giving myself permission to be a fuck up

02/04/25

I am hereby giving myself permission to be a fuck up.

I think I've always been drawn to the fuck up life. I wasn't ever quick to jump into any goals or plans. I've always lived on the fly.

I spent the summer after high school graduation in my mom's garage painting, chainsmoking, and getting high 8 hours a day. But my affinity for being a fuck up stretches back even further into my adolescence and post-adolescence. Both were characterized by a dissociative fugue state facilitated by things like My Little Pony¹, video games, and eventually different emo pockets of the internet.²

As I entered my mid-twenties I tried rectifying the situation and growing up a little bit, which included: completing my Associate's in Art after 4 years of slow progress, moving out on my own, finally getting my driver's license at 25,³ and getting married.

Besides getting married, I felt like the things I had achieved weren't really accomplishments. I was just playing catch up, fulfilling overdue obligations expected of any young adult. Once I finally clawed my way to being a "normal" 25 year old I decided to kick things up a notch and go back to school.

I had previously attended community college from 2017 to 2020. The ride on public transit took over an hour, from my walk/bike ride to the courthouse bus station, the ride out of town to the main station in the larger metro, and the transfer bus I hopped that runs through college campus.

I enrolled under the pretenses of a psychology major for lack of any idea of what I actually wanted to study. I signed up for an art class to fill a gen ed and it was game over. I took as many art classes as I could and threw myself into art in a way I never had before. My professors were amazing and my classes were largely fulfilling (I suck at anything to do with sculpture).

The campus was smoke-free. In between classes I would sneak to the secret smoking spot near the art department to have a cigarette break. There was an outdoor platform facing a small grove of trees. If you walked downstairs and took a right, you'd end up in this little semi-hidden alcove underneath the platform.

It was partially walled-in by the building's brick exterior. There were two chairs some benevolent predecessor had brought out who knew how long ago. It was a really nice place to chill. I only ever smoked cigarettes down there, but some people used it to get high, too. The issue was that behind the other side of the trees was a playground for the daycare, and they'd always snitch on people whenever they saw them smoking. I got caught eventually, too. But that's the risk you run.

Anyway, I had a great time getting my art degree. But when I finally got close to graduation and had to look at schools to transfer to and zero in on what bachelor degree I wanted (the politics of a BA versus BFA alone made me want to kill myself) I had a sort of reckoning. That's all a topic for another post, but long story short I realized that a career in art wasn't for me.

Cue Covid, etc. I got a new job a year after graduation at a fast food place. I'm still there now. Two years after starting I turned 25; as stated above, I figured I ought to try sorting myself out again since I'd taken care of everything else I hadn't gotten around to yet. So I went back to school.

I joined a free IT program. The first class was online only and a total slog. I liked it well enough, though. I've always been really into tech and the internet. Learning about it was of legitimate interest to me, even if the material itself was dry.

In late 2023 I was diagnosed with chronic illness and chronic pain conditions;⁴ I took the spring 2024 semester off to focus on my health. In the fall of 2024 I got back into classes, this time in person. I had two 8 week courses back to back. That shit was grueling. I barely squeaked through the first course and damn near gave up as soon as I fell behind in the second course.

I completely flunked. The program I was in allowed for one free retake, so I enrolled in the class again. It's supposed to start this March. I've been meaning to review and study since I failed it the first time, but it's been two months now and I haven't even looked at my textbooks once.

I was talking to my wife about all of it the other day. I realized that I don't think I even want to do IT as a career. It's cool and all, but the idea of having to enter that sort of work environment makes my skin crawl. I went to an IT job fair to get a lay of the land in October; it made me feel so fucking awful I had to sit in my car and have a meltdown afterward.

I don't think I went back to school to try and get an education or embark on a new career path. I went to redeem myself. I went because I was worried what other people were thinking about me. I went to prove that I'm not a fuck up.

In all actuality, I am a fuck up. At least according to my own definition. A fuck up—at least in the context of my own self-perception—is someone who doesn't have their shit together. Maybe I don't even got enough shit to get together in the first place.

I don't have a fancy job. I don't have anything more than an associate's degree I'll never use. I don't have money. I don't have a fancy car. I'm renting a house right now; who knows when I'll own one.

I am a fuck up. I think I like being a fuck up. I like the flexibility that being a fuck up gives me.

I'm not beholden to much besides my wife and the angel on my shoulder that helped me get sober, quit nicotine, and bag the love of my life. I don't have to go to work and kiss ass or worry about corporate bullshit. I have ample free time. I'm not plowing through a pack of Marlboro Reds in between bong rips, blasting Rainbow Kitten Surprise, and spray painting junk slabs of dry wall these days—but I am brainstorming a couple novels, blogging, and baking while Erykah Badu plays.

My only real goal right now is to get a new job. I'm currently gunning for the local Starbucks. To my fuck up sensibilities, that's a pretty sick upgrade from babysitting a bunch of burnouts and making sandwiches.

I guess being a fuck up has its benefits. It teaches me to appreciate the little things. It forces me to see what value can be found in life outside of your work, pay, and material possessions.

I'm a fuck up with fucked up priorities. I just want to pay the bills and write and make art and enjoy my life. Why deny myself what I really want for the sake of other people's opinions?

What really twigged me on to all of this was when I thought about telling family that I'm gonna drop out of school, and found myself more concerned with how they'll react than anything else. But this is my life. I live it however the fuck I want.

I could do a whole song and dance about how I just need to change my perspective and yadda yadda but I don't have the patience to try and gaslight myself into believing that I'm just some free-spirited soul thumbing my way through life. I'm a fuck up and it feels good. I'm a fuck up and I like it. I'm meant to be a fuck up. Calling myself a fuck up speaks to the deeper insecurities I have. It feels like I'm reclaiming this aspect of myself I've been ashamed of for so long.

So, I am giving myself permission to be a fuck up.

I'm a fuck up, and that's okay. I like being a fuck up. I'm good at it. It's not too bad of a gig.

✘ Posted on — 02/04/25
✘ Last modified — 6 months, 2 weeks ago
✘ Link — https://blog.xavierhm.com/giving-myself-permission-to-be-a-fuck-up

Footnotes

#blog #mental health