Hiking, PCH, Honesty and Loneliness.

This Sunday, a good friend of mine and I headed down the coast for a good hike in the Canyon. You can’t beat a view like this:

What I like about this particular friend is that our friendship has been like a smooth wine or a sharp cheddar cheese in that it has gotten significantly more valuable to me over time. We have grown into one another, which has felt like an unexpected surprise and I like that.

Aside for my growing affection for this person,  I love that recently she has had a growing sense of self-awareness. She is asking some really hard questions about herself, including, “Am I hard to get to know? Am I a warm open person? Am I friendly? What type of  experience do people have when they first get to know me?” She isn’t asking to be affirmed, but really wants to know if there are areas where she needs to grow.

On our hike, she was mentioning that over the past few years she’s really battled a long and hard war with loneliness -constantly feeling left out, forgotten, not connected, and anxious about it. It’s like that feeling of junior high never left. However, in the past few months she’s  come to a place of acceptance in her war with loneliness.  It’s like a ghost that follows her around. A ghost that used to scare her. And now she simply turns to it and says, “Hi Loneliness. I know you’re there. And that’s ok.“

As she was telling me this on our hike, the only words I had were “Wow.”  It seemed like such a upper-handed place to be. And I’ve been thinking about that all week.

Birthdays, Weddings, Life and My Own Ghosts

Recently I’ve had my own series of whirlwind life events. I threw a surprise party for HNB a few weeks ago, I’ve recently had a close friend get married, I’ve been to countless engagement parties, bachelorettes, and baby showers.  And as I have checked the celebrations and events off of my calendar with each passing week, there has been a silent ghost that has settled on the periphery of my consciousness.

There have been moments where I am with my friends and they are beautiful, radiant, laughing and enjoying life as it passes us. We have been in beautiful dresses, tuxes, and sitting in great restaurants. There have been smiles on all of their faces. And as the moment fades, as I go home and wash my make up off and change into pajamas, there it is – I become acutely aware of the ghost.

The last time I felt this clearly was after coming home from a wedding reception. I’d showered and begun to unwind for the evening. I climbed on to the couch with HNB and sitting in that spot between his arms, I slowly began to feel the tears sliding silently down my cheeks. The ghost was here.

“What’s wrong?” he asked me.

I sat in silence for a long time.

Finally I whispered back, “I  just feel…pressure.”

As we sat there whispering in the dark, I told him how the ghost shows up and I feel like there has been someone sitting on my shoulder, watching and making tick marks at everything I’ve done. I told him that I’d realized that although I have great friends that I love and cherish, there are moments where I can’t help but feel small and left out ( or too young, or under developed, or inexperienced, or juvenile, or unimportant… sorry, still searching  for the right word).

There are moments where I look around and feel pressure to be simply fabulous. To look stunning, to love my life, to be in love, and to be whizzing by in the journey of life – quickly approaching destination of bliss. Maybe it’s just that when I look around at my friends, they all seem to have such glamorous lives – they’re getting engaged, having babies, moving overseas, traveling to exotic places, and taking risks at their dreams. And it’s not that I’m jealous, it’s just that I don’t always feel like my life measures up.  But, at the time, sitting with HNB in the dark,  I couldn’t get those words out.  I sat in silence, trying to figure out how to not sound crazy as tell him that I had a ghost that followed me around and measured how fabulous I was in comparison to my friends.

“It’s just that all of our friends are getting married….” I started.

Nearly choked, he asked me, “So you want to get married?”

(Poor Guy.) “No,” I clarified, “It’s just that…”

I sat there and tried to tell him what I meant. I choked on my words. I stumbled. I reached for a comparison to help give a clear visual.

“The best way that I know how to describe it was this: I feel like I have this cup. It’s mostly full all the time. But this weekend I felt like I went to a wedding with other people carrying their own cups. And I realized that I might be full, but I was the smallest cup in the room.”

Right. Clear as mud. I’m at least lucky that I have a man that kisses my tears off my cheeks even when I’m still grappling for words.

Dangerous Games.

I don’t know if any of you had to read the short story The Most Dangerous Game by Richard Connell. I remember doing some sort of language arts project on it when I was in the 9th grade. It was a story about a main character who is literally hunted by the antagonist. The antagonist set up the exchange as a game or a way to raise the stakes on traditional hunting.  The story is worth reading and I could recommend it simply in terms of being a literarily complex individual.

With the all of the events of this past summer and the ghost who has decided to become my emotional squatter all echoing in my mind, suddenly this title seems to be of utmost importance. The Most Dangerous Game could be hunting people or it could be comparing your life to others. It could be looking around at a wedding and wondering who your bridesmaids would be and if they liked you enough to ask you to be theirs. It might be wondering if you even knew 100 people to invite to your wedding. It could be looking at your girlfriend and her boyfriend and wondering if it’s ok that you’re not as in love as they are. It could be holding someone else’s brand new baby and hoping that you are as happy as they seem when you have your first kid.

See, it’s not that I’m unhappy. I am happy. I am pursuing my dreams, dating a great guy who gets me, creating my own schedule, and finding out who I really am. Those are all great things. It gets dangerous when I start asking, “Yes, but am I as happy as THEY are.”

The Three Part Irony

The really interesting thing is, even as I am having these thoughts, I become keenly aware of a few things:

1) That even beginning to embark on this game with myself, I am already giving myself disclaimers. “Jenni don’t do this. You’re always going to lose. If you compare and aren’t as good – you lose. And if you compare and come out on top, your happiness is based on someone else’s life – which is a huge lose. Stop right now. You’re happy. Stop stop stop stop….”

2) This second point is the one that I never seem to expect or understand. That when I don’t stop and I play the game, it really gets under my skin. I always feel shaken for a few days. I feel left out, insecure and small, which amazes me every time. For all of the growth I have done, all of the things that I have endured, and all of the parts of me I have discovered and love, it seems odd to see that in reality my ego is very fragile. I get left out of a few things and suddenly I’m questioning my friend’s love for me. I experience a few hours by myself and suddenly the ghost of loneliness feels like is reigning from heaven and might overtake me. And it is at this point that I have to stand back, metaphorically grab my own shoulders and give a good shake. “Honestly Jenni, get a stinking grip!”

3) I know I’m not alone in this. In talking to my good friend, it was SO good to hear that she has battled with various ghosts over the years too. And they get at her as well. It felt good to know that other people come home, take off their dresses, wash their faces and suddenly become aware of the ghosts of loneliness, or depression, or anxiety, or frustration, or unimportance.  And while there are times  I can greet the ghosts, saying “Hi, I know you’re there. It’s ok,” there are seasons when I can’t help but crawl into bed and let the tears slide – and it shocks me the same every time.

So why do we do it? Why do we play dangerous games? Why does there seem to be times when the ghosts sneak in and hover over your shoulder? Why do we look at other people’s jobs, bank accounts, cars, thighs and abs, teeth, and boyfriends? What makes us unable to stop? We have a thousand reasons why we do it. And most of us know them in our heads. But we cannot help but ingore the warning signs and plunge into the Most Dangerous Game anyway. Why?