A New Way of Doing Things

Do you ever think about how every decision you make impacts your life and where you are now? It's like that movie Sliding Doors with Gwyneth Paltrow, back when she was the long-haired temptress on Brad Pitt's arm, where she played two versions of herself--two versions who made a different set of choices.

What if my life adds up to a series of the wrong choices, and there was a better path that would have filled me with a sense of purpose and clarity. What if I hadn't become a Vegetarian. What if I'd stuck with playing the piano. What if I talked to Brian, the guy at the coffee shop who I can't stop thinking about, but who I swear to God would make me choke on tongue if I ever tried.

Okay, but those aren't even really choices; they are things I never really thought about. These things weren't so much conscious optionalities as much as following what felt right in the moment. But what about the choices I could have made differently? What if those are the choices that have been my undoing.

So, okay, take for example my best friend, Chlo. That's not a spelling error on my part, nor is Chlo short for Chloe. Chlo and her parents moved here from Taiwan when she was three. As soon as Chlo's Mom got pregnant, her parents decided it was time to follow Chlo's uncle to the US so Chlo could "have it easy in the 'Spoiled Land'." Chlo's mom worked in a factory that made knockoffs: purses, T-shirts, key chains, tracksuits, any old crap with names like Guci, Fende, D+G, and, yeah, Chlo. Her parents thought it was a beautiful American name that would allow her to fit in with all the rich, spoiled kids here. Well, of course, it didn't allow her to blend in at all; she stuck out from the minute she started school, with me, in first grade. All the girls had bowl cuts and bobs, straight bangs and braids--anything that made it easy to get them up, out of the house, and out of their parents' way for a few hours a day. But Chlo always had an elaborate "'do." Her mom would spend an hour doing twists, inserting ribbons, curling, and turning Chlo's waist-length hair into a sculptural masterpiece. And that was just first grade... Chlo was the most beautiful, most popular, most academic girl in school, and she was my best friend. What if I hadn't picked her to be my best friend? Maybe I wouldn't have felt like second best my entire life if I'd picked someone just a tad more average?

If you're thinking, "you can't choose who is or isn't your best friend," you're wrong. I picked her as if pointing to a model in a magazine. "I want to be like her," I remember thinking, "Being friends with her is as close as I can get." Speaking of models, did I mention Chlo is one? Let's just say, she's no Irina or Kate, but she's certainly no CW11 reality victim.

But anyway, let's say I'd made the best friend decision differently; that would have changed a lot. It's too late for a re-do, but not too late going forward. And this is where you come in. I'm not sure I trust my gut when it comes to these things, so I've decided to leave these everyday life decisions up to someone else: you.

Here's how it works. I tell you what's going on in my life, and when something needs to be decided, I'll explain two options. The option with the most support is the direction I will go--no do-overs, no take-backs. Then, I'll fill you in on how it works out. Pretty soon, my sliding door will transform me into Gwyneth Paltrow (this time the new, hotter, hanging out in Spain with Mario Battali, married to Chris Martin one), right? Hey, it couldn't get any worse.

Okay, so, here goes. I actually do have a decision I could use some help making. So, remember I told you about that guy at the coffee shop, Brian? The one who turns my world upside down every time I look at him--the one I could never dream of talking to? Well, it turns out I have talked to him, he just doesn't remember it.

Brian went to high school with my older brother, Mark. In high school Mark was a serious Drama Geek. He only hung out with other kids from the drama department, who would all sit on the steps outside the annex building in their black drapey clothing with their dyed and/or shaved hair. Mark was one of the Drama Geek Kings--how and why, I have no idea. Nobody in my family, including Mark, could sing or dance. But somehow, with his lack of pitch and strange post-puberty gangliness, Mark would secure every lead in every show. It was my brother proudly carrying around his prop sword to each class or wearing full theatrical makeup to math class to "get into character." And if you're starting to think Mark was pulling a lot of male attention; you've got it backwards. My brother was, and is, a total girl magnet. Now enter Brian. Brian, a Varsity football player of all things, had a serious thing for one of Mark's best Drama Geek friends, Meg. Long story short, they doubled to prom, after-partied at my parent's house, and never had much occasion to talk again.

It was at this post-Prom gathering that I met and talked to Brian for the one and only time. I was 14 and hopelessly devoted to the band Blur, which I played non-stop for at least two years. I was listening to the song, "Parklife," miming every word of Damon Albarn's cuttie-pie Essex accent when out of nowhere Brian poked his head into my bedroom and shouted "Parklife!" along with Phil Daniles interlude. I screamed. He laughed. And that was it. Pathetic, I know.

Brian just started working as a waiter at my local coffee shop. I've seen him probably five times now. Of course, he's not a Varsity jock now; he's in a band, and he's beautiful. Each time I see him, I think, "You should just say something...anything!" But I feel like, I can't, so I haven't. But now, maybe this is my chance to go against my instinct. So if you tell me to talk to him, I will. (God, I think I'm going to throw up just thinking that I might have to go through with this!)