Life Will Be Great

Sometimes I get stressed out and then I think,

"Life will be great."

This is a confidence I only recently developed. As I'm shedding old beliefs and easing up on myself. I begin to mean it.

"Life will be great."

I used to clean houses. I used to scrub floors. I used to work work work work work. Work = survival for me and has been ingrained in me as a safety mechanism.

"If you work hard enough you won’t turn out like your parents."

This message was burned into my brain at 13 or 14, and as soon as I was 15 years old I found the first legit job I could, one that took taxes out and everything. I loved it. I loved the control it afforded me over my life, the autonomy, I loved having a PAYCHECK. I loved having a bank account. I loved the idea of compound interest. I loved the idea that one day. One glorious fucking day, I’d no longer struggle – and neither would my parents. I’ve been doggedly working toward that goal since I was young. Since the day Tommy Kazmerski informed me the police raided my house as we disembarked the school bus together. Hardly together. And hardly the police, more like the FBI.

Yeah, Tommy. He stuck his hand down my shirt without asking. He forced. I laughed at him and called him a liar. He taunted, “Go ask your mom then!” I did. She confirmed what the shitty little mini-molester said. I had never heard of such a thing. I couldn’t even imagine why they’d want our stuff! Was it just a terrible government regime? Like in Russia? Did they seize without warning?

I mean, that’s cool. “Mom, are they going to take my stuffed animal collection?”

I’d recently become a big girl and put all my stuffed animals in one location in the basement, for safekeeping. Realizing I might be looked upon as selfish for wanting to maintain the sanctity of my personal goods, I offered, “They can have them if they need them.” Does the FBI really need my Teddy Bears??? Not when they have the convenience of pointing a gun at my mom's head. Nice. And how about paying for my family's groceries. I’ll admit this only happened once. And my mom probably paid me back, but imagine. I’m young, 14, 15, maybe. I’m paying for the family groceries. The lump in my heart and throat formed back then, and quite frankly, never left. I’ve been fighting that damn lump for years. And only now that my father is dead and I’m challenging some of the stupidity I’ve grown up with and created within myself do I see it. I see how my delusions and fears that created this very real monster are looking so faint and stupid now.

“My life is a sham.” I feel like saying.

It’s not – that would be a gross exaggeration, and a bit silly. But what is not silly is the way I mentally enslaved myself for no real purpose. I lived in an upper middle class community, attended a Big Ten university, graduating with class honors every year. I currently work in one of the top financial service firms in the country, and I excel at my job, no matter how irrelevant it is to my dreams. I also somehow manage to get a 4.0 in my graduate degree, and while it is not the top business school, it's highly regarded. I managed to pull off a beautiful wedding to a man I love and didn't go broke in the process.

I have managed to gracefully handle my father’s death. I don’t feel like being graceful, and at times I’m anything but.

But, I get out of bed each day, walk upright, and I am doing my damn best.