For Those Who Feel Left Behind

For those who are looking to their left and their right and feeling left behind, wondering, what am I doing wrong that’s got me stuck here, while, they’re moving here and there, upward, forward, diagonally…

…and I’m just.standing.still.

Been there. Done that. Except instead of standing still, I’m probably on my couch with undid hair, my hand in a bag of Doritos, wondering WHY THESE PANTS ARE SO TIGHT, AND BECKY WITH THE GOOD HAIR IS OVER HERE WITH HER GOOD ASS, TINY WAIST, PERFECT TOP KNOT, AND KICK ASS WELL-PAYING JOB TOO.

Eff that stupid self-talk. 

But we’re all guilty. Man, we’ll always have insecurities. No matter how deep we dig, how far back we go, how gritty we get when working on our badass selves. We will always, always have insecurities. 

What changes is what we do with them. How we process them. Where we put them. 

I don’t pretend I have all the answers. But  I was just sitting here as I do, with my mind on my lack of money and my lack of money on my mind, thinking, “this is not where I thought I’d be by now”.

A divorce. An infant and overwhelmed in single motherhood. An exit from the work force for my family. A long term relationship break up. Two layoffs. A struggle to find work. The constant push to try to run my own business. Doing contract work. Turning it to full time work with a nonprofit. But not sure it’ll last or if the org will stay open, because some crazy worldwide virus showed up in 2020, uninvited to what was supposed to be the best party. 

So yeah, back to that, me just sitting here with my lack of money on my mind, and my mind on my lack of money. Here’s the thing, when I think about the ‘not where I thought I’d be’, and the ‘lack of money’ mentioned, it’s meant more that these are the reminders of the struggles I’ve encountered, and the fractures that happened, that I never thought I’d encounter. 

It’s not about the actual money and the actual collection of things. It’s about the struggle that has interrupted my life’s plans. The dreams and expectations and order of things.

Remember when you were a kid and you’d concoct all those plans for adulthood, daydreaming pedaling, pulling the lever on the bell affixed to the handle bars of your bike. Remember then? When life was full of dreams and plans, without any REAL plans on how to achieve life’s dreams and plans?

Yeah. That. The whole strategy building and goal setting part was never taught during those days. We just that shit would just happen, because we wished it. We never gave one thought that life may throw curveballs and place speed bumps along the way. We were carefree and fancy free, with our white Keds and slouchy socks, imagining JUST HOW GRAND LIFE WOULD BE.

And then we grew up. Which at times may make us feel like we might throw up. Because adulting ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. Fuck, man. It’s not how it was advertised on The Love Boat and Fantasy Island. Or on Dallas or Dynasty. 

We’ve been duped. But here we are anyway. Showing up. Battered and bruised, still fighting and finding our way. It may not be what we expected. We may not be where we want to be or dreamed to be. And we may feel like we are standing still, while everyone around us seems to be running strides ahead of us. The thing is – there will always be those who lap us. There will always be those ahead of ‘the game’. But maybe we don’t need to play the damn game anyway. It may hurt a little when we compare, but as has been said by Theodore Roosevelt, “comparison is the thief of joy”. So I’m just going to stand still and stay put some days, relishing in my my stillness, taking in all the damn joy that comparison didn’t take. And you know what – I might even just clap for all those people passing me along the way. Because guess what? We’re all worthy. We’re all just keepin’ on. And we all deserve some applause for that shit. Also, they’ll have to stop and rest too. And then they can clap for me. And if they don’t? 

No problem. Cuz I’ll clap for my damn self. And then I’ll rest again. Taking in that joy. And remembering hustling and acquiring and producing doesn’t make me more worthy. God does. The universe does. I do. 

And so I rest. And clap. And lace up my white Keds and realize, this adulting thing isn’t quite so bad after all.