose to be happy today. Fuck all that sad nonsense. I'm happy today."

How did my first day go? I'll tell you:

The morning was frustrating. I'm getting over a cold, so my face was congested as fuck. All my coworkers didn't want to be at work today. My boss was in a foul mood all day. I was hot as the AC couldn't figure itself out. I was told about the week to come, which is going to be very tough.

I chose to be happy, and none of that shit mattered.

I managed to make my grumpy boss smile more than once. I made my coworkers laugh multiple times. I worked harder today because I was in a better mood. The day went by faster. I didn't care about the week to come, because I was far more present in my happiness.

Choosing happiness worked!!!

I'm going to continue to say "I choose to be happy today. Fuck all that sad nonsense. I'm happy today" for the rest of this week. If it continues to work, I may do it for the rest of my life. I'll update y'all tomorrow.

I'm sorry there weren't any pictures. Here's one:

Fuck you MTA

Full platform when I get to Jay St.-Metrotech. It's over 90 degrees on this platform, and filled with humidity and stank. No R for 15 minutes. A Q showed up though . . . For those non-NYers, the Q is not supposed to stop there at all.

Then the R train I'm on held at Dekalb for 5 minutes. Then a ginger child starts crying. Fantastic.

An old Asian woman gets a seat, but leaves her old shopping bag collection in front of the doors. Prime AC spot taken by old shopping bags. I stare at her. She makes eye contact with me, doesn't understand why I'm staring, and goes back to braying in her native tongue with friends. Fucking bitch.

At every stop, a very wide woman, with the gaite of an old timey moustached villain, skulks around the train looking for a seat. Her constant movement forces the whole fucking train to accommodate her. The child keeps crying.

A guy begs for money. I feel like shit as this guy has to beg to eat, and I don't have money to give. All this shit with a side of guilt. Wonderful. The child is STILL crying. The train ride from hell ends.

A train ride that normally takes 30 minutes, takes an hour. I usually get a seat on this train ride without struggle. 

This happened because the MTA is on its fucking period or something. Get it together. Just provide consistent service. That's all. Everyone's $2.75 has to at least provide consistency.

Fuck you MTA.

Little did I know . . .

I'm on the R train to my new job. It's pretty awesome, because I get to take the R train over 90% of the way there, and there's an R train right around the corner from my house!

The downside is that I'm not taking as populated a train, so one of the greatest sources of material for this blog may have  disappeared. . . . or so I thought.

I'm not a morning person, and the R train is slow, so I close my eyes for a brief snooze.

A very jolting "BLRRRRGH" wakes me up.

The guy who made this noise is facing the door next to me, with his cheeks puffed out, as he quickly hits the door with a closed fist. He turns around, walks to the opposite door, bends over, and vomits a little. It was all water . . . or at least it looked like water.

He angrily yells "FUCK!" as the doors open at the stop. He walks out to the platform, and proceeds to purge himself. This time, it's accompanied by all the sounds that one associates with throwing up. It sounds wonderful.

Here's the thing: I had every intention to notify people of the watery vomit. I would hope someone would do the same for me. 

Then, a horde of people board the train.

I open my mouth to deter the masses, but it was too late. These people scuffle their feet across the watery sick, one after the other.

There had to be a lesson from this:

1. Don't put your shit on the floor of a subway car. There could be ANYTHING there. Piss, shit, cum, vomit, or anything else. Use your imagination. It's down there.

2. You can't help it. Your shoes will touch the floor where said piss, cum, vomit, etc. lies in wait. So, don't put your shoes on couches or clothes or anyone else. That's gross. In fact . . . I should start taking my shoes off at people's houses from now on. Gross.

Now, to my first day of my new job.

Goodbye 34th Street!

Today, I am leaving my job to start a new one. It's a joyous occasion. Not just because I'll be making more money in my new job (stackin' papers), but also because I won't have to deal with the absolutely infuriating bullshit that is 34th street. Here's the shit I won't miss:

1. CANCER

    Our nation is slowly quitting cigarettes. They're almost completely gone. Except for 34th street. Apparently, every smoker in the world makes their smoker's pilgrimage to Herald Square to walk and smoke. There isn't an inch of 34th street that I can walk on that isn't raped by the cancerous smokey offspring of someone's mouth.

    Also, what's extra insulting, is these fuckers try every single method of alternate smoking under the sun. As if they take their nicotine through a cigarette with a blue electric tip, they won't have to get a tracheotomy later. Or if they inhale their tar gas through a black box with a nifty metal tip, they won't die 25 years earlier than they should.

    These dumb fuckers think they're crafty. All they are is a bunch of inconsiderate cunts who hope to give all of 34th street a headache with a chance of death.


2. EMPIRE STATE HAWKERS

    At this job, I got to walk past the Empire State Building every day. Pretty cool, right?

    WRONG. FUCKING WRONG. Why? Because the Empire State Building employs an army of people bugging every person on the street to purchase tickets to get a tour. A fucking army. They stand in clumps, asking you if you're "going up". They also form an impenetrable wall with the tourists. I've had to walk in the middle of the street more times than I can count just to get around the mass of idiot tourists and sales people.

    I hear you though. You're saying, "But Jaysef. Stop being an asshole. They are just trying to earn an honest wage."

   Here's what I say to you: Fuck you. First, I'm allowed to have irrational hate of things, as long as I don't physically harm anyone. Second, they blocked me for months on end. I can't take that shit anymore. And last, some of those people aren't working. They seriously stand around shooting the shit about random things. I overheard, as I pushed past a group of them, a guy talking about "getting his nut". For real? Why the hell are you blocking everyone's way, talking about jizzing in someone. Move your dumb ass to the side of the street. Cum talk is not needed in the middle of the street.

   And the worst part: the tourists that engage that shit. They don't realize the irreparable damage they're doing by engaging them. Go inside the building to buy your tickets. Stop clogging up the streets with your wealthy tourist ass, and go where you're supposed to go, you fucking sheep. Please, continue to come to New York. We want your rubles and yen and euros. But go where we tell you, nay, NEED you to go, so we can all get to work, to pay taxes, to make sure this bitch is still here so you can visit it!!! Fuckin dumb ass blonde swedish mother fucker and his gaggle of well adjusted teens getting in my way. I NEED A PAYCHECK MOTHER FUCKER!! I NEED TO WORK!!

3. THE 34TH STREET TRAIN STATION
   The 34th St. subway station is where order and law go to die. The shit is about 3 or 4 stories deep in the ground, filled with people that have no clue where they're going, and filled a cacophony of noise that drowns out any rational thoughts you might have. I feel like I'm walking into the fucking Mines of Moria or some shit. It is a nexus of time and dreams, meant to sap the very soul from you.

Me when I spend more than 5 minutes surround by fucktards at 34th street.

The one thing I will miss:

THE SUBWAY PERFORMERS

     34th street, in my opinion, has the most insane cadre of crazies in the subway underground scene.

I've seen big bands, jazz groups, acrobats, rock bands, brass house groups, metal guitarists, and even a pop standards violin player. I will talk briefly about some of the highlights.

REMY FRANCOIS

Every once in a while, I would be greeted by the non-sensical tones of Remy Francois. He is just as you see him here. He wears a gold crown, has a wild, unkept black moustache, plays an electric guitar, and only sings songs in french.

The craziest part is that he ignores rhythm entirely. I would say he changes time signature every measure, but that would be assuming he honors a time signature in the first place. His sense of rhythm is so non-existent, that it throws you off your natural stride. I try to walk past him when he's playing, and every step I take becomes more gradually out of sync with my stride. He is a mind wizard with his music noise. I will miss him . . .I think.

MIKE GROISMAN

This dude SHREDS. The second you get off your train, this guy is blasting something and KILLING IT. 

The crazy part is he is doing this at 9 AM. If you were tired when you got on the train, you are awakened by his metal melodies.

Also, if you're reading this Mike, your CDs don't have any music on them. Thought you should know. I don't regret giving you $5. . ..but I wish I had music.

ASIAN JAZZ DRUMMER

I don't have a picture of her, because I can't find any on the interwebs, which only fits her mystique.

One morning, I heard a jazz trio playing. It was a pretty cool thing to hear live so early in the morning. There was a older jewish man playing the saxophone, a middle age black man playing bass, and. . .. . a grumpy ass chinese woman KILLING the drums. She kept that shit clean, and she did it with a horrible grimace on her face. Also, her face never moved. While her body was moving furiously to keep the band in time, her head was in an alternate space and time. It stayed still the entire song. Her eyes were glazed over like her child was asking to watch Frozen for the hundreth time, and her frown was so epic that I'm sure Beowulf would even say "That's a good frown".

Her anger and discontent at playing the drums so masterfully was beautiful. I loved it.

Goodbye 34th St. Have a great, cancerous life. I'm off to DUMBO.

Train Smell #1

Today's Train Scent:

Hamster Cage Diarrhea Milk

Train post #1

I am on a train that is like an ice box. It's a rarity that the temperature of a train is desirable. The train Shoggoth smiles upon me. . .

This is a Shoggoth I found on Wikipedia.

Of course, there must be an equal and opposite reaction.

There is a giant, anime baby Huey mother fucker standing next to me. He looks like The Dude and Yokozuna had a baby. His super power is the ability to take a bath in cooking oil and leave unscathed. His facial hair looks like it was fashioned by a blind person. Hell, I doubt he's looked in a mirror recently.

here's The Dude and a Yokozuna

He prefers to stare at me, or at least I think he's staring. It's hard to tell as his eyes are in the ever-expansive purgatory of "not open, but not closed". What I do know is that his breathing is definitely directed my way.

Although, in a strange way, I envy this man. The level with which he gives no fucks is astounding. This man probably floats through life reeking of food, dressing like a hobo, buying expensive electronics, not talking to anyone, doing really hard drugs in a relatively non- destructive manner, constantly flip flopping between being asleep and awake. There is no way that his brain, riddled with insanity, can give a shit about anything. He is a motley fool.

Of course, that was just the R train.

Now, I move to the D train. Oh, dear D train. The harbinger of the fastest ride to Manhattan combined with a crowd that looks like a Hasidic-Chinese Joel Osteen is about to give a sermon through their phone screens and newspapers.

The D train

The first person I encounter is asleep. And I mean ASLEEP. This woman's head is leaning off the wall behind her, ready to rest on the subway door. Her mouth is wide open, like she was a 4 year old ready to receive her first holy communion. There is an EPIC pimple on her forehead. If you were to look at it through a super microscope, you would see a village of nanites worshipping it's inevitable explosion. They have sacrificed one of their own in honor of its towering puss sepulcher. Poor Carl.

She keeps hitting my wallet in my side pocket with her head. That's not the problem. The problem is with each successive head butt, the unholy pimple inches closer and closer to my wallet.

I have smelled pure feces on a train. I've dodged a trail of urine cascading towards me on a train ride. I've seen someone explosively vomit on an N train at 2 AM. I've remained calm and collected during each incident.

If this pimple explodes on my pants I may  just throw up everywhere. I move. Fast. And then she drools where my shoe used to be. 

I survive another train ride. The scars remain etched on my soul forever. I become more in sync with the shared PTSD of being a New Yorker.

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