Wednesday, October 26, 2016


Another great day to donate! Two marathons and two charities! Let's raise a combined $6,500 for cancer research through Fred's Team and low-income seniors with Housing Opportunities and Maintenance for the Elderly (H.O.M.E.)!

Donate to H.O.M.E. here (write in "marathon" in note section). Donate to Fred's Team here

Everyone on Instagram has a better life than I do. Or at least they have much more vacation time.

Fact: my life is filled with days that end all the same. I come home from work, eat a bit of food, sit down, and then go to bed. Also my days start the same. I get up, run, shower, and eat. I go to work. And for good measure, the middle of my days fill out with equivalent sameness. Sameness, day in and day out.

A couple of years ago I frequently found myself shocked by the routine, sure that I had not evolved to stand each week at the grocery store, on the same isle, looking over the same produce, standing in the same line, carrying the same bag, and restocking the same fridge. I often found myself vacantly staring at some food product and thinking, "Why buy this? I'm only going to eat it." Perhaps that doesn't quite make sense, but everything felt futile. And I am always tired.

At dinner last night B. said that it has something to do with what we can see and what we feel we deserve. This unsatisfied ungratefulness is due in part because we know how the most wealthy live and we have infinitely more ways to measure our failures to reach them. It was something about the Kardashians and their visual lifestyle - and how in the past everyone ate the same ice-berg lettuce because there wasn't infinite choices. And I wonder if he is right.

We can see the lives of others so well. And maybe that does include the wealthy. Even I read about celebrities and wealthy politicians and see pictures of their trips, dinners, and estates every day. That is mostly what makes up the news, it seems. Maybe the average person didn't have the same access to the Rockefellers as we do to the technocrats.

I have all but left Facebook - save for advertising this blog - because of boredom and the desire to avoid politics, anti-vaccination campaigns, snake oils, and face creams that will remove all of my freckles. Everyone is selling something, and nothing I want to buy. (This blog is different. I know you love it.)

I started Instagram this winter to keep up with a few new friends. I like its simplicity. I like the curated, and beautiful pictures my friends post. I really enjoy it. But slowly I started to realize that everyone was always on vacation. And then I noticed that they all vacationed in exotic and far away places. And then I saw that they had perfect homes with yards and families and all the trappings of happiness and joy and real life. And suddenly I knew I deserved more. Why am I stuck with all this monotonous sameness, this continual dripping of mediocrity? Ice-berg just won't cut it anymore.

I am a bit disappointed that I feel this way. I would hope that I didn't. But I do. Actually, I had hoped that coming out of a brush with death three years ago (to the week) would have changed me for the better. I had heard that experiences like that could. B even said something like that had been a turning point for him. Grace, he said, really grabbed him. But I am just as unsatisfied as always. Maybe more. What will it take for me?

I tell myself that all of this is ridiculous, that everyone isn't on vacation all the time - but that someone is always on vacation. I tell myself that I am very blessed and that I have so much. And I know it is true. So many people have gotten so much less. I tell myself that others spend just as much time sitting on the couch and watching Netflix, or going to be early as I do. And I suppose all of this helps. But it is depressing to fight (even when you win) the same battle over and over and over.

I wish I didn't have to choose to be grateful. I wish I just was.

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