I know, I know, I KNOW that I'm supposed to be living my own life and not worrying about what everyone else it up to. As my mum always told us, "you do your thing and let them do their thing." In an ideal world, in an ideal me, I would be doing all the things that make me content and I wouldn't even have a clue what everyone else's 'thing' was. I wouldn't have a clue.
I don't know if it's this blogging business or if it's just plain life business, but lately I'm not doing that. Lately, I just can't stop comparing myself to others. I just can't.
My life is a good one - an unbelievably good one - and I'm happy as a kid planting sunflowers with it. I'm happy, I think I do okay.
That girl's got so many friends.
That girl's so smart and funny.
She's making her own skirts.
She's growing her own minestrone.
That one owns a holiday house.
That one feeds her kids quinoa.
Many etceteras later...
That one, this one, she and her. I can't stop looking and it's making me think 'I should be doing that too'. Like all the girls who are doing great things could possibly be rolled into one great, big, giant achiever who does all those things put together. That great, giant achiever should be me.
I wish, I wish, I wish. I wish I could do this, I wish I could do that, I wish I was funnier, prettier, cleverer, nicer, friendlier. For all it's wonderfulness, blogging is a poisoned apple sometimes. It allows us to delve into so many lives, not just a few. More, more, more. It awakens the 'I Wish' Beast and she's a beast that will not rest.
That Beast makes me dissatisfied with who I am and what I do. Even if I'm not especially into the things that I'm looking at, that Beast makes me think that I should be into them. The 'I Wish' Beast makes me wish that I could do lots of things that I don't do and even more things that I don't especially want to do.
It is a very complicated beast.
What I mostly wish is that I could grow-up and stop comparing myself to others like I'm fifteen years old and desperate for my life to start. I get angry with myself. For godsake, when will I be enough?
Do you do this?
Does it make you feel angry with yourself sometimes?
[Image by Marta Bevacqua]