Tuesday, September 12, 2017

Warts and All

Last week it took five seconds for a lady to make me feel completely inadequate and bad about myself.

It was nothing she did on purpose. I didn't even know her. She didn't even know I was alive as her back was to me. She flitted about the restaurant where I was having drinks and dinner at 5 PM with my friends because we are senior citizens.

The gal wore a tight little black dress that accentuated all her curves and fit her as if it had been painted on her. She wore spiked black heels, and had long, smooth, black hair - the kind of hair one can only get in a blowout at a salon, or if one happens to be magically-inclined.

Maybe she had a coven.

No one can look that good in small town Wyoming and be a normal human being. I thought maybe she was a movie star or something, but she kept going into the kitchen of the restaurant, so she either knew someone back there, or she worked at the restaurant.

Worked as what, I don't know. She was not a cook or a waitperson, and I don't think she was the hostess.

Meanwhile, I felt a little ridiculous in my washed out jeans, black flats, flat hair, and "Books are good for you" T-shirt.

This girl was probably fifteen years younger than me, and I was the one who looked like a teenager or a college student. Believe me, that made me feel even more inadequate. Not only did she look better, she was also younger, which is the only thing we still revere in this country.

Now I know it's silly to compare myself to a complete stranger, but with society's obsession of youth and effortless beauty, sometimes it's hard not to beat oneself up about the fact that they cannot and will never measure up.

Since I know I'll never measure up, I think I might have just given up. I used to take some care into getting ready to go out. Now it's almost like it's too much work. I don't know if that's a good thing because I no longer have the energy to be completely superficial, or if it's a bad thing because I just don't bother to try anymore.

Not that I could look like this girl. Forget that. Few people look like her. But, you know, I could make some effort.

I've been feeling really inadequate lately. And ungrateful. And like I'm from another planet. Or else I'm the last surviving member of the human race and everyone else here is from another planet. I'm sure everyone feels that way (I've read countless books on the matter), but it's still a lonely feeling. While you know everyone else feels this way and that you are not alone, you still feel really alone.

I've gotten really good at letting other people make me feel bad about myself. I have a coworker who refuses to make eye contact or basically even acknowledge my presence, and that makes me feel bad. Like, I'm so beneath her, and she makes it so obvious that I'm beginning to believe it myself. Like the lady at the restaurant, she is striking and stands out. People notice her. It's up to her whether we are worthy to be noticed in return and clearly I am not.

A look, a harsh word, a negative comment in my direction, they all magnify my feelings of inadequacy. I'm not sure why. It used to be that I had run out of energy to give a fuck. Now I've just run out of energy to make any sort of effort, and rather than make an effort, I just feel bad.

I don't understand. I've gotten everything I've ever wanted. I'm a published author, I have the German shepherd of my dreams, I have my black cat, I have a great boyfriend who is nice to me and loves me, and I work at a library where I love doing my job (if I can't write for a living, then ordering books and cataloging them all day long is the next best thing).

The problem with getting everything you want, the problem that no one ever tells you when they tell you can have whatever you want, is that it will never look like the way you thought it should. I'm a published author, but I've had a few articles published in the local paper and one story in Chicken Soup for the Soul. Along with those are three times as many rejections of other stories I've written, and I'm losing my will to write anything else. I have a great boyfriend who loves me, but he lives two hours away. So I only get to see him once a week.

Yes, I have a German shepherd and a black cat, but the shepherd is a neurotic basket case and the cat really should be used for biological warfare. Tess has peed on the floor twice this week, and Percy made such a mess in all four litter boxes, it took me an hour to clean this morning.

And while I love my job at the library, there is the constant threat of budget cuts, no raise, no way to move up, and one person who makes me feel inadequate and unworthy (yes, I realize that's on me and not her fault, but still).

Then there are the things you thought you wanted and you realize how thrilled you are that you never got them. Like a horse. Or a cowboy. I used to want a horse in the worst way. After playing nursemaid to four codependent animals who cost roughly the same as the down payment to a house, I'm relieved I don't have a horse. I don't want one anymore either.

That kind of makes me sad, though. I used to dream of owning horses and how amazing it would be.

It must be the universe's way of keeping things in balance. That way you never get too full of yourself or too big for your britches.

Or maybe it's just a mindset. If you feel inadequate you will be inadequate. It's up to you to look in the mirror and tell yourself "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and gosh darn it, people like me."

Except that most days I don't feel good enough, I'm definitely not smart enough, and I'm really beginning to question if people like me at all. I feel very unlikable much of the time, and I suspect that's my own fault.

Probably because I just don't make the effort I used to.

There are days I want to just run screaming from the library, never to return.

There are days I want to just tell anyone off who is being rude.

Remember that episode of Wings when cool, calm, responsible Joe finally had enough, told everyone off, mounted a motorcycle, and just took off?

I feel like that a lot.

Coping mechanisms no longer work. I write, but I've grown to hate it, and yet, like the sexy bad boyfriend, I can't break up with writing. I'm miserable if I don't write everyday. I'm miserable when I do.

I am crippled by my inability to look away from a train wreck, and that train wreck is my writing career.

Other coping mechanisms include baking, which has lost its joy since I can't eat anything I bake and I'm tired of bringing it to work. I suspect my coworkers may be tired of it too. The last few cakes didn't get completely eaten so either everyone is on a diet, or else I'm not as good as I thought I was.

Chocolate used to help. So did making chocolate. And wine. I've discovered it's actually not that hard to get sick of chocolate and wine. A couple of pieces of chocolate, one or two glasses of wine, and it's like, okay, totally over that.

And it's REALLY easy to get sick of 72 or 80% cacao dark chocolate. The latter is sometimes like eating cardboard.

Again, you can have everything you want. Just don't expect it to look like how you thought. I can have all the chocolate I want. I just can't have all the milk chocolate I want.

I can, however, have all the wine I want, because usually all the wine I want is a glass or two on the weekends. I usually don't want more.

But I digress.

I suppose we just have to keep on keeping on, but I admit my give a damn is broken.

Meanwhile, yet another beauty waltzed by me while writing this piece, all tight jeans, stylish cowgirl shirt, and blonde hair. What a knockout.

The universe is laughing at me now. Once again I feel inadequate. And the only thing I've managed to write is a blog piece that is nothing but complaining, because well, I'm just whiny that way.

And the radio is playing Journey. Nothing forces one's inadequacy home like Journey, probably because they were big when I was in high school, and I was really inadequate then.

The secret then is not The Secret by Ronda Byrne, all Law of Attraction and positive thinking and the universe will give you what you want. The secret - the real one - is embracing your inadequacies. Because you will always be inadequate to someone, but probably mostly to yourself. You can read all the books you want about accepting yourself and loving yourself, but maybe the best thing to do is to accept the fact that you are inadequate and that's okay.

I will always fall a little bit short. My animals think I could do better, my father thinks I should make more money, my boyfriend thinks I should just move in with him, my friends think I should quit whining. The library doesn't think I should be doing three jobs, I should be doing four. What they don't understand is that they are all 100% right and I agree with them. I can do better, I should make more money, I should try harder, I should quit whining. I should be able to keep four balls in the air without dropping one.

Sometimes it's all I can do just to get through the day. Everyone feels like that. We just need to learn to accept it. Warts and all.

 

At least I can grow pretty things!





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