Basically, my boss at my internship summed it up this morning when she looked at me and said, "You're really having a month or two."
Yeah. That is for damn sure. But while I have been going through a difficult time lately, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention how during this time, I've also had the unwavering support of some pretty kickass friends up here in Chicago. Without that support, I'd be pretty lost. I have some major decisions I need to make in the next month. My lease is ending, my job situation is beyond pathetic, and everyday is a constant battle against myself. By that I mean, I can really be my own worst enemy. Beating myself up for stupid decisions I've made (and I've made a lot of them, both financially and personally). Questioning myself. Doubting myself. Worrying about what everyone else thinks.
Enough is enough, I tell myself. Just. Stop.
It's hard to do that, though. And even harder to recognize all the wonderful things that have happened in the last couple years, in spite of—and because of—decisions I've made. Sometimes (okay, many times), I feel like a big fat failure because I've been waiting tables, barely scraping by, and interning for the last two years. But yesterday I caught myself giving a friend advice about whether or not to go to school, and I realized everything I was telling him, I also needed to tell myself. Things like: You're living your life. You're not a failure. Do what YOU want to do. Do it on your own terms.
I'm 26 today. It's about damn time I learned how to take my own advice before I dish it out to others. So tonight, when I'm out celebrating with some amazing friends, I'm not going to be sad. I'm not going to worry. I have quit jobs, and I've found new ones. I've been lonely, and I've been surrounded by friends.
Recently, a really important relationship in my life ended, largely due to mistakes I've made. And yes, I'm sad. But I can either wallow in self-pity and regret over what I've done wrong, or I can wish him the best, hope he finds happiness, and know, deep in the pit of my gut, that even though I messed up, I loved him, and no one can take away all the wonderful moments we shared.
I'll also know that in spite of, because of, everything I've done in the last two years, I've made some wonderful friends, I've learned a lot of life lessons, I've hit the bottom and come up again standing, and I've loved and been loved by a wonderful man who taught me a lot. (It's my birthday. I'm allowed to be sentimental. Get off my back.)
Now that I've said all that. Ahem. Today's poem. It came to me after I opened a birthday card from my Aunt Kerry. She didn't just say happy birthday and leave it at that. She gave me some much needed encouragement. She wrote:
"...it is important to follow your dreams and live your life on your own terms."
After I read the card, I went to my shelf and grabbed the W.H. Auden collection my brother got me for Christmas in 2005. I bookmarked a poem in it a few years ago. It's called "Leap Before You Look" — and I think it's appropriate for my birthday, and especially this particular birthday.
Because one quality I am able to recognize in myself is this: I'm always willing to leap. Even when half the time I fall flat on my ass. "Laugh if you can, but you will have to leap."
LEAP BEFORE YOU LOOK
The sense of danger must not disappear:
The way is certainly both short and steep,
However gradual it looks from here;
Look if you like, but you will have to leap.
Tough-minded men get mushy in their sleep
And break the by-laws any fool can keep;
It is not the convention but the fear
That has a tendency to disappear.
The worried efforts of the busy heap,
The dirt, the imprecision, and the beer
Produce a few smart wisecracks every year;
Laugh if you can, but you will have to leap.
The clothes that are considered right to wear
Will not be either sensible or cheap,
So long as we consent to live like sheep
And never mention those who disappear.
Much can be said for social savoir-faire,
But to rejoice when no one else is there
Is even harder than it is to weep;
No one is watching, but you have to leap.
A solitude ten thousand fathoms deep
Sustains the bed on which we lie, my dear;
Although I love you, you will have to leap;
Our dream of safety has to disappear.