An Honest Opening

It’s September of 2012, and there I am standing in the cashier area of my local Target’s Electronics Department eagerly waiting for closing time so I can get the hell out of there. I’m about three weeks into what will eventually become a month-long stint at my first official retail job, and I absolutely detest it. In my short time there, I’ve already experienced some of the usual occurrences while working in such an environment: some customers who make the work much harder than it needs to be, coworkers plastering on fake smiles while they sneak in their disses on others, team leads pretending to be allies only to count the employee feedback they encourage against the poor souls who fall into that trap.

What made the experience all the more nerve wracking, however, was my old ball and chain, my curse, the monkey firmly clenched onto my back: my general anxiety. From sixth grade up until that age of 22, it just frazzled damn near every aspect of my life. I’d worry about almost everything, and it certainly carried over into this job. I constantly tripped over my words when interacting with customers and staff, botched the explanations of the complicated protection plans at the time on certain products, and fell behind on my tasks overall because everything snowballed on me. Looking back, I could have effectively addressed these issues by keeping it simple and working on each one. My anxiety absolutely refused to allow that though. With each failure I only kicked myself further into the ground, feeling like a complete sack of crap for having underperformed. I was left unmotivated to try again and improve my deficiencies. On the rare occasions where I did want to make a better effort in light of my anxious disposition, I usually hesitated to the point where the brief encouraging spark fizzled out.

That same night where I so badly want to just return to the comfort of my own space after my shift, a hulking figure in his mid-30’s approaches my area while muttering to himself. He walks briskly and quickly scouts the products with a piercing gaze behind his glasses. Once his eyes lock on to the Sony Playstation section, he hurriedly arrives and snatches the nearest PS3 controller while saying, “I love my dog to death, but she pisses me off sometimes. She chewed up my other controller.” “I’m sorry to hear that,” I nervously reply after hearing his agitated tone. He hands it to me, and we complete the transaction without issue. Then he glances at my nametag and asks, “Daniel, do you want to go skydiving sometime?” Here comes my anxiety taking the reins to create an abysmal 20-second attempt at a response to this sudden question: “Uh, uh, I don’t kn-. . .” He cuts me off and firmly says, “See? You hesitated, man. Sometimes, you just gotta go for it in life. Even if you don’t want to go skydiving, you could have had a clearer answer and that would have been fine. Check it out.”

He turns to a middle-aged lady in the area and asks her the same question, but she doesn’t miss a beat in her response. As I watch their smooth conversational exchange in awe, he reveals that he’s a skydiving instructor and hands her his business card. She informs him that she’ll definitely pass it on to a risk-taking niece, thanks him, and simply makes her way to another part of the store. He turns back to me and reiterates, “See? Don’t be afraid.”

I nod once in response and keep my head slightly tilted downward as if I just received a stinging reprimand from one whom I’ve known and highly respect. He exits with his purchase in hand, and I awkwardly stand there trying to steady my breathing. So many questions raced through my mind after that brief, random, yet impactful experience. How can someone be so brazen in approaching strangers like that? Why couldn’t I just answer him quickly and clearly? Why am I like this? How did this whole encounter come about? Did fate send this emissary with the intention of lighting a fire under my ass and prompting me to stop being so timid all the time?

I often think back to this memory, laughing at myself good-naturedly since I’m in a better place with that monkey on my back compared to 2012; however, I also remember the heavy words that still resonate profoundly: “You hesitated.” I have admittedly hesitated so much since then. That hesitation has helped me avoid some tough situations, but I’ve experienced immense regret from a greater number of missed opportunities.

In recent years, I have become stagnant in mind which has left me nearly motionless when presented with new avenues to move forward; I hesitate and quickly dismiss the possible good that may come from the experiences. Hell, I’ve been hesitating to finally write something up here on Vocal because of the reemerging, debilitating mindset that I have nothing of importance at all to say and that I’ll only inconvenience those who listen to my thoughts. But I’m trying to get out of this funk with the help of this medium. I mean, an engaging platform where others and I are invited to write and post our views on various topics? Why not? Why hesitate?

I have to stop getting in my own way and go for it, whatever it may be. I have to be present and acknowledge any situation, no matter how great or minor it may seem, and not simply shy away from it. I have to establish my presence and make a concrete decision with conviction even if it results in my refusal to do something. I have to give life’s offerings a fair shot, and perhaps this reflection is a sturdy stepping stone in doing so. I’m nervous about posting this introductory piece, but I’m determined to see it through. Thank you for reading.

This post thanks Japanese Breakfast’s “Be Sweet” for the inspiration to write it.