It's Not Such a Bad Life
It's cliched, but true...whenever you start to feel sorry for yourself, life comes along to give you a handful of reasons why you really need to get over it.
"You think you've got it bad?" Life says. "You haven't seen anything."
I recently found out a dear friend from high school is about to lose her father to lung cancer. One day he's healthy, and the next - BOOM - he's got stage three, inoperable lung cancer...and a life expectancy that can be measured in months. Nothing to be done, and almost no time to prepare.
("And you thought you deserved pity because your mother had early - I repeat, early - stage breast cancer and now you've got yourself all in a hubbub about genetic testing and the possibility that you'll likely get it to, blah blah blah" snarls Life. "Get over yourself.")
To make matters worse, she's going through a break-up with her boyfriend...of five years. The guy she thought she was going to marry. The guy, by the way, that her father loved and also hoped she would marry.
("Oh, and you threw yourself a big ol' pity party over your little breakup," says Life with saccharine sweetness. "You poor thing.")
Just heard today about a friend of friend of a friend who was in a car accident over the weekend. Turns out he broke his arm. Wouldn't be such a big deal, but he's a professional musician, and there may be nerve damage. It's possible he'll never play again.
("Still going through that existential crisis about your job and its relationship to your master life plan?" says Life. "How about being thankful for your two healthy typing hands and a brain that's fully functional, at least most of the time?")
My cold shower of reality, taken after that long hot bath of self-pity, is coming at a good time. It's the holidays, after all. There's no better time for a little reflection on all the good things you have...and a little realization of all the good things many other people do not have.
("Man, you think you've got it bad? At least you weren't born in a manger full of smelly animals with no medical attention because some lousy innkeeper wouldn't let your parents have a room.")
The good things I have? A family that loves me and misses me; a sister who apparently, kind of sort of, maybe even looks up to me (who knew?); friends who are always, always there when they're needed, and almost always there when they're just wanted; a job that pays the bills, gives me health care, and allows me to learn and grow, for the most part; a happy household of fabulous roommates who indulged my need for a (bigger!) Christmas tree, listen to me talk about how my day was, care about me when I'm sick, and make yummy baked goods for me to eat; healthy typing hands (even if the rest of me isn't quite so healthy at the moment); a kitchen to cook in and people to cook for; holiday parties to go to; a Pandora radio station full of jazzy christmas songs; free shipping on Amazon.com till the 15th; a flight home to look forward to; a beautiful baby niece to spoil; and every now and then, unexpected love and grace.
(And this is just a partial list.)
It's not such a bad life after all, is it?
"You think you've got it bad?" Life says. "You haven't seen anything."
I recently found out a dear friend from high school is about to lose her father to lung cancer. One day he's healthy, and the next - BOOM - he's got stage three, inoperable lung cancer...and a life expectancy that can be measured in months. Nothing to be done, and almost no time to prepare.
("And you thought you deserved pity because your mother had early - I repeat, early - stage breast cancer and now you've got yourself all in a hubbub about genetic testing and the possibility that you'll likely get it to, blah blah blah" snarls Life. "Get over yourself.")
To make matters worse, she's going through a break-up with her boyfriend...of five years. The guy she thought she was going to marry. The guy, by the way, that her father loved and also hoped she would marry.
("Oh, and you threw yourself a big ol' pity party over your little breakup," says Life with saccharine sweetness. "You poor thing.")
Just heard today about a friend of friend of a friend who was in a car accident over the weekend. Turns out he broke his arm. Wouldn't be such a big deal, but he's a professional musician, and there may be nerve damage. It's possible he'll never play again.
("Still going through that existential crisis about your job and its relationship to your master life plan?" says Life. "How about being thankful for your two healthy typing hands and a brain that's fully functional, at least most of the time?")
My cold shower of reality, taken after that long hot bath of self-pity, is coming at a good time. It's the holidays, after all. There's no better time for a little reflection on all the good things you have...and a little realization of all the good things many other people do not have.
("Man, you think you've got it bad? At least you weren't born in a manger full of smelly animals with no medical attention because some lousy innkeeper wouldn't let your parents have a room.")
The good things I have? A family that loves me and misses me; a sister who apparently, kind of sort of, maybe even looks up to me (who knew?); friends who are always, always there when they're needed, and almost always there when they're just wanted; a job that pays the bills, gives me health care, and allows me to learn and grow, for the most part; a happy household of fabulous roommates who indulged my need for a (bigger!) Christmas tree, listen to me talk about how my day was, care about me when I'm sick, and make yummy baked goods for me to eat; healthy typing hands (even if the rest of me isn't quite so healthy at the moment); a kitchen to cook in and people to cook for; holiday parties to go to; a Pandora radio station full of jazzy christmas songs; free shipping on Amazon.com till the 15th; a flight home to look forward to; a beautiful baby niece to spoil; and every now and then, unexpected love and grace.
(And this is just a partial list.)
It's not such a bad life after all, is it?
posted by Melissa at 1:53 PM
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