when you’re not invited to the lunch table

it’s inevitable to not be included. think of it like the hiccups. they happen all the time, but they’re especially frustrating in the middle of a meal. the same goes for that in-group desire we procure. people don’t invite us to join them all day long. however, when we want to hop on the gravy train, but it’s recommendation only and we don’t get a referral, now we’re upset.

i’m rapping my nails on a desk with this one because it’s a personal circumstance. to be shunned is to be denied mental stability. sociality is essential for the proper development of almost every human alive. it’d be like posting up outside of a homeless shelter because you don’t have a place to stay, then no one asks you if you’d like to come inside. it’d be like going to a shoe store, picking out shoes, then walking to the register only to be ignored by the cashier.

“hi, this is all i’m getting today”

“. . . . “

“can i get these shoes?”

“next, please.”

if passive rejection had a script, that would be it. our drive to exist is meteorically incomparable to any goal, attainable or unattainable. knock me off my game and i’ll be injured, i guarantee it.

the question here isn’t how to prevent an open palm to the face, nor is it how to flock those peasants to kiss your toes. it’s this: how do i process not being wanted?

not all of us immediately believe in self-worth. maybe at one point in my timeline of homo sapienism i had a trusty reflex of confidence and purpose. doesn’t matter anymore because now i don’t. it’s a job, a challenge, and a maze of reminders to stay afloat in a sea of doubt. this is a strategic war, not a 16th-century-line-up-in-rows-and-take-a-knee-and-load-your-gun-and-on-the-count-of-three-shoot-okay-one-two-three-wait-do-i-fire-on-3-or-after-3-no-you-fire-after-3-what-is-the-word-after-3-it’s-fire-okay-i’m-ready-alright-here-we-go-one-two-three-fire! kind of battle.

a simple solution to the debacle of self-esteem is to champion my own talents. the fact that i write and produce music, work a camera on manual, skate(board), run a 5K under 21:00, and read books ought to fuel screeching boost after a letdown. but what if it doesn’t (it doesn’t)? what if i still hunger for third-party five-star appraisals (i do)?

the bummed-out truth is i’m partially incompatible. actually, put a line through that.

i’m mostly incompatible. there are billions of two-armed, two-legged fleshy bowling pins on our space rock with some fog lathered overtop like chocolate syrup on a soft-serve ice cream cone. how many people do i meet that i’d ask to coffee or lunch? like none, basically. the ratio is worse than the payout per stream for musicians.

what i’m beating around the bush to say is everybody brushing you off probably isn’t for you anyways. did you sense a connection with them? did you really, though? or were they blabbering while you peppered them with softballs like a homerun derby?

when you’re not invited to the lunch table, don’t be bothered by the antagonists of common courtesy. even if they happen to be your soulmate, you’ll dodge a bullet by settling elsewhere.

– D K T


life ends. why pretend

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