Do you ever wonder what it would feel like if you led a different life?
If you wore different kinds of shoes and had a different head of hair and took different pictures with your iPhone. You might live in another house with another set of kids and another set of problems.
The green-eyed monster knows where I live and sometimes she visits me. I see your Instagram feed and I read your blogs and I see the colors in your home. And I’m jealous. Not because I don’t love my life, but because I love your life, too.
I want my life but I want it to have elements of your life. I want to travel to exotic locations and eat pretty food and connect with cool people. I want to exist in an artist’s haze where every moment feeds my art and my art feeds my family.
But I have no choice. I can only be me. And so I am the best me I can be. I don’t lose myself in your life anymore. (Ok, sometimes.) I don’t want what you have. (Ok, sometimes.) I want what I have. (Always.)
Sometimes, when I open my eyes really wide and I see the pure white walls of my home and the miniature people who run away from and back to me and the light that filters through the windows into our protected pocket of earth, I remember what it was like to be a child. Those moments are fleeting and untenable and perfect.
We were born perfect, but when we grow up, we forget. We forget that even the struggle exists for us.
I want to see the universe through your eyes, but I will settle on seeing the universe through my eyes–opened just a bit wider than yesterday.
This is day 2 of 30 consecutive days of blogging. I’m glad you’re along for the ride. If you liked this post, please share using the buttons below. If you have something to add, feel free to comment openly or anonymously.