We’re Not Right

My attitude has changed, of late, and I don’t know why. I think between the cancer thing, and the whole idea that life is short, and wasting even one second is laughing in the face of life, I realized that no matter how much I hate Florida, or want to poke pointy things in people’s eyes when I meet them and they have no personality or are so right-wing that they reference the Bible within 20 seconds of meeting me, that my life is great, I should shut the hell up.

Because it’s all good. Life is quite grand, and seriously, I have absolutely no right to complain about one thing. Well, maybe the tumor thing, but whatever. My mom told me recently that someday I’d look back on this time and think of all the time I had to read books, write and just relax. And dude, she is SO RIGHT. This life is amazing, and I should be happy about it. And I can say now, that I really am.

I am so happy. I have a husband who makes me laugh every day, and just now turned to me in my dirty sweats and ancient Celtics T-shirt and said, “I love you so much. I mean, I love you very, very much. You’re it.” And I love him that much, too, because he’s nothing short of wonderful, and I want the whole world to find someone like him, because I really think we’d all be a lot happier. Dude, I’m it to someone, and he’s it to me. People live their whole lives to have one minute of that.

And I never would have had a second of that if I hadn’t quit my job, because I was to goddamn busy to notice a lick of it. And you know, it’s a supercrying shame that this kind of life isn’t valued in the grand scheme of things, but sometimes, I get up and think, “What the fuck am I DOING?”

I exchanged emails with an old colleague today, and he snidely let me know what I was missing (Excitement! Acquisitions! INTEGRATIONS!) and asked how I was enjoying “retirement.” Because, of course, there mustn’t be anything left to life unless we are busy and important and living corporate lives. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that when we work like that, it’s so easy to lose who we are – there is only so much energy to go around.

I mean, really, what am I doing? I’m not really accomplishing anything important, though I was pretty sure that by now, I’d have done SO MUCH to improve society. There would be novels! Gourmet meals! CURING VARIOUS AND SUNDRY DISEASES! Massive contribution to society!

I’m volunteering, but not nearly as much as I should. But other than that, I’m doing pretty much none of those things. I mean, really, not even one of them, really, and I think I’m okay with that, although sometimes it gets to me. But there’s a lot of things that have gotten better – so much better, that while I’m pretty sure I’m not worthy of it, I don’t know how I lived the other way. While I’m not really accomplishing a single thing in the grand scheme of things, I can say with absolute certainty that I’m a better person.

Yes, yes, I’m still not sending wedding gifts or birthday gifts or cards or…ANYTHING out on time, I suck at returning phone calls and emails and GOD, it took me so freaking long to get someone to watch the cat for our vacation, but I laugh a little more every day. I’m nicer to people. I notice things about other people, like new haircuts and whether they said something smart or did a kind act for someone else, and I appreciate it. I’m freer and more genuine with my compliments – I’m genuinely happy for other people who do well, and I seek them out to tell them so. I never did that before. I was too busy trying to figure out how to insert the nearest razor blade into my eyeballs to distract me from the pain of actual life.

And here’s what’s kind of fucked up: I feel totally guilty about this sometimes – okay most times. I should be accomplishing more. Working more. I should be doing something more important, because even though I was miserable and overworked and miserable, I felt important, even though I wasn’t doing anything more important than pushing papers around.

Earning my keep, because life isn’t supposed to be this way and there are people who have it a lot harder. I love my job. It makes people so happy, and I get more satisfaction out of it than I ever thought I would. When people see their picture in the paper, or get their spaghetti dinner included in whatever we’re running that week, they are so happy.

And I am, too. And I don’t deserve it, and I hate that living like this, and being a nice person isn’t valued enough for everyone to be able to do it, and then I feel guilty that I can and unworthy and ANNOYED and inarticulate, because this didn’t turn out the way I wanted it to. And then I hate the economy and corporations and workhorse mentality of our country. It brainwashes the living shit out of us, sometimes, and makes us forget what’s really important. How bloody infuriating.

Oh and by writing this? I feel fairly certain I’m jinxing myself. Healthy!

11 comments May 16th, 2006