Two years into my 30's, I've noticed that I'm slowly becoming comfortable with who I am. Not in an adolescent-identity-crisis way but in more of a coming full-ish circle sort of way. Like it doesn't bother me anymore that Kevin and I aren't married yet, after eight years. Now, looking and listening to newlywed couples, I actually feel relieved that we've already been through the preliminary. We're strong and confident enough to weather most storms. And that's comforting. I feel proud even. Or silly things, like coleslaw and pulp. I've basically accepted that I actually like coleslaw and orange juice with pulp. However much of an old fogey that makes me. I'm ok with it. I'm ok with the fact that I can be a naggy ninny who likes clothes put in the hamper instead of the bedroom floor, space between furniture and framed photographs, gardening and lawn chairs. With as much as I've detested the arrival of birthdays in recent years, I'm actually enjoying getting older and feeling like an adult with grown-up tastes and desires.
But there is one part of me that I can't seem to assuage : jealous judy. I still cannot help but feel jealous of my own friends and acquaintances when news of their impending success surfaces. I immediately stack myself up against each one, listing all my missing ingredients. "Well if I were THINNER or more OUTGOING, a lot less LAZY, had more AMBITION, didn't concentrate on FEAR, maybe actually had some STYLE and knew how to dress for success or had more MONEY to fund my dreams and COMPLAINED less and took ACTION MORE and blah blah blah blah." Insert flailing onto to bed in defeat here. "And succumbed to DEFEAT less often." siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh.
I even have a secret nemesis. Someone who, unbeknownst to her, drives me bat shit crazy with every single achievement on her roster. And I can't stop checking in, looking at what she's doing etc. etc. Its like a car crash---I have to look. Torture is what it is, unnecessary self-torture.Thank god for partners, best friends and unconditional love. For they are the only two on the planet who know the identity of my dirty little secret....and still love me anyway.
Jobs, money, happiness and accomplishment---all things I want for my friends but find hard to swallow. I know its me. I know its me that I have the actual problem with, and my jealousy is just a catalytic mirror that spins me into drama central. Or its my reflection.
