Today my life changed. Or rather, it started to change. Why? I realized how selfish I am. My friend and I always have conversations on the nature of people, specifically about those that refuse to change and are stuck in their ways … all the time. They never change, they never grow as individuals. It’s the same old, same old, all the time. For years. They never progress in their emotions, never expand on their thoughts. They are a cement block that is thrown in ocean of life and sinks to the bottom, never to move again. I find those people frustrating. They always look at different problems through the same lens. I find it selfish to live like this. You are denying those around you the opportunity to see you grow and to experience new things with you. Even if you have the best outlook on life, you still have to grow and learn.
I have been stuck in a rut these past couple of weeks, somewhere between afraid to say what I want and actually spitting out what I want. I haven’t changed really. I have made steps, declared my ability to change for the better, and become this person that has risen above the world, and became better for it. But, despite my holier than thou preachings, I am still stuck in that awkward place of changing and making my mind up to change. I don’t know why this has been on my mind a lot lately. I think it’s a mixture of how frustrated I am with myself, my attitude, my everything, my being. We all as humans have the ability to be better than what we are. We can change and evolve. We can choose how we think about things, we can change our thoughts, emotions. Not to something less real or fake, but to something that we can better handle. Such as stress. It seems to be a thing that is a constant in my life at the moment, but I can alter the way I view it. I can, instead, think of the things that stress me out as chances to handle it a different way and to think of a better solution. I can use critical thinking skills and find a way to make it work. I, however, worry about it, overanalyze it, blow it out of proportion, and speak of it constantly. How about if I just accept that it’s there and rationally try to solve/fix the problem? Why the drama and theatrics of it? Does it not always find a way to work itself out? Whether by my hands or another more divine hand?
This includes all of the areas in this whirlwind crazy thing I call life. Isn’t it too short for me to be worrying about these things? Why do I constantly sit here on the sides and wait for things to come to me, and when they do, I toss them aside because they did not live up to every overanalyzed thought I had about them. I think it takes a person that sees the end every day to fully appreciate life. And writing that made me incredibly sad.
As always, it was a sad story that made me bring up this age-old argument that I have with myself. This time (maybe the straw that breaks the camel’s back and gets me out of this funk?), it was about a twenty-five year old woman, no, girl (it feels better somehow to say girl) that had cystic fibrosis. She started her blog in 2006 just writing about her trials and such with CF. She gained friends and such that had the same disease, and when she cried when one she had grown close to died, I had to cry with her. I watched the video she posted when she found out that she had days at the least ,and weeks at the most to live. The emotions I saw were so raw and honest I almost felt like an intruder to her thoughts. It was so honest and real. She says death did not scare her, but I’m sure she would have felt lonely in it. I am still on the first year on her blog, and already I feel connected to her. She was my age when she started, and she was frustrated. She just wanted to be healthy. While I can’t exactly understand and relate to the being healthy, I can understand the frustration.
Eva Markvoort was an inspiration, even though she didn’t set out to be. She inspired me in the three hours I spent reading her LiveJournal entries. And I can not wait to read more. She says, “My love is fierce,” and her favorite thing to say is simply “love, love, love.” She lived her life in only the way that she could. I feel cheated that I did not get to meet her. In a selfish way. I seem to be inspired by the dying young these days. Maybe it’s because I am afraid I will die young without ever being able to live my life fully; without being able to love and live freely. Maybe it’s because I’m afraid that I will not be remembered when I do die. I can’t honestly explain the panic I feel or the sadness and frustration that bubbles up whenever I find that another so close to my age has died and lived so happily when I struggle with it every day.
In the end, I stop and take stock of my life and decide if this will be the day that I make that change, that I take that step back and see where that road will take me. Am I too scared still?
P.S. For those that are interested, here is the link to Eva’s LiveJournal account. Take a read from the beginning. It is worth it. 65redroses.livejournal.com/2007/01/16/
It is set on the page that really hit me, that festered this growing discontent inside me. That prompted my shame and the way I am wasting my life. But we all need that slap in the face sometimes. Good readings and love, love, love.