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…
