Progress is impossible without change, and those who cannot change their minds cannot change anything. –George Bernard Shaw

 

At my previous job, I had a lot of flexibility when it came to scheduling. Aside from other various job perks, this flexibility enabled me to cook dinner for my aunt and uncle once a week and it became something we quickly coined “Family Night”. On these family nights, we would spend the night getting gradually drunk on Irish whiskey, listening to a rotation of Billy Joel, Frank Sinatra, and Michael Jackson, and telling old stories while I recreated my grandmother’s most coveted Italian meals. 

All week long I would look forward to these nights because unlike most people my age, who thrive on the club life and living their expensive, cushy lifestyles via Instagram and other social networking systems, I am an old soul. I thrive on my history, hearing the stories about my parents and grandparents that I already know by heart and watching my uncle’s face light up when he tastes my amazing recreations. 

There is just something so comforting about sitting together with loved ones at a table surrounded by food and reflective conversation. These moments would pass me by so quickly, leaving me almost as swiftly as they appeared. The next morning, I would look back on them, satisfied with my experience. I was grateful that I was given the opportunity to make a real connection with someone so much like me; I reveled in the nostalgia and the appreciation of two people who really, genuinely knew me.  

These types of memories, friends, unlike their vodka soaked, super bass fueled counterparts, will always live on. And well after the hangover has worn off. I have bouts of weakness where my jealously rears its ugly head. In these times, I wish it was me in those Instagram collages, half drunk and half dressed. I wish that I was the one clubbing my precious life away. I wish that I was the one with chipped toenail polish because some drunken Ybor guido kept stepping on my feet while he tried to haphazardly lean in and steal a clumsy kiss from me. Why can’t I be the one who stumbles home reeking of stale smoke and Armani, my voice hoarse from yelling over Sean Paul’s catchy reggaeton? 

And then I remind myself, they are the ones who have missed out. Not me.

Change is the law of life. And those who look only to the past or present are certain to miss the future. –John Fitzgerald Kennedy

During one of these aforementioned Family Nights, I started having this really deep, meaningful conversation with my uncle about life. It started as stories about my grandfather, something about my uncle stealing his Lincoln as a teenager and getting pulled over by a cop in their hometown of Hicksville, Long Island. It was late and we were both headed towards the less sober side of the spectrum. He would gaze off and think hard on his memories and I would touch his forearm with excitement every time he said something I remembered. “Yes,” I would grab his forearm really tight and get that bug-eyed expression you have all come to know and love, “I know this one! Tell it again!” And although some of the conversation now remains a bit fuzzy, one very important thing has stuck with me.  

We look a great deal alike, my uncle and I, with the same big eyes that my grandmother had. That night I remember I stared into those eyes we share, thinking to myself that his are just slightly bluer than mine. And that aside from a few slight differences, our appearances are nearly identical. We were broken from the same mold, and in so many ways. “The truth is, Kate,” he stared back at me, about to say those words that I will never forget. “You’ve got to make a mark.”

Up until that moment, I had never thought of myself as a reflection of someone else. It never dawned on me that in some ways, my sister and I are legacies. We are my mom’s only children, her selfless contribution to this world. And now I was being forced to look at myself differently. What mark would I leave on the future? What would I be remembered for? What did I want to leave behind? What sort of things was I doing that my family could be proud of?

If you do not change direction, you may end up where you are heading. –Lao Tzu

A lot of times, I feel like I’m not doing enough with what I’ve been given. If there is some divine force who takes the time to bless each of us with specific gifts, what am I doing with mine? And how do I even know what they are? Am I helping people or positively influencing them? Am I enriching their lives and helping them to become better people? Or am I just coasting on autopilot, keeping my light under a bushel? (Forgive me for the biblical analogies. My mom used to teach Sunday School.)

The truth is that I’m not especially good at anything. That isn’t a ploy to sound sorry for myself, it’s just a fact. I mean, sure, I’m relatively good enough at a few things but it’s nothing notable. It isn’t anything worth writing home about. It’s nothing worth getting famous for, no matter how much I might crave it. (And I swear to God, I might sell my soul to be famous.)

I love to sing but I lack the confidence to get up and regularly sing in front of people. I love to write but sometimes I lack the attention it takes to sit down and actually write something worth reading. I want to have my own practice and help people but there are times when I feel like I can barely help myself. I want to let go of all those things that chronically ail me but it can be difficult to let go of where you’ve come from. I want to be a good, positive person who makes the right decisions but that shit is goddamn hard. It’s like I heard on television the other night, “The decision making is easy. It’s dealing with the consequences that’s hard.”

Sometimes I just feel like I have become complacent. And I hate that feeling. Because all that I really want to do with my life is make a positive impact. I want to be someone that people can run to and feel safe. I want to be someone that people can look up to, rather than down on. I want my mistakes to be things people can learn from, rather than judge me for. I want people to find me trustworthy, honest and well-intended. I want to be a sanctuary, a place that feels like home, a stable person who welcomes others with warm, opened arms.  

Not a neurotic sometimes wunderkind who is perpetually afraid of the dark. 

Moral of the Crazy: I have never claimed to be political in any nature because honestly, I’m not good at following current events… unless it involves celebrities I like, and even then, I don’t do very religiously. (I have actual stacks of magazines just begging to be read. I’m horribly behind on my celebrity gossip. And speaking of, did you hear about Shia LaBeouf and how he allegedly “wanted to kill” his girlfriend after an argument they had in Germany? #OhEmGaga)

Anyways, back to what I was saying.

Something I did hear recently that sort of made me stop and listen was a comment from [the former Bruce Jenner, now] Caitlyn Jenner’s sister. She had mentioned to her mother during an interview that Bruce told her a long, long time ago that “he just wanted to live an authentic life”.

Regardless of the situation and the political issues involved, I have never heard something so insightful. I have never heard truer words spoken. I even had to pause my enormous smart television to write that one down. Isn’t that all that anyone really wants? To live an authentic life?

To make a mark?

Just when I think I have learned the way to live, life changes. –Hugh Prather

I know this woman who has four children. She is a few months younger than me, has been married for a long time, and has this beautiful brood to exhibit all the love she shares with her husband. I must also point out, for various reasons, that she is absolutely beautiful and incredibly interesting. And also, that she has a crazy resilient body. #JustSaying

My birthday was yesterday; I turned 29. And people like that, people who have their perfect, little lives together, they tend to make me feel really bad about myself. Facebook gives me actual anxiety because all these flawless, happy families come through on my feed, reminding me of all the children I don’t have, of all the makes I have yet to leave. Through no fault of their own, these people make me feel so inadequate, like I’m not living my life the way it should be. They justifiably blast their perfect lives all over Facebook and I’m over here just trying to finish my first novel, save up for a romantic cabin getaway in the Georgia Mountains, and figure out what the fuck I want to do with this precious life I’ve been given.

Because I want it all. I want to do it all. And I don’t want to miss a thing.

I’ve always stood proudly and defended myself, even though the comments, quite honestly, hurt my feelings. I mean, not to jump happily onto the Jennifer Aniston train, but I don’t need a baby to validate my life. (Choo! Choo!) But that doesn’t mean that I don’t want them or that I won’t have them.

I guess what I’m saying is that maybe all you really have to do to make a mark is to live genuinely. Or more aptly put, authentically. For me, I just want to ensure that I’m true to myself, that I’m living the life I choose, the life I love. That I’m making decisions for myself and not for the sake of someone else.

And I will make a mark; I will get all those things that I want. But it will be on my terms, and done my way. To quote one of my best friends, and one of the women who will forever inspire me: You’ve just got to love the life you live.

When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves. –Viktor E. Frankl