It’s a thing that I have issues with.
Coming from a time and a place where most of us saw, at the very least, our basic needs taken care of, my generation has never needed anything. Not truly. A world where we felt, and still feel entitled. A world of instant gratification. Of greed. Of throwaway commodities.
When needs are met without any struggles, when responsibility is thwarted and ignored… Well…. it’s no wonder there’s a massive movement of people living at their parents houses until they’re a hundred and two years old. There is a shift happening, and as a parent I struggle with raising a child who sees the consequences of her behaviours. It’s hard for me to teach someone how to work hard for what she has in life when I have never truly worked hard for anything. Not really.
I’m realizing how much of my struggle last year came directly from my sense of entitlement. How very much of my sadness was stemmed from jealousy. And how much my jealousy stemmed from greed.
I am not alone in this struggle. Granted, I’m an only child.. but it’s hard for anyone who is struggling to stay middle class, even if in the lower bracket, when they look across their street and see the neighbours with the yacht. That jealousy can slip in so quickly and before you know it, you live there. Comparing your worst days to their best.
Keeping up with the Joneses.
The Joneses have it all.
The Joneses are going to Honolulu again? Didn’t the Joneses just buy a Lexus? What does Mr. Joneseseses even do for a living?
It. Doesn’t. Matter.
I’m realizing as I grow that I used my jealousy as a way to stay exactly where I was. Yeah, depression felt awful, but it was the devil that I knew. It was a place that I could navigate. It was shitty, but one thing it wasn’t was scary. It was just this place I woke up, where I could turn my eyes out to everyone else instead of myself. Because, for me, at the time, that was easier than turning my focus onto my trainwreck of an emotional state. I used jealousy as an anchor. I couldn’t get better because even if I tried my hardest, I wasn’t ever going to be a size two.
And I was right. I won’t ever be a size two.
But I’ve discovered something even more incredible than being a size two. Or a size eight. Or a twenty two plus sized.
I’ve discovered myself.
And that when I put her first? I love her. I finally see what other people have been seeing all along.
She’s beautiful. Worth loving. Smart, funny, intense. She’ll make you smile and she’ll go out of her way to give herself to you. She’ll do things that make you happy because they come easily to her. If you’re one of the lucky ones, she’ll open her soul to you. Wrap you around her finger and become a part of you.
It’s a beautiful thing, to know what you’re capable of.
To be able to feel how you make people feel.
But everyone has a breaking point.
Everyone will eventually get to that place where their heart and soul begin to change form.
Everyone has a place that they end up where things have to change in one way or another. And as I learn more about who I am, I’m learning more about the place that I start to change.
I’m learning about how I’m melting.
From thing to thing to thing I go. I see people seeing me, adopting this life choice and that one. I know that it seems it’s just a flavour of the week situation. In some ways, I guess it is. Distractions that help me better understand myself. I find something that I love and I shroud myself in it. I live there until I no longer have use for it, moving on to the next best thing. Someone told me to moderate myself in my focus on health the other day, amending their advice with the phrase, “Not that you ever moderate”.
When I love it? I seize it. When I want it? I need it. When I feel that pull? I give in to it.
It’s a blessing and a curse, like so many pieces of ourselves can be.
I’ve joked before that I’m a hedonist. Doing only those things that feel good. Shedding things that no longer serve me. I can be so, so selfish. It’s not one of my virtues, and I know that.
I feel like every time I turn around there is more to work on. I’m an adult now, and that’s how adult life works; you either work through your stuff to become a better person, or you don’t become a better person. What’s a better person? It’s a personal definition, I guess. Everyone has their own idea of what “better” looks like.
When I was depressed, I got angry that there was always something new to tackle after every incline that I conquered. It was because I was impatient. Trying to stay distracted.
“I just lost all that weight, what do you mean there’s more. I thought it was finished with this.”
Now I realize that I don’t want to be finished. Because being finished means no longer breathing; my heart no longer beating.
I’m on the hike that is my life. And while the view at the top is sure to be incredible, there is also an abundance of gorgeous plant life and streams to wade through on the way. Yes, I’ll have to face fallen trees and mucky, leech filled ponds. Sometimes I’ll wonder how I’m ever going to get around them. I might even need to take a minute to strategically plan my path. Sometimes I will walk the trail alone, calmly and consistently. Sometimes I may walk it fiercely with determination. Some days I may pensively place my strides so as not to lose my footing.
Parts of this progress will be completed by myself, while other parts I will be beside another soul. Sometimes we will walk hand in hand, helping one another around sharp rocks, keeping each other safe from loose ground beneath us. Occasionally I might pause to gaze into their eyes… whether or not it’s a good idea to lose myself there. Sometimes my counterpart will hold me, and sometimes I will hold them, giving everything that I have inside of me to make their journey easier.
And sometimes our paths will split apart. Because no path is alike. There are forks, rebirths, old friends and new beginnings.
Sometimes the truth of it all will break my heart.
I’m not always going to be sure if I am doing it right. I don’t always have the answer if the circumstances are “healthy”. Sometimes the lessons and the comfort found within are the important thing.
I don’t know it all.
But I can move on, knowing that the journey is the most beautiful part.
That was something I was losing sight of, back then, when I was distracted. What exactly am I in a hurry for?
I was feeling impatient and allowing myself to live in a state of impatience and longing. Looking too far in advance while being unable to see the big picture.
Now that I’m here and I’m looking at my life minute to minute, I realize that there are no absolutes when it comes to the future. It bothers me so much when I find myself thinking that way. Plans and hopes and dreams are fine, but some things you simply can not plan for.
I never planned for any of this. I never planned on being stunted or hurting. I never planned on losing time while I struggled. I never planned on opening old wounds. I never planned on reaching out for help, or for being hit with everything all at once.
Because planning only goes so far. It’s a means to a goal, but not the only one. The need to be flexible and take it when it comes? That’s paramount.
We’re all lost. All of us. But as long as our feet are moving, we reach that place. There are hard roads and easy roads, and times when it all gets so foggy that we’re not sure we’ll make it. Sometimes we only get through our day by crawling forward.
I’m realizing that the only way I’m going to make it is to stop the wanting and start the melting.