We’re nine days in and I’m waiting for all these “new” people to show up. The slogans were tossed about without any hesitation as they always are, “New Year, New You”…and the many variations. Yet as I’ve gone about my days so far, I’m seeing a lot of the same, angry, afraid, zombies that I saw before the calendar page flipped and the fireworks (and AUTOMATIC GUN FIRE) went off. Oh sure, they may be running through the neighborhood with their flashy new running gear, or crowding up the gyms in their flashy new work out gear, but their faces…just look at their faces. When they’re not aimed solely at their cell phones, that is.
I made no such promises this year. As I mentioned a post or so ago, I’m in a recovery of sorts. Recovering from 42 years of negative self-image, low self-esteem, and trying to figure out what I want to be when (IF) I grew up. First things first, realized I had spent most of those years trying to gain the love and acceptance of my dad; trying to be a person he would love and accept; a woman he thought was beautiful, and worthy of his time. He’s been dead since 1999 (or 2001, I always get the date wrong…a Freudian based, deliberate forgetfulness perhaps?).
*Spoiler Alert* You can’t gain the approval of a dead person. Who knew?
And about that growing up part. That was based on what I thought I was “supposed” to be like at this age. HA! I can remember when I was a pre-teen and I decided that adults were, to put it bluntly, f*@#$ in the head. They had their moments of fun and frivolity, but for the most part, they were angry, tired, zoned out, disconnected, curmudgeons. They only seemed to have a good time if there was alcohol involved. They didn’t have dreams or goals they were working for, oh no. They had JOBS and the only hope they had of finally getting to do the things they wanted to do was when and if they RETIRED WELL – as in retired and had enough money to do more than exist day to day until they died. Yeah, well, at the ripe old age of about 9 or so, I decided that was not the life for me.
Forty years later and I noticed I’d accidently slipped into Adult. Oh, there were rebellions along the way. My mid 30’s to mid 40’s were the bomb! lol…I partied, I played, I was irresponsible to a certain extent. I was the fun parent who set relatively light boundaries on my kid (thank the Goddess she didn’t run amok). Think Edina Monsoon from AB Fab and her daughter, Saffron. Without the drugs.
I had a blast. An empty, joy deadening, blast.
Hmmm. Took a downward turn there, eh? Where was I? Oh yeah, so I look up and realize that I’d slipped into being THAT grown-up. So, I took myself to rehab and have been in recovery since November.
Between you and me…I think it’s working ;-).
Hope you’re “new year” is off to a good, strong, start.