Wait....what am I waiting for, exactly?

I spend a great deal of my time these days lamenting.

It's pathetic because I'm only twenty, I'm healthy, relatively strong (albeit totally scrawny, but, you know, no parasites that I know of) and have a long, lush existence to look forward to.

And yet I'm like a bitter old woman, taking out my disappointment with my diminished youth on everyone else.

I'm like the witchy motor-chair lady on Waking Ned Devine.

I sigh about my high school exploits like they were my golden years.
I'll quickly note that the purse one just said one liked was, in fact,  purchased in EGYPT.

I'll explain to anyone who will listen how cool I am.  [and I can prove it too! I can I can I can!]

I wake up in the morning actually angry that I'm not waking up to the call to prayer with Jerusalem waiting outside my window.

I find my self jealous of anyone and everyone who is talented, motivated, content, or just, I hate to        
[my foot]                                                                                     admit it, happy. 

yep. children. celebrities. the UPS guy. my grandmother. my dog. you name it.

I hate that.

 

I know that I have:

talent

energy

promise 

motivation

friends

passion

And yet, all I can seem to think about is the past. It's all wadded up into a great big confused ball of ticket stubs and playbills and logged away in my locked-up filing cabinet labeled "romanticized."  

It takes a lot of prying and twisting and head-bashing to remind myself that not everything was perfectly peachy back then either.

I've always known my wander-lusting, sensitive disposition was a bit of a liability, but it's starting to feel like I just can't be happy if I'm not moving across the world every few months.

or winning things.

or proving how very interesting I am.

or living in Hawaii.

or committing to a kajillion high-profile things every day.

or dazzling people on stage.

or wearing a crown and sash.

or...whatever.

Last night I went to the phenomenal Celtic Woman concert with my mama and family friend, Marilyn. It was, very literally, breathtaking.

But I had to keep reminding myself how much I was enjoying it  because I was sitting there, all hunched up, resenting the sweet old lady next to me singing along to "Danny Boy" with gusto because she was, of course, so happy.

And I absolutely [I'm not proud of this] hated those incredibly talented singers and musicians onstage. They were, after all, enjoying themselves. And, you know, doing what they love.

How dare they do that in front of me!!! The audacity.

No, but really. I'm desperately tired of being miserable, and of allowing myself to be so.  Day after day. So what if I'm in Spokane? It's pretty.

So what if I don't get a lot of social time [and by some, I mean none]? I finally get to hang out with my family. I'm not here often.

So what if I'm not famous? Most people aren't.

So what if I'm not actually better than everyone else at everything?    ....well, you get the point.

Or I should, anyway.

Here's to being happy! It's time to live this life of mine, methinks.

love and stuff,

Banana 

p.s. I'm going to the Spokane Symphony tonight. Goal: no frowns and a smile exchange with the patron next to me. 
p.p.s any inspirational quotes/ pics/ smacks upside the head= totally appreciated.