It’s been rather a while.
I thought my last post might have been as long ago as last year, but it seems it was only June. In any case, I haven’t posted as regularly as I once did. And I really think that’s a good thing.
I haven’t written because I’ve been dedicating all that time to a million other things. To friends, family, work, studies, travel, stories, cooking, feminism, walking. There’s a thousand and one things to do in the world – how can anyone ever be bored?
I’ve always struggled with intense jealousy and self-esteem issues, like many, and generally tried to alleviate my problems by writing about them and often sharing it. I can’t say how much it helps. But I keep doing it anyway.
I’m forever slowly building my case against jealousy, finding a tidbit of evidence to put forward in an effort to convince myself that I’m actually quite alright as a human being and it’s reasonable to expect to have friends. Unfortunately, I’m very suspicious of myself.
But I’ve found another little scrap of proof in the past months, which is a variation on the usual theme of ‘Just being happy is absolutely enough to achieve in life,’ in that I’ve spent the past few months doing my utmost best to not stress about being the best and simply doing things I want to do. Baking cakes, reading books, writing in confused and English-peppered French to keep in practice, lying in the sun and practically purring with delight at just sitting and existing, peacefully.
I’ve written a bit, here and there, when I felt like it. But I haven’t forced myself.
And I’ve really had a great time.
How does this relate to jealousy? Well, now, let me continue.
I’m still unhealthily envious of people who seem to have something better than me. Or rather, do something better. Those who speak foreign languages fluently, and those who compete at national levels in sports. The 18 year old on my Facebook who’s apparently launched a new magazine for young people. That one’s hit me the hardest, recently. My jealousy is born, I think, of ambition.
But I know these people, often. I know they’re not always happy. I know I’m not always happy. But doing the things I want to do has made me a lot happier than trying to beat the whole world by doing whatever it is the people I’m jealous of have been doing.
And I suppose that’s the moral of this, ultimately. Your happiness shouldn’t be about other people’s views. It should be about your own personal desires and preferences.
In other words, I’m going to go ice a cake (and admire it, and later eat it), instead of trying to launch a magazine I don’t want to launch.