Over time, as I think I have gotten older and wiser, I have learned that home should be where my heart is. Where am I happy the most? Sometimes that answer changes. Sometimes I wish for something different. But what I have found of the utmost importance is that home is happiness. As long as I am happy, I am home.
Think about it: Where is home?
But this got me thinking about dreams being too big. Am I devoting myself to something that might never pan out? Of course it’s a risk. But is the effort I put in affecting everything else? Am I hurting those around me because of my intense fixation of being somebody, on being a writer? Is it too much? I am not thinking of quitting by any means. However, I do think that I need to take a step back and look at what I want. Is it money? Is it fame? Is it respect? And at what cost will I go to get these things? That is, if anything ever happens.
I keep thinking of Nick Foles. He never gave up. He almost did. And then he won a Super Bowl. He inspires me often. But maybe he was the exception, not the rule. Tons of us face rejection every single day. And some of us never get what we want. How do we know if we’re the exception? Will we ever know?
Are we simply dreaming too big?
I was thinking about this because I was wondering about my own resilience. I think I could be more resilient. I think I tend to stray from change and from anything that will make me feel the stillness of trauma. Not that most of us want either. So I am slowly learning how to be resilient, how to not let things or people bother me. I can let go. I can release those feelings and be resilient. I don’t need the negativity; I simply need the control. It just takes time and practice. And maybe it doesn’t for kids. I am so envious of that. But discovering more and more about myself is what will get me there. In time.
This year has been so interesting for me. I have celebrated several highs. But those fantastic highs have been coupled with disastrous lows. And it’s heartbreaking. We don’t talk about mental health enough. We don’t talk about the lows enough. So here I am. I have had lows this year, as well as life-changing highs. And I don’t think either are over yet. My mental health is a roller coaster, desperately searching for the steady track. And that’s okay. I am not afraid. Or, at least I try to not be afraid most days. We all have those lows. It’s okay. I am okay. Maybe today will be a high day, even if previous days have been low days. That is the hope. That is the goal.
Maybe we don’t deserve something that’s happening to us. But it happens. We have to learn how to deal with it, how to cope. Is that even possible sometimes? I am not sure. But it has to be. We can’t have everything work out perfectly all the time, right?
I am changing it: “I don’t deserve this. It’s happening, though. And I will deal with it how I see fit.”
What do you think?
“Selfishness is not living as one wishes to live. Selfishness is asking others to live as one wishes to live.” —Oscar Wilde
Her slipper won’t fit. Her slipper won’t fit. THAT STUPID GLASS SHOE CANNOT FIT HER MANGY FEET. She’s locked in the attic—where she rightly belongs. Her slipper won’t fit. She won’t get out of those deadbolts. I know it. She’s with those disgusting mice. She’s locked away. She’s gone. I disposed of her raggedly hair and sooty body ever so humanely.
I have to control the narrative.
Anastasia and Drizella need everything there is in this disruptive world. They need it more than that blonde with a broom. We will be poverty-ridden without the prince. Where will we get our food? How will the farm carry on? The shoe has to fit those manly girls of mine. Either will do. Why can’t Anastasia have smaller feet? What is wrong with Drizella and her nails-on-a-chalkboard laugh? Why are they so bulky? Why is Cinderella so beautiful? I hate her delicate features. Those blue eyes! I hate her perfect waltz. She is not taking this from us. Never.
I have to control the narrative.