I recently made the leap into home ownership. I figured by the time you pass thirty you better start planting roots somewhere, even if it’s not in the plot of land you always envisioned for yourself. The whole home buying process can be a nightmare, so I’ll skip all the gory, boring details, but at the end of the day I had the home I wanted, in the neighborhood I wanted, at just the time I wanted it. I should have been happy and my hand should have stung from all the patting on my back it was doing, but instead I was flummoxed because I was going out and I couldn't find my shoes.
I couldn't find my shoes, the cute black ones with just the right amount of heel and toe. It was buried somewhere in the boxes and bags that were almost too numerous to count. Despite everything that was going right with me, I couldn't find my shoes and my life was a disaster and after a while I had to ask myself, with so much going right, why was I so obsessed with what was going wrong?
It is a dangerous thing to never be satisfied. Sure, it's healthy to want to do more and be more, but it’s not healthy to compare myself to a storyline I created years ago when I didn't even know who I really was. See, in my mind the big steps are always the simplest. The results unfold like a novel written by me and of course after some trial and tribulations I make a brilliant success of my life in all areas and live happily ever after. Getting older though has made me start doubting myself and as I FEEL time passing by all I can think of is what I haven't accomplished and damn it, I cannot find my shoes!
It’s almost self-indulgent to think about not finding ones shoes when there is so much suffering in the world. Babies are dying, never growing into their heels, buried as the world watches and grieves and I cannot find my shoes. The world grows darker and colder and I know that I should feel grateful to have shoes at all but the shame of not doing more with the life that I have been gifted with only seems to magnify until I understand that I am squandering this gift because I am being too short-sighted to appreciate it. Maybe that’s been the problem all along, maybe I have been thinking too small when the world is so big and I can do so much if I just open my eyes to all I can offer those around me.
Not everything is about Angie.
What does it mean to leave ones mark in the world and why isn’t a quiet voice as powerful as one that is greeted with cameras and fanfare and truck loads of money? It’s funny because as much as I complain about being my own plus one I think I enjoy it too much. I’m my own best mate, validating my own fears and insecurities; never challenging myself enough; never looking too close in the mirror out of fear of what might truly be reflected back at me.
As another year goes into the books, I find myself once again asking just what I want the next year to look like and challenging myself to make it different from the last 365 days that seemed to just fly by. I think I’m going to start with the small stuff --- being grateful for what I have, as opposed to lamenting what I don’t; saying thank you when someone compliments me instead of falling all over myself to deflect their shout out; taking people as they are and not as I wish them to be; and learning how to just be.
My shoes were in a big black bag that I had thrown in the corner, too late to wear on my date, but finally found none the less and I laughed; the kind of laugh that only occurs when you realize just how ridiculous you have become.
I finally found my shoes, so what's next?
till next time…