01. How to Cry in a Bathtub

Bianca Monaco
Sep 5, 2018 · 5 min read

Note: This reflection is heavily intertwined with the lyrics of That’s Life by Frank Sinatra. If you have never heard this song before, I highly advise listening to it prior to or while reading this post.

____

  • Monday, March 26, 2018
  • Day 4 in LA
  • 5am-9am

I woke up hungover from tears and anxiety. It’s 5 am. The time difference is still whipping me with displeasure. I have a schedule of networking events, a newly joined co-working space (all planned in the budget), a monthly metro pass and one really good friend. “Wow. You’ve done your research” A new acquaintance in LA tech commenting to me as I laid out my agenda to them when they asked, “So what’s your plan now that you are here?” Yes, of course, I am planned out. I am a living, breathing, stereotype of a proud northeasterner. And I am very very comfortable with it. But, sometimes life happens no matter how much you plan.

I rolled off the couch and started to fold up my sleeping bag, stopped for a moment and sat down. I started to cry. My emotions are spanning the spectrum of radioactivity these days. Joy and pride for following through with my ambitions, deep sorrow for leaving people I love, complete fear of disappointment and impatience about what and who comes next. I just sit there and tell myself to do one thing, followed by another one thing. Just, get up and brush your teeth. Just put water on for tea, just put the couch back together, just pack a bag to leave the apartment, just put jeans on, just keep walking, just keep moving. You need to just. keep. moving.

When I was growing up I often saw my mother resource to long bath whenever it was an exhausting day. We lived in a one bedroom apartment. We shared one bathroom and lots of stubbornness. When the going got tough- taking a bath was the escape from the close quarters. The one place for peace. So that’s what I did, I took a bath.

My father, the ever-resilient entrepreneur, on the other hand, would resolve to listen to Frank Sinatra or really anything from the Rat Pack to nurse his restless conscious. So I added Frank to the prescription.

I sunk into the very hot bath as “That’s Life” just started on the bluetooth speaker perfectly located above the toilet. I tilted my head back and just let the words sink in. The slow bluesy soul opening, followed by Frank’s distinctive intro “That’s life, that’s what all the people say…” already I started to feel at ease with this moment in life. Man, the things I have survived. Did I ever tell you about the time that I cycled across the country with NO training? or when I (successfully) taught science to middle school children meanwhile I majored in International Business? or when I had to go to therapy for a number of years to disabuse myself of the stench of the emotionally abusive relationships of family and exes? or when I successfully showed up to work and did my job well despite deep heartbreaks in my personal life that plagued my conscious and my self-worth… I saw it all slowly passing through my mind. “You’ve survived a lot kid” my inner conscious has adapted an accent and lexicon of an old school New Yorker. And I like it.

“Your riding high in April, shot down in May. But I know I’m gonna change that tune. When I am back on top. Back on top in June.” I started to sing along to it. Bathroom door wide open, no one home on a Monday morning and I was in my sanctuary bath. I’m young but I’m old enough to know that this will all pass. This complete chaos of emotions. Old enough to know that in many ways I’ll miss this freedom of feeling lost. It’s a privilege to feel lost like this; to save and leave something great because of some inner itch you need to scratch. The fear of telling my grandkids that I didn’t do something is deeper than the fear of failing having tried.

“I said that’s life. And as funny as it may seem, some people get their kicks stomping on a dream.” I did not move from a community of naysayers. On the contrary, I have been made well aware I have the city of Miami Tech rooting for me. I left an entire community of people that I love and who, in return, supported me. However, I’m equally as sure there is some scorned Tom, Dick, and Harry out there betting on my demise. Well, the thing is Tom, Dick, and Harry — I need you, I need to know someone out there thinks this is completely dumb, someone who is utterly laughing about this, someone who just doesn’t like me and wants to see me fail. I need this because there is nothing that gets me going like a good dose of being underestimated. It is the fuel to my tenacity. A word I started to use to describe myself when I was 20. I have a college professor to thank for that. He chose to describe me as “tenacious” in a letter of recommendation. He said he’d never used that word to describe a student and that if I didn’t get the job, it sure as hell wouldn’t be because of the letter he wrote me. I decided on that day tenacious would be on my gravestone. Also, I got the job.

“But I don’t let it, let it get me down. Cause this fine ol’world — it keeps spinning around.” I was still singing along to the lyrics, even with tears- still. Sure I was gaining the traction of believing in myself. Listing the pieces of evidence of past struggles that I surpassed. I feel like all anyone ever talks about- and does not talk about simultaneously- is how hard it is to believe in yourself. Especially when you are very very alone. Even now as I write this, 12 hours later, tears are slowing running down my face.

“I’ve been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate, a poet, a pawn, and a king. I’ve been up and down and over and out. And I know one thing.” Ah, the climax. This is it. All this reflection and attempt to pull the letters, words, phrases of these lyrics into this bath and let it stain my bones. “Each time I find myself laying flat on my face. I just pick myself up and get back in the race.” Oh yes my friends, this is it. I sang that lyric with confidence and tragedy.

“That’s life. And I can’t deny it.” The worst part about being this stubborn is that I will go through hell to succeed, and I’ll find a way to like it. It’s an odd — completely egotistical- thing to dislike about yourself.

“Sometimes I think of quitting baby, but my heart won’t buy it” See the thing is, I know I will be fine, I will craft another community and I will attain what I have set out for; I am just weeping because I know it will take every ounce of my energy to surpass the very lonely, challenging, and disappointing moments in this journey that are guaranteed when you take the risk of walking the road far less traveled, the bet on yourself.

-B


Originally published at www.tgimonday.co.

Bianca Monaco

Written by

raised in jersey. schooled in baltimore. lived in miami. moved to LA.

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