"Hello sir my name is Amik; to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"
I jolt out of my reverie. I’ve been on hold for so long that I had forgotten I was on hold, lost in my work.
"Yes, uh, sorry, I—uh—"
Work, brain, work. Pull your stupid ADHD brain together. Think. You called this guy for a reason.
"Yes, my father died a year ago—"
Shit. That was definitely too heavy of a thing to start with. What am I doing?
"—and his investment accounts were with Ameritrade TD, but then Schwab bought them—"
He already knows all this; he works there! Well yes, but it's important context. Or—oh, stop analyzing yourself and just talk to the freaking guy.
"—and these accounts then transferred to me and my brother back in September. And I need to file taxes for the estate. So I need tax documents showing interests and dividends earned for the time period in between when he passed away and when the accounts reached zero balance in September. And,"
Crap, this is too much information, I haven't given the guy a chance to talk—but, but, if I don't explain this then he will just give me the same wrong tax documents that I already waited for two weeks for, and the tax deadline is coming up in 17 days, and my accountant isn't going to have enough time to do it, and the IRS will come after me and throw me in prison and I’ll die alone—okay, dude. That probably isn’t going to happen. Calm yourself.
"And..."
Where was I? I need to finish my sentence or he'll think I'm crazy.
"And...and I previously requested these tax documents in writing, but they gave me back the wrong documents, showing the 2022 income taxes, but this time period is from October 2022 to September 2023. So I'm calling to ask how I can get the tax documents I need."
Phew. I feel ok now. That landed pretty well. Now I'm no longer a crazy person, just a regular guy with problems, a guy who has done his research and is definitely not an idiot and is making a very reasonable request. We’re good now.
"Well, sir, I can't give you tax documents for the 2023 year, because the year has not quite ended yet."
Wait...what? That makes too much sense...but why did my tax accountant tell me that I need to get these docs stat...why did the IRS set the deadline for January 15th if I can't even get the tax documents till January 1st? January 2nd, nobody works on the 1st...shit, that's even less time...
"Um..."
Crap, I'm stuttering again. Talk, dude, talk, and stop analyzing yourself. It's ok.
"Um, huh. What you're saying makes sense...but I guess I'm confused right now. Because for some reason my tax accountant thought I should be able to get these documents from you guys."
Did I get it wrong? Am I asking for the wrong documents? Am I just an idiot?
"Yes, I understand, and I'm sorry, but we can't generate tax documents for a year that hasn't ended yet."
Yeah, he definitely thinks I'm an idiot. Maybe he's right...
"But if you want, I can generate statements for the account for you."
Ok. Yes. That's something, right? Maybe somehow that would...be useful?
"Yes, that would be useful, thank you."
What am I doing? I don't need those...I'm just having him waste his time because if I spend the last two hours on hold just to come back empty-handed, it feels like a failure. Like I’m a failure.
"Okay to get those statements, what I'll need from you is another authorization letter, just like the one you submitted before with both you and your brother's signatures, but just change the words 'tax documents' to 'statements.'"
"Ok thank you, I'll do that."
"Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"No, thank you. Goodbye."
I re-enter my body.
I'm sitting in an office chair in a conference room at work. And feeling like a failure, once again.
I stand up, stretch, look through the frosted glass at my coworkers, working at their desks. So calm.
Well, that was a bit of a spiral.
Instinctively, I want to rush back out there and make up for lost time at work, to code faster, to prove that even though I was distracted for the last two hours, I can still make it up.
But instead, I pause. What’s going on? For the last year, I have been waking up gradually from a cycle I've been in for some time. It’s been repeating over and over for years, but I’ve only just become aware of the tune I’m dancing to.
life happens,
I feel incapable, as if I should already know how to handle the new thing,
I'm afraid people will notice and be disgusted with my incompetence,
and so I plunge back into working harder, working faster, working smarter...
What do I really want? Of course it's reasonable to want to succeed: to get the taxes filed, to get my job done. But why do I feel such a visceral, life-threatening fear at moments like this one?
I want, I need, people to not see me as a failure. Because deep down, I'm afraid that I am just that. Because I've always been worried about that. Well, not always.
I am seven. The chain on my bicycle has come off, and I’ve asked my dad for help, and I’m standing there looking at that black gunky chain hanging limp like a broken snake. The garage is hot and smells of dry wood. And the words, laden with contempt, “How do you not know how to fix a bicycle chain?", piercing my heart, and then the silence, punctuated only by the sound of a lone cicada crying out in the thick air, and the shame, the hot wave of shame rushing down my face, down my torso, and solidifying into lead in my belly. Yes, the stupid, useless shame that I hate but can’t escape, the voice of Should Have Already Mastered Everything.
I sigh. I come back to my adult body with renewed clarity. What’s going on today is: I'm still trying to prove myself.
So yes, I could throw myself back into the fray at work and medicate these feelings through hustle and let the cycle continue. Twenty-seven years and counting, round and round...
But instead, I choose to take a few breaths, re-center myself. I am okay as I am. I am already worthy of being loved. I don't have to prove myself. I breathe out deeply, fully. I am okay. Even if the very worst happened, even if everyone here suddenly turned on me and I got fired, even then: I would still be loved. I am loved by my wife, my family, my friends, so many people, and none of that is going to change based on how I navigate my father's death, his estate, and my job. I am loved.
I open the door.
I'm okay.
I walk out.
Feedback
I'm curious to know your reactions. Was this your first time reading a story like this? Was any part confusing, distracting, weird? What was your experience during reading it, and what was your experience after reading it? Let me know in the comments below.
Author's Notes / What’s Going on in My Life This Week
For those curious, yes, this is autobiographical; no, I still don’t have the tax documents. And it turns out I’m not an idiot (well, not about that issue). The documents I need are for estates taxes, which do not follow the same calendar year that income taxes do (so fun! taxes!).
In other news, I’ve discovered that, according to the mold inspection I got back, the house I inherited from my dad is “uninhabitable.” I can just hear my dad saying, “I lived in that house for 27 years, and I was fine!” But yes, it has 38 types of mold, including a dozen allergens and four that are toxic. Also, the pipes burst during the hard freeze and now I have water damage to deal with. Also, my wife left me and my dog died. Ok I made that last part up but, I’ve been thinking, I love writing tragedy; maybe there’s a market among people who listen to country? Nothing spins a yarn as good as drumming up a good brew of self pity.
In all seriousness, I have to remind myself that the fact that I inherited a house is a blessing. And even the fact that my dad left behind an estate large enough to be taxed is also a blessing. Honestly, Gretchen and I have never been better off. Perspective is so important.
Story Insight - James Joyce
This story has a type of ending that is inspired by my readings of a few authors, but especially your boy James Joyce. Joyce wrote stories about Irish characters in Dublin at the turn of the century. He captured my imagination in Dubliners, his collection of short stories that typically end not in any satisfying “tying up loose ends,” but rather, the ending is focused on the protagonist having some internal change, prompting reflection.
What’s Inspiring Me
This week I’ve been listening to the album Nomark Selects, Vol. 1, by Amon Tobin. It’s simultaneously street music and art music; you’ve probably heard nothing like it before, and it has unleashed a new wave of creativity and productivity in me. I love it.
https://music.apple.com/us/album/nomark-selects-vol-1/1694809038
Book of the Week
A couple weeks ago, I reviewed The Astronaut Dream Book, by William Pauley III. It’s weird, like a fever dream of body horror and terrible monsters birthed by the sordid, irradiated bowels of a future dystopic city. You can read more here.
See you next week! Enjoy the thaw.
Ah, the stuttering, the self-doubts. Perhaps the question: "Has anything really changed since the bicycle chain?" Everything and nothing. You are one of us. Let shame depart as suddenly as it arrived. Love you, brother.
I love the self awareness. Yes, I know the possibility of getting lost in it. But can be useful to right perspective. Recently I’ve found myself around someone who seems to lack any self awareness and found it very disturbing.