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sasha_featherWhat's Wrong with Me? by Meghan O'Rouke, in the New Yorker, 2013. A fantastic personal essay on having an autoimmune disease.
Lately I feel like while my peers and friends are making progress with their lives, I am barely maintaining mine. It's hard not to compare myself to other people and find myself coming up short. I'm permanently poor, my career is going nowhere, I'm chronically single, and I have no energy, etc.
It's comforting to be around animals, who are better at living in the moment. I'm meditating upon the tortoise, a cool animal that takes its time.
When I was about 18 or so, an adult friend of mine from 4-H and I were discussing shyness, and how she used to be shy. Her advice was, "give yourself ten years." It was good advice.
Give yourself time. Be the tortoise.
Lately I feel like while my peers and friends are making progress with their lives, I am barely maintaining mine. It's hard not to compare myself to other people and find myself coming up short. I'm permanently poor, my career is going nowhere, I'm chronically single, and I have no energy, etc.
It's comforting to be around animals, who are better at living in the moment. I'm meditating upon the tortoise, a cool animal that takes its time.
When I was about 18 or so, an adult friend of mine from 4-H and I were discussing shyness, and how she used to be shy. Her advice was, "give yourself ten years." It was good advice.
Give yourself time. Be the tortoise.
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Date: 2015-01-07 05:07 am (UTC)I really feel this. Granted, I have some friends who are really struggling, but I still think about my friends who are the most "successful" in an external sense -- and/or friends who have long-term partners and kids -- and feel like I come up short, and that I don't know why. And then I remember that I've been fighting multiple illnesses for over a decade (probably longer), but I don't want to admit that to myself because I'd rather feel like my illnesses are minor and won't limit me (and aren't limiting me).
The animals thing is true, though. My cats nag me for food, or chase the laser pointer, and give no fucks about what I'm going to be doing in 10 years.
In the play "Uncommon Women" there's a line like, "I think when we're 25 we're going to be pretty fucking incredible." Which recurs in a later scene (after a time gap) as "when we're 40". I think about that line a lot (especially since I turned 30).