another day

First thing this morning, I walked through the door and was making my way toward my desk when I was greeted by 40-something Marie, a dress-wearing, frizzy-long-haired, non-make-up-wearing, puffy woman who works near my office space. "Another day," she huffed.

 

"Yep," I said, smiling.

 

My smile was genuine. It is another day. Thankgodalmighty!

 

 

Twenty years ago, I was well on my way to becoming Marie: I was in college, but I was such a miserable, introverted loner.

 

Ten years ago, I was pretty much a younger version of Marie: I was sluggish and not so happy. Especially at work. I had no life outside of my boyfriend who I only saw on weekends.

 

Five years ago, I was a couple months into being married to that boyfriend and was laid up in bed for 8 weeks due to a foot surgery. The days dragged.

 

Two years ago, I couldn't get enough minutes in the day. I had an 8.5 month old baby doll whom I wanted to spend every minute with.

 

Today, I still can't get enough minutes in a day.

 

My life has finally gotten to the point where I truly cherish every moment.

 

And I'm sick and tired of feeling bad about this.

 

I'm sick and tired of feeling almost guilty about feeling that life... my life... is good. Great, even!

 

It's not all great, all the time, but overall LIFE IS FUCKING BEAUTIFUL!

 

Thing is, I spent 35+ years dreading some days; wishing some days, weeks, months, years away.

 

I WISHED LIFE AWAY.

 

I've spent so many days miserable. I didn't participate in life. I sat by and watched as others lived and enjoyed life, but I didn't. Why? Because I was miserable. Why? Because.

 

I mean, there's a multitude of reasons for my misery: parents divorcing, siblings hating me, people ignoring me, being the new kid nearly a dozen times. I basically spent my pre-adolescent and adolescent years locked inside of my head. Nobody could touch me. Not deeply enough, at least.

 

My god was I a miserable person! And such a fucking introvert.

 

Once I hit adulthood, I had people tell me that upon first meeting me, they thought I was a stuck up bitch. That's how miserable, that's how much of an introvert I was. It's not that I really was a bitch. It's not that I hated anyone or didn't want to make friends. But I did hate life. And clearly, my hatred and misery shone through in all that I did, all that I was.

 

I lived most of my life like this and now that I'm finally over all the misery... I just have no real desire to return back to it.

 

I'm grateful for my past. I wouldn't relive it - not for anything - but I am grateful for it because I really do feel like it's helped me become who I am today... and that's someone who is absolutely, head over heels in love with life.

 

I don't need September 11ths to help remind me of this. I don't need someone near and dear to me to pass away to help remind me of this.

 

Every day is a gift. And I'm SO thankful for it.

 

So yeah, it is another day. HOORAY!