“To get through every day, through a job of staring at pencil marks in spreadsheets through glassy eyes, through humoring a husband who has not sold a screenplay in six years and is writing a new one still, through telling everybody your three basic children are talented and gifted—I know that people who do these things are happy because happiness is the untruths we tell each other and ourselves or it would be unbearable. But I would rather not. I would rather be sad, and sometimes lonely, but at least not suffering the silly.
Or is that my untruth?” – Elizabeth Wurtzel
I’ve always been told that you need to have some sort of life plan in order to achieve anything in life.
I’ve never had any plans.
In fact, I tend to shy away from them.
My greatest achievements have always been accidental. Like I accidentally, by some dumb luck, applied for and got into UBC. Like I accidentally fell in love with a boy that I was never really attracted to in the beginning, but who ended up being a beginning.
Like accidentally moving to Shanghai to begin again.
My life has been full of happy coincidences and happy leavings, because I; the greatest escapist, somehow or other, always had an escape route. It’s a happy accident.
But I’m tired of running. And I’m tired of leaving. And I’m tired of staying.
R sent me this article by Elizabeth Wurtzel (from whence the quote came from), along with the words, I don’t know what to think.
I don’t know what to make of it either, but a lot of her words resonate within me and reverberate through my being so that my little unexamined, accidental life doesn’t look quite so accidental anymore.
I think a lot of the things we’re expected to do as people stem from the thoughts of other men, who may not necessarily know any more than we do, but we listen to them because there are two camps of people in this world.
Those who think they know more than they do and those who agree because they couldn’t care less.
I’ve always fallen into the latter.
But recently, I read that the less you know, the more you think you do. It’s a scientifically proven fact. I swear.
Trust me, I’m a liar.
I know these things.
Honestly, I think I’m just arriving at a point where I’m too desperate to even try anymore, and too desperate to even cry. Too desperate to die and too desperate to live. There’s just too much of everything within me and it’s a tired emotion that engulfs; suffocates me beyond recognition.
I want to be a fireball again.
All rage and goals and hopes.
I want to be the girl you fell in love with because I was in love with that girl too.
But she’s gone.
And that’s something we both have to deal with.
Accept, and get over.
Or maybe, that’s the untruth I tell myself.
Because maybe the truth is, I’m too lazy to try.