A Starving Artist's Relationship With "Size" (Definition A)

If we're choosing things here, I prefer being the small fish.

93.7% of the time, it just feels better to me.  The other 6.3% of the time, I'm just caught up in whatever's going on around me, and lost--not remembering that I'm better off.  And then I remember that the smaller fish is always better off.  Always.  What the small fish knows, the big fish can't always see.

As a small fish, I am cognizant of the fact that there is always something bigger than me:  bigger intellectually, bigger talent-wise, bigger heart, bigger persona, bigger wealth.  Bigger bigness.

Good.

And I guess, now that I think about it, that's a huge part of the reason why I initially moved here to New York.  Because if you live here, you have no choice but to be the small fish.  And if you have no choice but to be something small, you find yourself settling with things less.  Because you have to fight for everything.

Good.

But, when you're "small", things tend to become a far bigger deal always than they ever really need to be...the small little dramas in your life tend to get blown-up in your brain as something far more large and intense than they really are.  I.E:  The stresses of my life over the past month.  In reality, these things weren't all that deterimental, all that problematic, all that huge.  There are things that are worse.

There always are.

...

This is an incredibly round-about way to get to the crux of this thing.  (I've had wine, and there's a reason, so you're going to have to bear with me.)

I lost a friend last night.  I lost a beautiful friend, one of the loveliest people I've had the privilege to know, in an entirely tragic awful way.  I only know so many details, and I'm quite certain that I don't want to know any more of them.

He was the brightest sunshiniest burst of a guy, always up, and perky, and essentially dancing his way through life.  And sassy.

Sassy. As. Hell.

We worked together.  Well, not "together", we were actually like two barista-ships passing in the night, but we clicked in a huge way, and it was glorious.  Glorious.

He had been a musical theatre-guy once upon a time, but had aspirations of going to nursing school.

And he was in love.  He and this guy had spotted each other out a bar one night, and then just got separated having never exchanged names, numbers, nothing.  Somehow, they both had the presence of mind to place an ad on "Missed Connections" on CraigsList.

...And they had just gone apartment-shopping together.

...

My lovely friend and I would occasionally stage fights.  He would either prank-call me at work, or show up during my shift, and frequently what would go down was a semblance of the following:

Hello?
"Hey, Girl, hey."
Ooooh, hey.  Hey.
"You a bitch."
Ooooh, what?!  
"You heard."
No.
"You did."
No.  I did not.  No.
"You did.  Too.  You did.  And yo man said the same."
Bitch.  You are not tawk-een.  Bout my man. 
"I am.  Cuz last night, he told me you was nasty.  After we did the nasty, he told me you was nasty."
You did what?
"Nasty."
You did.  WHAT?!
"Nasty.  We did.  That shit.  And he said you gross."
Bitch, you gotta leave him alone. He tole me you gave him enough shit down you-know-where to last him a you-know-HOW-long...
"Lies."
Bitch, I don't lie.  It's what I heard.
"Dirty. Ass. Lies."
I heard it.
"Well, I heard about ya weave."
Yeah?
"Discount-rack. Conway."
Mandee.  Git ya facts straight.
"Con.  Way.  I got cameras...And if you need a good weave, you should just dig through my shit, I stocked-up last year after taxes."
Yeah?!
"Bitch, yeah! Here, touch that shit, it's soft."
Ooooh.  Olive oil?
"Yeah.  I gave ya man some olive oil last night, too..."

...Such conversations would go on for no shorter than 10-15 minutes, and if we were face-to-face, they were followed shortly thereafter by a dance party-microburst.  Always.  ...No matter how crowded the restaurant.

And then hugs.

And then an "I freaking love you, let's play soon."

...

And now, he's gone.  Without a warning, without a reason, gone.

...

There is always, always something bigger.  Than you.  Than your shit.  Than your successes.  Than your anything.  There's a bigger thing.  Sometimes it's there to just offer you some perspective, sometimes it's there to lift you up.

Occasionally, however, there is nothing you can do to stop it from breaking your heart.