I’m sitting on a plane to Scottsdale remembering how embarrassingly long it’s been since I’ve written anything non-work related, and flipping through this month’s Elle magazine and Women’s Health. For which I paid a hefty airport price tag of $9.16 for two bundles of glossy paper. I kick myself for never remembering to buy magazines before a flight, but I just love the glow of those bright kiosks full of shiny paper and words and books and oddly shaped pillows.
I’m running (somehow) pleasantly on 3 hours of sleep, our president has just been reelected much to my delight, and I am on my way to a beautiful resort for 3 days to work for about 2 hours, and “mingle” for the rest, all paid for. Business is good, and I’m actually starting to feel like I know what I’m doing and where I’m going-- Definitely not words I could have uttered even 2 years ago. At this moment in my life, quite surprisingly to me, things do not suck. In fact, I’m terrified to type the words, but life is good. So why can’t I ever just sit back and enjoy the moment? I’m not a negative person by any means, but I am a worrier. A realist. A fighter. A woman who like many, has fought tooth and nail for every single thing she has. Who has struggled, who has been lost, abused, and completely pathetic at many points in this life.
If you are a person like this, perhaps you can relate—you’re secretly waiting for the other shoe to drop. Your life experience dictates that things can perhaps go well for a time, but will surely be followed by them going terribly, terribly bad. Like this demon disguised as a 3 year old child sitting a few rows up from me.
Lately though, when not contemplating the benefits of an amendment banning children on planes, I’ve been thinking that doesn’t have to be the case. This is the time of the year I typically dread the most—the holidays. Anyone from a broken and dysfunctional family could tell you that they’d rather drink themselves though the months of November and December rather than steep themselves in holiday cheer, but… dare I say… not this year? Because at some point, I, we, all of us must realize that our happiness is up to us. We own it. No other person, presidential candidate, spouse, friend, cohabitating jobless twat, family member, or asshole on the street or your facebook feed should have the power to change your ability to live in the moment. The moment that you take a breath and absorb all that is well in your life. And damn the rest, if just for a moment. This life isn’t perfect, so if we wait for that, we wait in eternal turmoil.
There are a lot of things that I want, have convinced myself I need, that I don’t have. Where I don’t live. who I don’t love. What I don’t weigh. But, even for a small part of one day, if we, especially women, could put all that away and be happy for ourselves and God forbid—for others—it could produce something special (and new) if you’re anything like me.
And even just a few hours of forced quiet time on a plane could conjure enough “live in the momentness” to produce thanks for this perpetually grey internal cynic, vaguely external cheery person. And isn’t that what this month is about-- Thanks? (well yes, and gravy)
So if you need to, have a good cry and a tall drink, and get on with your shit. Because this is your moment, your country, your life, and your choice. Live it.