Life has been busy lately.
I have been asked at work if I want to increase my hours from 19 to 30 per week.
A choice between receiving more money (which we need), or spending my normal two days with Olivia a week when she is not in daycare.
It is a dilemma many women face and my enthusiasm that somehow we are going to win the lottery or that my book will sell a million copies when I am finished has come to a bitter halt.
Reality has set in, life isn't so easy.
So I was going through my computer files one day and came across this little diary entry. I was going to start The Journal of My Life and as you can see, I started and finished at one entry. And after you read it, the answer is no, I was not on any drugs.
I guess we all have moments of contemplative reflection. When life doesn't go exactly the way we want it to and suddenly, we question if we made the right choices and what is life to mean, anyway?
So excuse the brief intermission from the humor, but life can't always be the fun ride that we want it to be.
Meanwhile, the temperature is a nice 73 degrees. So, I think I'll publish my post and go enjoy the day.
JOURNAL OF MY LIFE
May 18, 2005
I am 33. What is that supposed to entail, I do not know. It is an age of uncertainty surely, or at least for me. It is an age where you analyze: Do I make enough money, do I have the job I’ve always wanted and am I good enough?
As I organize my office, a task that I am still working on four years after we have bought the house, I see letters and photographs of times which seem so long ago: high school yearbooks, love letters to college boyfriends—words which were so innocent and unassuming. I long to go back sometimes, a world full of tomorrows and a life with less responsibilities.
But as I remember quite well, they were times that were filled with heartaches as well, from the dissolving of relationships with boys—which at that period in life meant everything—to nights filled with homework and social systems which made you ask also, am I good enough?
Time now passes by so quickly and I still don’t understand quite why I am here in this world. Many people had their identity set during childhood from being raised with strong independent parents; others, still wonder aimlessly trying to find what it is that makes their life original. I am part of the latter, existing in life always wondering when my tomorrows for getting it right, run out.
I recognize my blessings as so many others do, but still, life is filled with chaotic moments and a never ending feeling of uncertain anxiety. Anxiety for how we are living our lives, diets which are an ever present concern for the majority of women, the house and yard work that never seems finished and people, pets and children who always have a need to fill. If in the old days, just the basic necessities of living were a concern and now, we are challenged to examine every aspect about our lives, what mind blowing hang-ups will future generations have to worry about? Too much, I would guess.
We as a society wait for the next big thrill: the closing of a deal, a bonus on our paycheck, a new guest arriving, shopping on Saturdays, the yearly vacation, the finale of a reality television show. We wait, our moments strung together by surges of excitement hoping for the next big event to come soon or else, what would the alternative be but to sit and contemplate whether we are doing justice to our life. We are bored with reality and easily discontent with normal happenings. Our ancestor’s anticipation came by just surviving another winter without disease or lack of food; our anticipation comes from a Christmas sale at Marshall Fields and if we will be able to lose the five lbs we gained at an overly abundant Thanksgiving.
So I end up taking out yet another blank piece of paper, a blank slate, which to me represents one more chance to plan and get it right. Lists abound, days with tasks and things to remember, times to do duties, ways to get things done, all indicating an unsettlement of the spirit and a need to be productive in a world where the end result is always measured by what you do in life, rather than what type of person you are.
Does anyone else fill this way, I wonder? So many people dawn the look of glamour, cell phones in various shades of color, clothes which show they are important and stylish, nails perfectly manicured assuring to everyone they know their worth. People buy monolithic houses they can't afford. Everything to allude to perfection on the outside, but what do these people do when they are alone, in the silence of these homes or cars, do they understand life? Do they wonder who it is they are trying to impress? Probably others, but more like themselves. Because if we have everything we dreamed of what is there left to still inspire our dreams.
If only we could understand what life is supposed to be, if we could be told what it is we search for as human beings, what we should be in life to bring about understanding within ourselves? Years go by and age sets in, I am 33, still trying to figure out if I am good enough and for whom am I trying to be good enough for?
May 18, 2005
I am 33. What is that supposed to entail, I do not know. It is an age of uncertainty surely, or at least for me. It is an age where you analyze: Do I make enough money, do I have the job I’ve always wanted and am I good enough?
As I organize my office, a task that I am still working on four years after we have bought the house, I see letters and photographs of times which seem so long ago: high school yearbooks, love letters to college boyfriends—words which were so innocent and unassuming. I long to go back sometimes, a world full of tomorrows and a life with less responsibilities.
But as I remember quite well, they were times that were filled with heartaches as well, from the dissolving of relationships with boys—which at that period in life meant everything—to nights filled with homework and social systems which made you ask also, am I good enough?
Time now passes by so quickly and I still don’t understand quite why I am here in this world. Many people had their identity set during childhood from being raised with strong independent parents; others, still wonder aimlessly trying to find what it is that makes their life original. I am part of the latter, existing in life always wondering when my tomorrows for getting it right, run out.
I recognize my blessings as so many others do, but still, life is filled with chaotic moments and a never ending feeling of uncertain anxiety. Anxiety for how we are living our lives, diets which are an ever present concern for the majority of women, the house and yard work that never seems finished and people, pets and children who always have a need to fill. If in the old days, just the basic necessities of living were a concern and now, we are challenged to examine every aspect about our lives, what mind blowing hang-ups will future generations have to worry about? Too much, I would guess.
We as a society wait for the next big thrill: the closing of a deal, a bonus on our paycheck, a new guest arriving, shopping on Saturdays, the yearly vacation, the finale of a reality television show. We wait, our moments strung together by surges of excitement hoping for the next big event to come soon or else, what would the alternative be but to sit and contemplate whether we are doing justice to our life. We are bored with reality and easily discontent with normal happenings. Our ancestor’s anticipation came by just surviving another winter without disease or lack of food; our anticipation comes from a Christmas sale at Marshall Fields and if we will be able to lose the five lbs we gained at an overly abundant Thanksgiving.
So I end up taking out yet another blank piece of paper, a blank slate, which to me represents one more chance to plan and get it right. Lists abound, days with tasks and things to remember, times to do duties, ways to get things done, all indicating an unsettlement of the spirit and a need to be productive in a world where the end result is always measured by what you do in life, rather than what type of person you are.
Does anyone else fill this way, I wonder? So many people dawn the look of glamour, cell phones in various shades of color, clothes which show they are important and stylish, nails perfectly manicured assuring to everyone they know their worth. People buy monolithic houses they can't afford. Everything to allude to perfection on the outside, but what do these people do when they are alone, in the silence of these homes or cars, do they understand life? Do they wonder who it is they are trying to impress? Probably others, but more like themselves. Because if we have everything we dreamed of what is there left to still inspire our dreams.
If only we could understand what life is supposed to be, if we could be told what it is we search for as human beings, what we should be in life to bring about understanding within ourselves? Years go by and age sets in, I am 33, still trying to figure out if I am good enough and for whom am I trying to be good enough for?
2 comments:
This resonates with me, too. It seems like we spend the first half of our lives worrying about what other people think of us; and the second half of our lives trying to figure out what we think of ourselves.
So true...
Post a Comment