I have always wanted to be an intimidating bad-ass so that people would think twice before messing with me. So far I haven’t mastered a tough girl persona. Instead of puffing out my chest and raising my voice, I retreat, slinking away with drooping shoulders. My tendency is to swallow potential tirades, mealy-mouthed girl that I am. Instead of letting it go, however, I fight in my mind, preparing my script for a future throw down.
I have been having a fight to the death in the arena of my mind for over a week now. A meddling acquaintance feels compelled to inform me on a regular basis that I am not living my life properly and I don’t know what is best for me. She apparently has all the answers to my unasked questions. My happiness is delusion, my contentment is apathy, my protests that I am satisfied with my life are denial. It’s funny how those who’s opinions I don’t care about are often the quickest to dole it out. It also seems that those who are miserable themselves have solutions for everyone else. It has become a bit of a theme this year where I feel judgment, spoken or unspoken, about my life and choices. I don’t consider myself a rebel or someone living a particularly unconventional life, but somehow my path seems to disturb some people. I have my health, I have love and I have connections that are meaningful. I have been eating delicious sandwiches with tomatoes right from our garden. One day I will have a dog. What more could I ask for? If I had a house or a more secure job or money would my life be better? Not to me. Yet there are those who are eager to act as pricks to my sunny balloon.
I was complaining about this latest installment of unsolicited advice over martinis with a couple of girlfriends.
“So maybe I am neurotic and a little flaky, but if I am happy and not complaining about my life, why should I have to defend it?”
There was silence from my girlfriend who has already admitted that she fears that I will end up sleeping on her couch in retirement. I have tried to assure her that her home will not be one of my destinations on my bag lady walkabouts, but I suspect she remains unconvinced.
My other girlfriend interjected, “But that is what makes you, you! If you weren’t all of those things you wouldn’t be you anymore.”
Bless her. Bless friends who love me for, and in spite of, my foibles. Bless those who don’t expect everyone to have the same values and goals and don’t feel the compulsion to enlighten me on a regular basis. Bless tomato sandwiches and refreshing lemon drop martinis. Bless the bad-ass mouthy chick within who always has a pithy retort to asinine comments, is a master of the stink-eye and can stop judgers in their tracks. One day she will be unleashed and the meddlers of the world will crumble.