The Quest to Love Myself

I have not spent a great deal of time writing in the past year. I suppose life takes over in a huge rush and some things end up on the pile of old hockey sticks, golf clubs, & yoga mats from various hobbies taken up in a passion & quickly forgotten.

The New year arrived in his handsome suit and sparkling smile, with whispers of new beginnings and exciting adventures, and although he seemed so familiar, I ignored the warnings to be careful and jumped right in with vigour. I was starry eyed and excited. But then the handsome suit turned to rags and the sparkling smile turned out to be dentures, and I received a swift kick on the backside when reality came hurtling in.

This may not make sense. But basically, the last few months have been difficult for me. I have been struggling to work through the carnage that is in my head. My anxiety levels were through the roof and I have been trying desperately to piece my self-esteem together. 

 The problem is that no one’s self-esteem should ever rely on someone else. If someone disappoints you, or a relationship does not work out, it should not be the end of your world. 

So I am on a path of self-realisation to build up my self esteem and just as Frodo departed from the comfort of the Shire to destroy the ring, so I too have to take my (great) ass on a quest to learn to love myself – see I am starting already.

Xxx

Jade 

The Regular Joe

I swaggered out of university with illusions of grandeur bigger than Kanye’s ego. Is it just our obsession with YouTube, Facebook, Snapchat and Twitter that makes us all feel special? A new society where our life is a fabulous stage on which to perform for our 627 friends which includes every person we have ever met since primary school including our sixth grade maths teacher and yes, even her cat, Mr Twinkles (He has more friends than I do FYI). 

I am a product of this society. Even as I type this on a relatively public blog, I am acutely aware that I am a slave to other people’s acceptance and recognition via social media. Do we all think that we are destined for fame and greatness? We can’t all be the rock star with adoring fans. There needs to be someone to clean up the drug and alcohol induced vomit backstage.

I have been obsessing about this for a while now. I thought I would be something more. I loved to sing. I loved to perform. I loved to write. I just egotistically assumed that I would end up being a creative genius something more than I am. Despite aching to do musical theatre, at the end of the high school I opted to study law. It was a stable, well-trodden paved road.  And despite pretty much hating every moment of it, I managed to get my law degree and get a respectable place at a well-known law firm in the city to complete articles. My fear was that I would become a sad wannabe living in a cardboard box with 10 stray cats to keep me company and begging people to pay me for singing/ writing/ acting lessons to buy my next hit of glue. I survived a year of long hours for a salary that barely covered rent, one year of being treated like vermin by the other employees, incredible stress that had me in tears on most nights. But eventually I found the courage to accept that it was not what I wanted and quit. I managed to get another job that wasn’t at a law firm but in a legal department, with kinder colleagues and slightly better pay. I did not take the job for passion. Rather, I grasped at it to avoid moving back home.  And a year on… I find myself wondering how I became so lost. 

Does anyone else feel like this? 

Am I just so full of myself that I thought I’d be more than a regular Joe sitting at my grey desk lost amongst a grey tetris-block universe of cubicles?  

Life is not always beautiful like a perfectly curated Instagram feed and sometimes we end up being Joey, the guy who cleans up rock star’s vomit backstage but it does not mean that we can’t find happiness outside our cog-like existence in the proverbial clock of life. I’m sure Joey is a great guy with a regular Jane wife who makes his heart explode with happiness. Maybe Joey can make the best omelette the world will never know. And maybe the fact that Joey isn’t famous or hugely successful is okay, because he still finds happiness. In his friends. In his family. In the small things.

So I guess for me, I will continue to write my anonymous blog posts like a kid chatting to an invisible friend and continue to be happy and grateful for everything I have even if I’m not rich or famous or even special at all.