I have these days where I just don’t feel successful at life.
Sure, it’s absolutely easy to feel that way in a society
drunk on fame and reality shows. It’s normal to feel like you’re getting lazy
and unmotivated when all you have to do is say, “Alexa, remind me to get my
beer out the freezer so it doesn’t explode.”
And to be fair, I guess it’s normal to go through life
continually wanting more. Because if you weren’t always searching for something
better, you would become stagnant and complacent. And I feel like that’s better
suited for individuals on their way out the door, not for young up-and-comers
headed brightly into their future.
Something I’m really not comfortable admitting is that I’ve
done the comparison trap for a long time. I have always tended to look
at another individual and think that if I had their life, or if I was maybe a
little more like them, things would be a lot different for me. I would be
richer, thinner, smarter, and prettier, possess better fashion, etc. and you
know what? That brand of thinking is exhausting and it is all consuming. And I
find that the older I get, the more I tell myself that I really don’t care about other people and where they’re at in
comparison to me but that’s a lie.
Because I do.
And maybe that’s okay because if I really didn’t care, where would I be, you know?
On the outskirts of society, panhandling? Selling my soul for some DVD loyalties
on a pornography website? Ruining every relationship I have with everybody to
get to the top? I mean, maybe caring to some
extent is appropriate.
Gratitude changes the
pangs of memory into tranquil joy. –Dietrich Bonhoeffer
But I have done this a
lot lately and I really don’t know what it is. And although I’m already a
relatively anxious person, this newfound hobby of mine gives me an extra, extreme
amount of anxiety. I feel the pressure all around me like I’m in a cage.
It’s the pressure to be a thin, pretty new mom. It’s the
pressure to be doing everything right as a parent. It’s the pressure to ensure
my child is behaving and developing on the same spectrum as other kids. It’s
the pressure to keep my mental health in check when some days I’m really not
feeling it. It’s the pressure to be as successful as the other individuals my
age, to build the right house, buy the right groceries, and wear the right
clothes.
Just thinking about it makes me want to go back to sleep.
Like, why did I marry for love instead of money? Why didn’t
I just marry an acquaintance and get comfortably rich off of some lucrative
business deal? Why did I become a foodie instead of someone who just eats
because they need sustenance to live? Why did I choose a career that I love,
because I’m helping people, instead of choosing one that makes me rich? Why
didn’t I just put my kid in some fancy daycare so she talks more than I do
instead of keeping her safe and nurtured at home?
Oh yeah, I remember: because I’m a human, not a robot.
Because life is too short to eat garbage food. Because my career isn’t going
anywhere and my daughter is. Because I’d rather play with my child than clean
my house. Because I’d rather be struggling financially than be with someone I
don’t love. Because I’d rather live in a box than be ignored. Because I’d rather
save up my money and buy something I really
want than have a Tiffany’s shopping spree every weekend.
Because, quite frankly, being skinny, beautiful and rich
makes life easy. But it doesn’t make your life all that fulfilling if you’re
busy caring about all the wrong things.
Moral of the Crazy: I
think I mentioned this last week, but one of the biggest things that has
affected me lately is my current job. I’ll be honest; there are some days that
I really love it because I’m delivering groceries to elderly or disabled
people. I know I’m helping them, even
if it’s only in a small way, and that makes my social worker heart so happy.
But then there are some days when I deliver to people who
don’t seem thankful or grateful for the service. There are some days when I
deliver to stay-at-home moms in million dollar houses who barely acknowledge my
presence when I walk into their kitchen and place their expensive groceries on
their luxurious, real granite countertops. There are also days when people are
rude to me for no apparent reason (I guess because I’m offering them a service
and sometimes, rather unfortunately, that’s how people are treated in such
occupations), refuse to tip a fair amount, and still complain to the company I
work for because they had a bad day that in no way involved me.
It’s like this, friends and I’m telling you I feel really, really bad saying this but I’m nothing
if not honest: there are some days when I feel really motivated and willing to
work all hours of the day in my temporary, chosen employment. There are some
days when I start early and stay late, some days where I’m so thankful to be
given the chance to make my own schedule and work opposite my husband so that
my baby isn’t in daycare. There are some days when I really do see the light at
the end of the tunnel and I’m just so thrilled with life.
Then there are some days where I hate my job. There are days, like I mentioned last week, where I
bump into everyone and their mother from my previous lives and I’m just so
ashamed that I’ve chosen this particular position. I want to scream awkwardly
at them, I SWEAR I HAVE A COLLEGE DEGREE!,
as if working a certain job would somehow affect my character and cause
people to outwardly judge me. (Although, I’m sure some of them still do.)
There are days when I deliver to the popular girls from my
high school and I’m just so embarrassed that I’m the one picking their groceries and following their particular
instructions about what they want their produce to look like. There are days
when I show up to their house, in the neighborhood I want to move into one day, and just pray they don’t remember me.
Because some days, they have the life I wish I had.
And I know how ridiculous this all sounds. None of that crap
should matter, right? I mean, for all I know, they are miserable being married to their high school sweetheart and the
thought of taking their babies to the grocery store terrifies them (and quite
honestly, I have to agree with them because my daughter is a nut job when I
drag her into Publix) so they’re actually really thankful for the service I
provide.
I should be thankful that I even have a job that is
seriously so easy. I should be thankful that I can make my own hours. I should
be thankful that my work stress levels are very low and I should be thankful
that I get the chance to have some “alone time” away from my child, even though
it’s when I’m working. Because not everyone gets that.
Not everyone is as lucky as I am. And sometimes, I really
forget that. Sometimes I let little things control my whole day and that makes
it hard to see all the good things I’m blessed with. And to be honest, this is
something I’m really trying to work on for my mental health and happiness, and
also for the sake of my sweet girl.
So tonight, instead of pining for that house in that crazy
nice neighborhood, I’m going to think about how lucky I am to have a house with
no mortgage payment. Instead of thinking about how skinny I wish I was, how
unfair my Italian genes and healthy appetite are, I’m going to be thankful for
my love of food and cooking (because that is why most of my friends love coming
to my house). Instead of wishing I was super rich and could just buy whatever I
want, whenever I want, and pay my bills on time, all the time, I’m going to be
thankful for my willingness to work. I’m going to be thankful for my ability to
do this somewhat physical job very easily and the ability to make my own
schedule. Because not everyone has that luxury.
And while it’s so easy
to fall into the comparison trap, I have to remind myself that deep down inside,
we’re probably all doing it. When what we should really be spending our time on
is being thankful, being grateful for what we do have, and lifting each other up.
Because life is too short for any other nonsense.
Be thankful. Be grateful. The love is in the details.
No duty is more
urgent than that of returning thanks. –James Allen
Comments
Post a Comment