Greener grass and balancing acts

I had an interesting thought earlier, as i was driving. And naturally, with no pen, paper or keyboard to record the thought, it seems to have disappeared forever into the ether. This is not an uncommon thing for me, but that does little to ease the frustration of sitting here, fingers poised over keys, waiting for the thought that cannot be tempted back for love nor money.

So i’ve put on my headphones, started some music and am going to type for a bit. See if something interesting comes of it.

I’ve had a strong urge to cut my hair for a while now. I sometimes dream of having long thick hair; something that i can hide behind or truss up in fancy styles: whichever my mood dictates. But it’s just not meant to be: my hair is thin, soft and fragile. When it does manage to get long, it can’t make up its mind whether it wants to be frizzy or stringy, so it alternates between the two.

So every now and then i buzz it down to the scalp and leave it be until it’s too long to ignore. It’s currently at that unignorable stage – it has to be wetted and combed in order to be presentable. Granted, i don’t currently care much about presentable, given that i’m currently amongst the 10.2% of the population that can’t find gainful employment. Common sense and my husband both tell me that, with regards to haircuts, it’s best to wait on anything that the outside world might consider drastic.

There are other things about me that are simply not meant to be; the same can be said of anyone and everyone else out there. We want to be taller, shorter, thinner, fatter, older, younger; the grass is always greener, likely because it’s fertilized with shit. Life doesn’t get easier or better when fat people lose weight, when the poor become rich, or when short grow a few inches.

Of those three things, all of them contain some amount of myth, as they are part of the mythos of the Better Life. What is difficult for some may well be impossible for others – and the distinction doesn’t lie in determination of will, but in circumstances often beyond our control.

There are thin people who want to gain weight, and are just as tired of being told to eat a sammich as i am tired of being told to stop stuffing cheeseburgers into my face. There are tall people who are tired of hearing “how’s the weather up there”, tired of the jokes about amazons or basketball players, just as there are short people tired of being teased about “little man syndrome”. There are rich people who think their lives would be easier if they didn’t have so much to worry about losing – just as there are poor people who think their lives would be easier if they suddenly came into a large sum of money.

And all of these thoughts, they’re valid to some degree. It’s like the person who, in this economy, dares to complain about their job. No doubt there are dozens of people more than happy to jump their shit about how they should be grateful to have a job at all. Problem is: both sides are right. People who have jobs are indeed lucky to have them, but they’re also facing heavier workloads and longer hours to make up for the people their companies can’t afford to hire. They’re developing ulcers or losing hair over the proverbial axes hanging over their necks.

Life is just hard. That’s it. End of story.

But not really. Hard doesn’t mean Not Beautiful. Doesn’t mean Not Worth It. Far from it.

And here’s where i get stumped. Because the Why isn’t as simple as any metaphors about closed doors and opened windows, or the darkest hours being just before dawn. If you’re religious, you can give pause and consider the miracle of human life, the act of creation, the awe of it all. If you’re an atheist, you can still pause and consider that even if human beings aren’t divine creations, we’re still some amazingly intricate creatures. But even that doesn’t really answer the Why. Just because my molecules reflect events in the cosmos, doesn’t mean i’m going to stress any less over making sure the rent and utilities get paid.

Balancing the mundane and the magical… sometimes i wonder if such a thing is even possible. I know i’ve yet to really figure it out. Sure, i’m made of star stuff – but so are we all. In that, i’m no more or less special than anyone else. So then i guess there’s awe to be had in the idea that in this immense world, we’re all so similar while being so different. We all bleed red, but we have fingerprints like snowflakes.

Awe, yes; comfort, no… if for no other reason than i believe those two things might well be mutually exclusive. How can we ever come together, with so many things to divide us? Gender, race, orientation, religion, political association, tax brackets; we all have some privilege that’s deprived of someone else. So life is hard. But the fact remains that we somehow manage to come together at times, even if only momentarily… and life is beautiful.

I think that’s all i got, for now. In re-reading before posting, it feels a bit disjointed. But i’m feeling a bit disjointed, so i guess it’s only fair that my writings would be as well.