Confusion

     I have an ongoing battle with envy and gratitude.  I know how fortunate I am.  That good fortune began when I was born to intelligent parents.  We had a nice home in the suburbs.  I attended a Catholic grade school and, after a year in a regular (read: boys and girls) Catholic high school, I told my parents that I wanted to switch to an all girls' Catholic high school.  And off I went to Saint Mary of the Angels Academy.  I figured I'd be less of a loser in a school without boys.  Looking back, I'm glad I didn't ask my parents to send me to an all girls Catholic boarding school. One of my friends from grade school, a very sweet, smart, lovely person, was going there.  My parents would have gladly sent me off; I was getting to be quite the emotional handful.  Being a rather sheltered adoIescent, I was clueless about the cost of Catholic boarding schools.  I was clueless and confused and just plain scared of just about everything.   Adolescence is a bitch.  

       During those horrifying years, I spent a lot of time worrying about my weight, the delay in the onset of puberty (I wanted a bra, and tampons, dammit), my lack of friends, my fear of just about everything.  Despite my Catholic upbringing that taught selflessness and caring for others, I was extremely self-absorbed and unhappy.  I had a good home, plenty of food (probably too much food), a caring family (although nobody ever said, "I love you").  I wanted for nothing except perhaps self-confidence.  I'm sure I wasn't alone in my feelings and worries, but I was afraid to say anything to anyone.   I envied my younger sister; I envied her for her many friends, for her fearless participation in activities, for her intelligence.  I am ashamed to say that I envy her still.  

    Now, years and countless experiences, lessons, awakenings later, I still find myself looking enviously at huge houses and wondering who lives in them, and how they got so wealthy.  How did they get those places on the beach, on the lake, in the mountains...Then I remind myself that I have a nice home in a great neighborhood.  I feel safe and comfortable here.  Why the hell do I care about these ten bedroom monsters?  Seriously, WHY???  At this point, my husband and I live in a house with four bedrooms and two bathrooms.   Our two children have moved on to their own lives.  

    Honestly, I lack nothing except, perhaps, the ability to appreciate.  

  

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Memory Struggles

I don't know when, but at some point my memory began to fail.  I'm 69 years old now, so perhaps I should expect this.  I don't like it and I don't want to accept it.  Being the hypochondriac that I am (that's a whole other blog), I wanted to see if my brain was rotting...or whatever brains do when they are no longer fully functional.  My long suffering primary care doctor (the woman is a saint) ordered a brain MRI.  The results: "Very mild chronic small vessel ischemic changes of the supratentorial periventricular and subcortical white matter." Sure.  That sounded troubling to me, but my primary care doctor wasn't concerned.   On the positive side, it's interesting to see all the new sights everyday that apparently I have seen thousands of times before.  On  the one hand, it's nice to be happily surprised...a lot.  I ask my husband, "have we been here before?" to which he often replies, "countless times."  Hmmmmm.  Nope, don
Read more

Blonde and Skinny and Fake

I admit that I spend more time than I should thinking about how I look.  I don't know about you, but I was indoctrinated at a very early age.  Like many newborns, I had blonde hair at birth.  That blonde hair usually doesn't last.  It didn't last on me.  I don't know exactly when it happened, but I remember that my mother poured peroxide over my hair when it started getting dark.  Now, my mother was an educated woman; she received her Doctor of Medicine degree from the University of Illinois in 1943.  But, even an educated woman apparently wanted her first child to remain a blonde.  For years, she went to the drug store to get some Miss Clairol Blonde formula with which to keep me bright and beautiful (in her eyes, anyway).  I don't know how she found the time, but it must have been quite the priority for her.  This was a woman with a medical practice in our home who was very often called away to deliver babies.  Looking back, I am amazed at all that she did.   For
Read more

Love, Heartbreak, and Life Is Short

Believe it or not, I was a very shy child.  Really.  When it was time to go to high school, I went to a coed Catholic school   I didn't do well.  After I survived one very unhappy year there, I begged my parents to let me attend the all girls Catholic school where a couple of my good girlfriends were.  I felt safe there with none of those annoying boys hanging around.  Yeah, I was spoiled.  I had no idea how expensive that place was.  But, I was happy there. In my senior year, we were offered the opportunity to go on a religious retreat somewhere in New York.  Yay!  I don't know who thought it would be a great idea to have an all girls school and an all boys school attending the same weekend retreat, but it was there I met the boy who was to be my first real love and my first truly devastating heartbreak.   David (not his real name...I've changed the name to protect the innocent) was so handsome.  He had long blond hair (this was the 1970s, so long blond hair on a Catholic
Read more