Things don’t always go according to plan or how you want them to go. In fact, I’d be willing to bet that they don’t go according to plan the majority of the time.
I’ve had a very rough week. Everyone alive knows the type of week I’m talking about. Those are the weeks where you huddle in your bed, underneath more blankets than a bed at Pottery Barn, wondering who you must have killed in your past life to deserve the cards you’ve been dealt.
You start to think about how hard life is and how it isn’t fair. And you know what? You’re right. It’s not fair. And it sucks. It’s not fair that I’m 24 years old and have to take 16 medications a day just to function. It’s not fair that I have to drag myself out of a coma every morning. It’s not fair that while other people were worrying a pop quiz, I was worrying about secret assassination plots.
It’s not fair, it’s not easy, and it’s not fun, but it is life. And while life may not ever be good for me, it will get better. Maybe not today, and maybe not tomorrow, but one day it will get better. And until then, I try to hack my brain with the following tools:
1. Knowing you can always give up.
And then I think about it a little more. “Ok, so if I’m staying home, there would be no harm in taking a shower, right? I’ll just take a shower and then do nothing.” So I take a shower. “Well, now that I’ve taken a shower, I might as well get dressed. I mean, I still don’t have to go to work.” So I get dressed. “Ok, I’ll just throw my shit in the car and drive to work. I don’t have to go in. I can always just drive by the building and head home.” So I drive to work. “Ok, well, I’m already here. What if I stay for, like, five minutes? I’ll go home after five minutes.” So I go into work and end up working the whole day. At any point during the process, I could give up. But if I always have the option to give up, why not wait it out another five minutes? Another day? Another year? I can quit at any point, so why not stick around for a bit and see how shit goes down?
2. Lower your expectations.
3. People don’t care as much as you think they do.
Think back to an embarrassing time in your life. I’ll give you a mild one from mine: I was at a multi-class poster fair during my freshman year of college. I had just taken a class on the history of punk music and had to create a presentation for it. I threw my heart and soul into that class, and the professor was really impressed with me. Anyway, the student with the poster next to mine was playing a song. I knew the song from somewhere and couldn’t place it. It was on repeat, and I kept hearing it over and over. After about a half hour, my professor came over to grade my poster. He told me he was really impressed with my work and called me an authority on music.
Once I thought he had left, I turned to the girl next to me and asked, “Hey, what song is this?”
‘All along the Watchtower’ by Jimi Hendrix,” she said.
I turned around, and my professor was still standing there. I felt like such an idiot. He had just called me an authority on music, and I didn’t recognize one of the most famous songs of all time. He ended up walking away, but the shame haunts me to this day.
Now, I’ve done way more embarrassing things, but for some reason, this one has stuck with me. But no matter how much it has affected me, I can guarantee you that I am the only one who remembers this event and who cares about it. My professor has spent the last six years being the hero of his own life, making his own embarrassing mistakes, and you know what? That’s what he thinks about. He thinks about his own mistakes, not mine. And that’s how everyone is. Everyone is so busy thinking about the events in their own tale that they don’t have the time to ponder your plot line.
Every time I trip in public, every time I walk into a door, every time I accidentally insult someone, every time I mess up, I stress about how awful I am. But you know what? People don’t care, and that’s a good thing.
For me, this week has been full of worry, pain, and blankets. I’m going to have better weeks, and I’m going to have worse weeks. There will be weeks where my blankets are covered in blood and vomit, and there will be weeks where my blankets are laundered, folded, and look like they belong in the Pottery Barn showroom.