I really try to make a conscious effort not to feel sorry for myself. Sometimes it’s hard. Sometimes I just have one of those nights when I’m upset for no good reason and I don’t know why – there’s no hormonal correlation. Mike hasn’t done anything. The animals aren’t misbehaving. The house isn’t any more of a disaster zone than usual. I sit at the computer and I check Facebook – the root of all evil.
Everyone on Facebook posts about their accomplishments. Their promotions. Their amazing lives. Their great bodies and brand new Victoria’s Secret Bikinis. Of course. Nobody shares the bad stuff. Well sometimes people share the bad stuff and then I find myself annoyed because…well, why are you being so whiny on social media?
The embarrassments. The regrets. That stuff stays safely tucked away – hidden from public scrutiny – even though nobody is ashamed to share what they ate for lunch the past 365 days. Even when I log into blogger – my so-called creative safe-haven, I am overwhelmed. The home renovations. The crafts. The free-lance design work. The adorable children. The life I will never have. Who am I and what am I doing? Why is it that everyone else seems to have it figured out, following the right advice, and I wake up every morning wishing I had another 8 hours to sleep?
So when I think about a time I have been really afraid, this is the time that comes to mind. I am afraid I will never figure it out. And maybe that’s fine. Maybe nobody ever does. Maybe the only thing anyone ever figures out how to do is pretend – and life is just one giant game of make believe.
I am not unhappy. I just feel stuck. Stuck in a space that is neither too small nor too large. Stuck in a mind that is not imaginative enough for my ambitions, not intelligent enough for my own expectations, not talented enough for the world around me, not bright enough to know where to begin on the way to what I want.
It’s tough. And I’m afraid.
Day FOUR of Blogtember! A story about a time you were very afraid.