A slut, a nun and a betrothed walk into a bar
There is nothing like mailing a fellow bearblogger, displaying concerning fan behavior towards said bearblogger, and not getting reported or sent to the spam folder (Hi Amy! I really appreciate that.).
I used to joke around with my friends and say that you don't need therapy as long as you have one or two crazy friends by your side. So in high school, when little old me was a tad bit lonely, I went and collected 3 (at least, it used to be 3) of them.
'Team evil' is what my friend group from high school used to call ourselves. We felt like the odd ones out, the weird kids who did not fit in and were thinking and acting different from the students around us. Yikes. Teenagers, amirite?
I say used to, but we actually still call ourselves that, but more in a "we accept the cringiness of it" kind of way. We even came up with our own slogan: "from bad to worse." Can somebody please show us the way out?
…ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ
Last week-end, the three of us went on an inland week-end trip, the kind where you rent a cheap house close to an indoor pool, of which you hope the bathwater is replaced at least once a year. The house is often spider-infested, and you spend at least an hour cleaning what should have been a cleaned-up place. These kinds of destinations usually target young families in which their child is required to at least piss (1) time in the pool.
Grunting, we got out of the car on our flip-flops and crocs, each three bags in hand filled to the brim with fruit, vegetables, condiments, and perhaps a shared 1... 2 bottles of alcohol. I couldn't help but notice, as our knees popped that little click-click sound after riding for longer than 30 minutes, that the difference between now and 10 years ago could not have been starker.
And I am loving every minute of it.
Once we were settled in and generally updated on each other's lives, we poured ourselves a drink.
"It is time for a new hoe-era!" S exclaimed.
"Hear, hear!" we cheered while raising our glasses in a toast.
"How many times is this one?" I whispered from the corner of my mouth to N.
"I lost count." They whispered back.
"It is my second one, and I can hear you," S said with annoyance. "The first one just... lasted long.". I snorted at the look N gave S.
"Look at us. One is engaged, one is getting laid, and one... What am I doing actually?" N wondered. "Judging people from the sidelines?" I helpfully offered. They threw a chip in my direction that I laugingly dodged.
The wonderful thing about being this age is that you can clearly observe the different tempos at which people can go through life. While some are touring the world and jumping out of planes, others are raising a family. It is truly a marvelous thing and something to be celebrated, as long as you don't fall into a comparison paradox. Did I just link to a Linkdin article? Yes, I did. But I loved the following snippet:
When we compare and become jealous, we deceive ourselves of reality. We see the promotion - not the endless stream of late nights, missed kid’s soccer games, forgotten anniversaries or cancelled dates. We see the idealized body - not the uneaten birthday cake, the sweat sessions at the gym, the injuries sustained and worked through.
Beyond just selectively viewing the successes of others, comparison and jealousy also set upon us unrealistic expectations. It is enormously easy to examine one aspect of a life and be jealous, but it’s entirely impossible to examine the complete experience of a life and be jealous. An entire life is bitter and sweet, good and bad. The perfect teeth you envy on your friend might come with an alcoholic parent. The enviable ski lodge in Fernie that your mentor owns might come with life-long depression.
I find myself often comparing and feeling myself fall short, but I try to remember that what we see is only the icing, we don't see all that is sacrificed or all the things the other person might be jealous about.
…ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ
Warm greetings,
Rat