What I Am
(Edie Brickell, E/ Withrow, K) Performed by Edie Brickell & New Bohemians
I'm not aware of too many things,
I know what I know if you know what I mean.
Philosophy is the talk on a cereal box.
Religion is the smile on a dog.
I'm not aware of too many things,
I know what I know if you know what I mean.
Choke me in the shallow water
Before I get too deep.
What I am is what I am.
Are you what you are - or what?
I'm not aware of too many things,
I know what I know if you know what I mean.
Philosophy is a walk on the slippery rocks.
Religion is a light in the fog.
I'm not aware of too many things,
I know what I know if you know what I mean.
Choke me in the shallow water
Before I get too deep.
What I am is what I am.
Are you what you are - or what?
Don't let me get too deep.
I've been writing about my early years in Edmonton long enough now to have become bored of my own story, so let's usher it along. Two reasons why I picked this song: a few people told me at the time that I looked like Edie Brickell and I found it to be a flattering comparison, and more importantly, What I Am totally captures the philosophical ambivalence that I was prone to as a young adult: I'm sure that the meaning of life and the answers to "Why do I act this way? And why do I feel this way?" were no more confusing to me than they are to anyone else, and this What I am is what I am anthem was psychically soothing; a mollifying blend of Descartes and Popeye crooned by a smiling and accessible philosopher. Loved this song and smiled along as I watched the video this morning for the first time in years.
To recap: I was loving my job as a cocktail waitress at a busy club, and although I had felt railroaded into letting Dave move in with me -- and felt slightly trapped and slightly ashamed of the whole thing -- I was for the most part enjoying the freedom of living a fully adult life. As I wrote before, I wouldn't even let Dave answer the phone at the apartment in case it was someone from my family calling -- so much for living like an adult -- so it was even more awkward when my big brother Ken called to say that he was taking a course in Edmonton and wanted to stay with me for a couple of days. No problem, but I made Dave stay elsewhere (but since I didn't bother to hide Dave's stuff, I let Ken figure out what was going on without having to tell him; Ken believes to this day that I was trying to deceive him and that he Sherlocked the whole thing. Whatever.)
More underhandedly, when my Dad called me to say that he was flying out to Edmonton for work and wanted to take me out to dinner, I did hide all of Dave's stuff so that I could bring Dad to my nice apartment and show him how settled I was. I shouldn't have bothered though: as much of a shock as it had been that my Dad wanted to spend time with me, I should have realised that he wouldn't be interested in seeing my place; when I offered, he declined. In the end, I picked Dad up from his hotel, we went to a dinner theater (had a great dinner and some laughs without ever actually needing to talk to each other), we swung by the university afterwards so he could meet Dave, and then I dropped him back at his hotel (then went to get Dave to bring him home). Mum later reported to me that Dad had enjoyed meeting Dave and had found him to be "polite and respectful of Krista".
I hated the sneaking around, and I don't know if Dave -- who had at first marvelled that I actually might be as "sweet" as I appeared -- ever knew how upset I felt all the time. I know he was confused every time we'd be drinking and I'd start rambling about, "I don't even know what we're doing here. What is this?" We had been together for about a year at this point, and I guess that I figured we would need to eventually get married to make everything retroactively okay. In a way, I mentally railroaded myself into even wanting to get married.
On one of the first spring days of 1990, Delight -- who had connections everywhere -- had arranged for me and Dave to join her and a bunch of other young hospitality workers (there were chefs and front desk clerks and tour guides in addition to me and Delight with our bar trays and Dave with his cocktail shaker) to pose for the cover of a brand new magazine for the Edmonton hospitality industry. Dave had agreed to come along to the photoshoot, but he was anxious about the time the entire afternoon, and although we had made plans to go out for a late lunch together afterwards, Dave said that he had something important to do at university, and he took my car and drove off. I was so annoyed with him, but went along for lunch with Delight, and in the end felt really rushed to get home, get changed, and get to work.
Mad at Dave, I entered the apartment, and barely looking at him as I passed in the hall, I was even more annoyed when he made a beckoning motion for me to come back to the living room. Didn't he know that I was mad and going to be late for work...thanks to him? I petulantly stomped back to the living room, and totally oblivious to my mood, Dave dropped to his knee, pulled out a ring box and said, "Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife and making me the happiest man alive?"
It was what I wanted (no more shame), but not how I wanted it (cliche phrasing when I'm rushed and annoyed; this was not the way or the day), and of course I said yes, and Dave was beaming and totally unaware of my real mood. He started telling me how he had used that semester's student loan to order a custom-made ring for me, and he was bummed when he got the call that it would be ready the same afternoon that he had committed to the photoshoot, but he decided to squeeze in both to avoid disappointing me, but we really didn't have time for this talk because I was really going to be late for work now. (Best part of this story: somewhere around here we have a professional photo from the day we got engaged, even if all those other people are in the picture too, lol.)
Not long after this, Dave said that he'd rather be renting a house than the apartment that I actually kinda loved, and thus began a lifetime of me shrugging and saying, "Whatever you want". I so didn't care what the house looked like and I told Dave that he could go make a decision without me. Of course it was all my fault, then, when we went to move in and I thought it was the worst dump I had ever seen. A couple of blocks from a technical college, the house had been rented by a bunch of adolescent slobs, and the walls and carpets were filthy, the grass and shrubs outside were overgrown, and the one bathroom was disgusting with a broom handle propping up the sink. From the outside, covered as it was in glasschip and pebble stucco (like the header picture; there's an uncomfortable metaphor in there somewhere) and with a peeling, rickety fence, it all looked tumbledown and neglected. When Dave saw how shocked I was, he called me a snob and said that he loved this house because it looked like the kinds of places where he grew up (he was really mad and defensive at first, but eventually came around to see that it actually was falling down; we spent all our time at that house fixing it up, which the landlord happily paid for).
When I look back on this time, it's hard to pinpoint where exactly I became an adult along the way. My motivations were, and are, unclear to me; I always drifted along the stream of least resistance. I allowed myself to be controlled and infantalised by my parents while I was living in their house, and even a few years later, I was sneaking around on the other side of the country, not letting Dave answer the phone. I met Dave just a couple of months after leaving my parents' home, and although there is nothing controlling about him, I was rarely able to look him in the eye and say, "This is what I want, and this is what I don't"; I continued to drift, just on a different stream. I was terrible with money, indefinitely deferred making a plan for my future, partied all the time, and marched into adulthood without ever feeling like a grownup. I also need to add: I was happy every day of it.
What I am is what I am.
Are you what you are - or what?
Don't let me get too deep.
