Of Mint-Lemonade and Sisters

Well, it happened.

Monet wakes up early, I make coffee, she asks for farmers market time, I say sure, and while I usually know better, while I usually use this sun-streamed quiet hour wisely, while I usually listen to my sister while I cook/burn the eggs, while I usually live my life with my own thoughts, my own direction, my own path, my own prayers, I did something else instead.

I lost myself in the Internet.

I lost myself.

—

There was a guy on the screen. He lived in a new house in WVC and had such ingenious wit and wisdom to share on living joyfully, on simplifying, on living a soulful, sustainable life with a kid in tow, with a fully supportive boss who – of course, I’m assuming here – does not keep track of how many times he calls in sick for work, or with an emergency, or car trouble, or sick child, or parent needs, or the thought that we might actually need to someday! 

He made White Russian spritzers and homemade Pico and knows how to gracefully decline house guests.

He is perfect. His life is perfect.

—

I am no stranger to the comparison trap, not in the slightest. It’s a large portion of the reason I quit Facebook (well, there were many reasons there), and it’s a large portion of the reason I regulate my time in front of the screen. I’m prone to thinking everyone has it all figured out except for me, prone to thinking everyone has it all, period.

No one has it all.
I know this, I know this, I know this.
(Why do I not yet believe this?)

But on this quiet morning, as I sit braless with bedhead, it’s easy to see the guy with the white-russian spritzer in WVC (actually, currently in Jail – need I say more?!).

—

Do you want to know what I did after living with him for 4 months?

I bought cilantro at the grocery. I contemplated new bedding, linen of course. I secretly cursed Monet for not being an optimist like me, lamented the fact that Markus wants to save every single shred of artwork imaginable. I shamed myself for keeping so many boxes of photos, and then I fully convinced myself I could keep them, sure, but only if I hid them in newly-acquired under-the-bed-storage.

Do you want to know what I did not do?

I did not think.

—

I did not sit with my feelings of inadequacy long enough to realize they were not feelings of inadequacy at all. They were a recognition of someone else’s lies, someone else’s frauds, someone else’s fake. Look at him, killing it at this living stuff. He’s soaring! He’s happy!

And in my small mind, I twisted someone else’s happiness to mean there should be none left for me.

—

A simple scenario:

Man on the screen has cilantro. I like the guy on the screen; I like the way he lives. Do I need cilantro to like the way I live, too?

A simple truth:
No.

—

Monet doesn’t either. I don’t need the cilantro, the linen sheets, the under-the-bed-storage (OK, I might). But I needn’t shame myself when I think I do.

(It happens to the best of us.)

—

Anyway, I emailed myself, thanks to the sweet sister I have.

—

Hello!

This is wildly random, but I’m sending you an officially official fan letter to applaud you on the life you’re leading. I know that sounds strange, and I know applause is likely not what you’re after, but hey – we all need a blue ribbon moment every now and then, yes?

I know the life you lead is not without challenges, and I’m so impressed by your self-control, your wisdom, your grace. Thank you for sharing your life with the rest of us.

We’re learning from you, and growing with you, and that’s no small thing.
B.

—

And just like that, with a hit of the Send button, my own visions of perceived inadequacy vanished and, in its place, a deep respect for another human arrived.

—

I read once that, of all the feelings we must listen to, intuition is one of the most important. Intuition reveals what it is we want. Is it great care? A gentle spirit? The ability to gracefully decline a date?

Sit with it.
Learn from it.
Write about it.
Thank it.
Hit Send.