Here’s a stupid thought I’ve been thinking for awhile now.
I was more interesting last year.
Lololololol let’s all collectively laugh at my need to be
interesting and what I think about on boring Wednesday nights.
I suppose I ask you to laugh because it’s altogether
shameful to think about how tragically self-absorbed that statement is. But bear
with me, maybe when you’re bored on a Wednesday night because nothing’s on TV
that you haven’t already seen (I’m looking at you Chopped. C’mon, enough will
the grill challenges.) the ugly thought hits you too. I was way more interesting
_____________.
Outside of rollerblading last night (talk about taking life
by the horns) I’ve done nothing, absolutely nothing extraordinary this week.
This month. Two months. Who knows. I’ve
hardly done ordinary things. Like wash clothes? Nahhh. Shower? Only because I
don’t feel like bending over the sink to wash my face. Literally, that was my
reason to shower this morning. Take a look at my dish-filled sink and you’re
going to wonder if I have running water. I do, to clear that up, but basically
I am a lump who consumes Nutella and leaves the knife in the sink.
The problems begin partly with me watching America’s Got
Talent (because of the afore-mentioned Chopped re-runs) and bawling my eyes out
because these people with dreams are so dang precious. But also obnoxious. At
the heart of it, wow, I am so happy for these talented people, but really I
just want to know why they get such cool dreams. The lies start pinging my
heart and I sit there and wonder, if I had to go stand on that stage, what in
the world would I do for a talent?
Comparison is stupid ugly.
But then I try to remind myself that I’m cool. Heck, I
rollerblade. I’m pretty sure I have talents, not ones I could present on a
stage, but still, there’s things. I made a quiche this week.
Then I remember some of my friends don’t even know what I’m
good at. I don’t really even know what I’m good at. Who even knows what they’re
good at besides America’s Got Talent people? (And some of them don’t know
either.)
You’d think that’s enough to get me upset, but another ugly
comparison comes barging.
Last year I was doing _____________. And I felt like I was
talented at ______________ because people said so and I was busy and in a
cooler spot and didn’t even own a jar of Nutella because I was eating at incredible
restaurants. Even worse, the months before that I lived in London. And wow was
I brave for a minute because I had to be and I liked that version of me. I did
things, constantly. Adventurous, hard, and exciting things. I ate Nutella all
the stinking time, but for some reason I was skinnier. What happened to her.
I’m sorry I keep mentioning Nutella, but that stuff is good.
And then I start crying, not because some chick just sang a
beautiful song dedicated to her mom, but because I’m sad for myself. I’m sad
that I’m here and not where I was or where other people are.
I’m a nanny. I eat Nutella. And I rollerblade at a park
because most of my friends no longer live in this city and I would rather have cramping
calves than sit on my couch by myself.
I was way more interesting last year.
Pretty dang good pity party I’ve got going. Wouldn’t it be horrible
if I just stopped this right now and left at that? Because that’s where my
brain wants to stop every time I get caught in this. I’m a wallow-er.
Here’s why I’ve written this short novel. By some great
chance you are having any of these crises, or also resort to Nutella, or have
just felt like a bottom-dweller at any point today or ever, I just would like
to cup your face between my two hands and whisper over and over, “You’re good
at living. You are so good at living.
You are so good at being you. WOW, am I glad you are you.”
I’d say it until you believed me. I’d say it until we all
believed we belonged.
I don’t know if America’s Got Talent depresses you, or if
you’ve done something cool in the past and feel like a failure because you’re
not doing it now. And I absolutely do not have the fix-it solution to these
big, hard thoughts. But here’s the thing: I think living
counts. In a world of epic and picture perfect and gold metals, I think
breathing in and out when the going gets tough deserves a standing ovation.
Comparison is an ugly, ugly battle fought facing backwards. That's no way to win a war.
Look ahead, sweet soul. Look ahead and know that
sometimes simply marching on is a gigantic accomplishment.
And also I bet you’re really talented. In fact, I know it. I know you're full to the brim of talents people can't even see.
(P.S. Is one of them rollerblading? Because that's a trend waiting to happen and I could use some help getting the momentum going. Thanks in advance.)
