Someone reminded me last week that I needed to “let go of everything that I thought I knew.” I am not smart enough to know what this means, but I think it has something to do with not being so hell bent on living in some ideal universe that doesn’t even exist.
Have you ever realized that we spend most of our time judging? Not necessarily judging others, but judging whether our relationships, our jobs, our running, our eating, our houses, our flabby asses are good enough or what they are “supposed to be”?
I don’t even know what “supposed to be” is. Except that it is some far off ideal that probably doesn’t exist, so why torture ourselves?
I remember being in the ninth grade. I had a best friend, let’s call her Labia (her name began with an “L”, but in the spirit of confidentiality, we’ll go with Labia). We lived overseas at the time. Labia’s parents were divorced, but I still thought she had it all.
Labia’s dad was a famous dude living in Beverly Hills. Labia lived in Europe with her mother, and her step father. Over Christmas and Spring breaks Labia would occupy a first class seat on United to see her dad and, from there, they would take lavish trips on yachts and to exotic spots like the Cayman Islands. All the while I stayed home and doused myself in Love’s Baby Soft while listening to the Police on my cassette player and writing in my diary.
This is my actual journal from ninth grade.
You would shit a brick of I read some of this stuff to you.
And, yes I do read on the steps.
Labia would come back from these trips with new hairstyles, gorgeous clothes and a tan. She lived in the penthouse of a 25 story apartment building overlooking the city. Her stepfather was a huge executive, and her family bled money. Labia was fluent in three languages. She was skinny, funny and athletic.
Bottom line: I thought Labia’s was the life I wanted. That is, until I lived it for a few days.
Once I had the chance to spend a long weekend with Labia’s family. Major letdown. Labia had to constantly watch her younger brother. There was no privacy. The home felt chaotic. People argued. I felt out of place. Their toothpaste was weird. Everyone talked while I was trying to watch “Dynasty” (major pet peeve – if we ever hang out, do not talk while I’m trying to watch one of my shows). I wanted to go home. Clearly, this lifestyle worked for Labia and her family and they were happy. It just didn’t jive with me.
Even at the ripe age of fifteen I realized that the grass was not greener. In fact, the lawn next door might be full of dog crap. All of the trips, money, and glamour really amounted to nothing when it came down to it. I liked my family – how we related to one another, the fact that a trip anywhere on an airplane was a big deal, the fact that we ate a home-cooked dinner together every night on the back porch. Things were simpler at my home than at Labia’s. I had once thought that was a disadvantage and not good enough. I quickly learned it was exactly what I needed.
Me and my dad hanging out. Me = 14 years old. Dad = bald.
Was there ever a time you found out the grass was NOT greener?