I just found the lunch I was supposed to eat today sitting on my desk between my laptop and the pencil sharpener with two bites gone. Proof…once again…that I don’t stop and think about what I’m doing. I just do.
My other half (not better, just other) told me the other day, “You don’t think you’ve had a productive day unless you collapse at midnight covered in sawdust or dirt.”
“Yea. So?” I replied, wondering what his point was. It’s true. But still…
“Sometimes it’s okay to just hang out.”
WHAT?
Not to say I don’t hang out and do nothing. Often, that is my entire day. But I feel incredibly guilty if I do nothing all day. I beat myself up mentally, wallow in self-pity, and feel useless the entire day. Good times.
I’m guessing I’m not alone. There are millions of us out there…some right here on this blog. We create impossible benchmarks for ourselves…and sometimes for others…that we simply don’t have the time or energy to live up to.
I’ve been trying to figure out why I do this. Why I set unachievable standards…always have to be the best at everything…always have to overdo. And I think I’ve figured it out. Are you ready?
I feel lousy about myself.
I think many of us…way deep down…simply feel inadequate and are continually trying to justify our existence. We feel, even if we don’t realize it, as if we’re somehow not worthy and if we’ll just help the right person…volunteer enough…prove ourselves valuable to the world…that we’ll finally feel okay.
As if somewhere at the end of all the running, running, running, is a finish line where we can collapse in a heap of self-worth.
Somewhere inside I am still that teenage mother…that high school dropout…that uneducated statistic. Somewhere even deeper still, I am just that shy little girl who wouldn’t talk to the waitress…wouldn’t look people in the eye…hated the way shelooked. Hated the way she felt. Hated the way she was sure people felt about her.
And though I know all those things are in the past and I’m definitely happy with whom I’ve become, inside me lurks that person. And I don’t like her very much.
So knowing that…discovering the “WHY” of what I do…is supposed to be the first step, right? Admitting the problem is 9/10ths of the solution?
I’m guessing not. I’m guessing I’ll keep beating myself up. Continue to run in overdrive, until I skid sideways across that final finish line of life and collapse in a heap of “I did okay…could have been better…maybe I should have done more…”
Maybe that’s just the “me” I am meant to be. And honestly? I LIKE that me! That ME is exhausting, takes on too much, never really feels like she’s done…and I’m okay with that!
Because those who are satisfied with how far they’ve come, rarely reach their destination.
