Sunday: L’Shana Tova

Sunday, 2 October 2016 — Erev Rosh Hashanah

Wow! We made it! Another year.  Another cosmic slip in time where we made it out of whatever turmoil we were in, accepted blessings that came our way, met new people, made new friends, loved who we were gonna love, fought the many fights we fight to be alive and live the way we want.  We also enter a time of a not only new beginnings, but of compassion until Yom Kippur when the Creator seals our fate for the next year.

For many years now I have written a blog ON or right before Rosh Hashanah.  Sometimes I get really deep.  Sometimes I think of all the many bad transgressions I’ve fallen victim to and sometimes think of how to move forward.  Tonight, I am.  That’s it.  I am.

I am Joshua Cooley.

I am a friend.

I am a son.

I am a partner.

I am love.

I am hard work.

I am blunt.

I am a music lover.

I read.

I love to write.

I love to talk to friends.

I hate drama.

I hate fake people.

I hate criticism.

I hate people that run late.

I hate budgets.

I hate diets.

I hate being domestic.

All the above items are a short list of what makes me tick.  None of them were, “I’m a good hairdresser. I’m a good this or a good that.”  Those are opinions of me and representations of me. At the soul-level, I’m just Josh.  I love so many things.  I love so many bad habits.  I love a good cocktail, doesn’t mean it’s good for me, but that’s who I am.  All the items that begin with “I hate” are items that need addressing in the next week before Yom Kippur.  None of them said, “hate being a partner, hate being a friend.”

Let’s evaluate, shall we?

I hate drama. 

Drama doesn’t find me.  I feed into it.  I listen to it.  I try to be a good friend and listen to yours.  I give an opinion.  You cut me off.  You think I’m horrible for saying how I feel about YOUR situation.  Maybe I am, but I was honest.  I hate the distance that drama creates.  I hate the situation it creates for us.  If I contributed to your drama, I’m sorry.  I’m dramatic.  It happens.  You are also dramatic.  You happened.

I hate fake people. 

This is going to sound like a “Real Housewives” intro, but if you are going to be fake, don’t ask me out for drinks.  I don’t like fakery.  I don’t like the fuckery of false friendships.  A friend is a family member you are not blood related to.  You would go to my school pageants, be home room mom at my Christmas party and help me up when I scrape my knee.  You would nurture me, love me and take care of me. You would put my friendship in the same running as your biological sibling.  If you are my friend for Facebook purposes or only business networking, then we’re not friends.  We’re acquaintances.  If you love me, but hate my partner, you’re NOT a friend.  If you have opinions about me that you could not say to my face, you are also not a friend.  I talk about you sometimes too.  I talk about what a fake bitch you are.  If you KNOW that I think you’re a bitch, I’m sorry.  I thought you were real.  Guess we had a misunderstanding along the line.  I thought we had each other’s backs.

I hate criticism. 

I get my feelings hurt like everyone else.  I think I’m pretty great at everything I do.  You think otherwise.  I listen to you, hate you for it, and get better from it.  I’m sorry, I need to listen more than I speak.  My ego needs to be put in check sometimes.  Not everyday, but occasionally.

I hate people that run late.

I will never understand you.  In fact, I don’t want to.  I just want you to understand that when my feet hurt, my stomach is growling and I have places to be, but you made me text my mom or my Bubs and cancel plans because you thought it was okay to show up late that I chose you over them.  I didn’t choose for you to be late, but you made that decision for me.  I think you’re selfish.  I think you should get a new phone that tells real time.  If you are a friend that texts me at 11pm asking how my day was or what I’m doing, you’re also too late.  I made up my mind about today’s plans.  I’m not your servant.  I won’t answer.  I’m sorry if I’m stubborn and expect the world to run on Josh time, but you demanded the same of me without ever an apology or a consideration.  I’ll work on understanding that you are busier than me.

I hate budgets.

Not really.  Budgeting is pretty cool, but I’m 32 with two rents, two sets of utilities, a weekly grocery bill, a partner building his clientele and a love of good fashion, good butter and good cocktails.  I should probably move into a trailer park and drink water, but I expect far too much from myself than to settle for less.  I also can’t just buy whatever whenever, I want to retire one day.  I’m sorry, money is not everything.  Neither is the illusion of it.

I hate diets.

I’m not fat.  I’m also not skinny.  If I don’t fuck you, my naked body shouldn’t concern you.  More so… I love good food, so portion control is everything to me. I hate diets because a diet is a rule book.  A love handle is like the food world’s IRS tax bill: no one wants one… so dieting has to be part of my life.  Dieting is much like budgeting, I can control this aspect of my life easily and I don’t have to tell you anything about it, but I chose to.  I’m sorry for wasting your time.  Go stuff your face and don’t tell me what you’re eating because I’m already hungry.

I hate being domestic.

No matter how I try, I will not be a homebody.  No matter how much Martha Stewart I watch, I won’t be a perfect house husband.  I love restaurants.  I love determining the server’s tips in my head.  I love wine charged to me at 4x the cost and I love little fine print about free-range chicken and Alaskan-caught fish.  I love heirloom tomatoes and imported tomato paste.  I love spending more money on these items. I don’t want to cook them at home and I’m sorry, but I work too fucking hard to sit down at home and rot.  For these reasons, I can never stay home nightly.  I can’t pour my own drink or take away my own plate or wash my own dishes.  I’m sorry.  It’s just not my thing.  I love living like a prince and you should all ignore me while I tell you to notice me on Facebook or Instagram.  PS: I’m pretty good at being domestic.  I didn’t want to share that with you, but I’m content with it, just not happy with it, so I hate it.  Again, my apologies.

So there.  There’s Rosh Hashanah’s 2016 list.  I love, I hate, I live, I shit and laugh like a real person.  I’m not perfect, but I’m trying to be a compassionate human being.  I’m trying to be a reflection of God… personally I think he feels the same way.  He takes a day off, right?

Tonight is mine.

Happy new year.




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