Saturday, September 4, 2010
Last night was a hard night of on-the-verge-of-tears and Truths and a very sad Northern Downpour. My bedroom was a thousand degrees as Katie and I sat on an unmade bed and discussed everything that was wrong with our lives, wrong with the world.
Has it ever dawned on you that sometimes there is something that will never be? No matter how hard you work or how long you pray or how skinny you get, sometimes you will never become another person, just like you'd been planning on?
Or have you ever realized that someone with the life you wanted --- the life you wanted before last night --- does not have such a perfect life after all? In fact, their life sucks a little bit just like your life.
But as such, neither of your lives really suck at all, you both are just lame and whiny and wish things were more perfect than they already are.
My life is perfect. I am not starving to death. I live in Utah County, and while it is overwhelmingly Republican here and very judgmental, it is clean and wealthy and safe. My family is in the top 10% of the United States. I have a best friend. I am marginally more interesting than a lot of people. I am talented. My family is perfect and lovely. I have no addictions (not including ice) and frankly, there is no chance of me trying alcohol or drugs in the future. I am smart. I am not hideous (most days). I have my own room and my own kitten and my own playlist on iTunes. I am not a teenage mother. There is no war going on outside my window that threatens my life. I am loved.
And yet it is not. I am in high school. Boys do not see me from across the room and wish that they knew me. I am not skinny. I have only nine friends that I would be comfortable calling on the phone. I have no athletic coordination. I am most likely neurotic. I do not have a car. My computer is from 2001. I am overly emotional. I long for "boy drama" but there never is any. I dream too big for myself. I wish for impossible things. I am somewhat of a leper at school, based on my general strangeness and the knowledge of my peers that I write poetry. My hair is not blonde anymore. Some people hate me, or at least probably wouldn't cry if I died.
And yet, my life is still perfect. I shouldn't complain. But I do. Because I wish I had all of those first things, and that all of those second things would change. A few of them I can change, but in most cases, am too lazy and/or frightened to.
That's another truth of my life.
I am afraid to be wonderful. I am afraid to be fabulous or beautiful or someone that is craved by other people. I am afraid to be the purest form of myself. I am deluded by an image that I can change, but don't; by an insecurity that doesn't matter but it does; by a fear of fear itself.
I wish you could see how I really am.
(maybe you can; one day.)
Well now. This post was too long and too disruptive in itself. It's melancholy, but at least honest.
So here's my creed: I will change every sadness or wrong thing in my life that is in my power to change. And only after every single one of them is changed, only then can I complain about life's imperfections. I counted six things that I can change. Maybe next time you see me: I will be spectacular.