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© 2004-2008 Linda Escaip
"I may be grumpy, but I like you."
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The Suns and Moons of the Grumpiest Girl in the Room.
Welcome to my journal, butterbuns.
Happy? 20-Nov-2004
You know what I've been thinking about lately? How some people have such a hard time being happy for others. As if someone else's success or happiness takes something away from them. Being bitter and envious sucks up a great deal of energy; far more than just relaxing and letting everyone live without our inessential judgments flying at them.
I remember some years ago having some exciting news to share. I called up one of my friends to tell her and was treated to a lackluster "Oh." No kidding, just "Oh." She made no attempt to hide her lack of support, which I guess was more honest than pretending to be happy for me and then talking shit about me to other people. "Linda's really going to have her head up her ass now that..." That sort of thing. I am happy for people when they get what they want. If I know you want it, I want it for you, unless what you want is to go on a killing spree or to name your child Bongo Fluffypants (please don't do that). Not that I have never felt jealous in my life. "Why does she get everything she wants?" I have said that. I have felt that in my heart so deep that it burned and ached and made me long to get over myself. But it never made me want less for that person; I never wanted anything taken away from them. It just made me feel sorry for myself and for what I believed I didn't have.
I did go through a period of time when I was in my late teens where I would get my boxers in a bunch (that's right, I wear them) when I saw a girl I thought was prettier than I was. This would occur on the days where I felt like the ugliest girl in the world. "Oh, she thinks she's hot shit." I would instantly dislike any pretty girl I saw on the street or wherever. Unless she was my friend—that was different. I hated feeling that way. Even now when I see beautiful women, if I am feeling insecure I often end up experiencing a twinge of something unpleasant, but it is no longer jealousy. It's a feeling of wanting to beat myself up for not looking the way they look, because I think my life would somehow be better if I resembled them. Aren't model-perfect girls happier than everyone else? No. But that ideal is shoved in our faces everywhere we look, and sometimes it's hard to avoid letting it crawl beneath your skin. I have to keep digging it out. It is entirely possible to see a physically beautiful person and just enjoy their beauty without having it take something away from you. I've tried it.
And it is entirely possible to be happy for people when things go their way. A simple shift in your perspective can make everything different. Better. Just because Bongo Fluffypants won the lottery doesn't mean you're a penniless loser, does it? I know a guy who feels like a nobody around doctors and lawyers. He thinks they are better than he is because of their titles. They are simply people who went to school longer and who made different choices in their lives, but he doesn't see it that way. But it is that way. It actually feels good to be happy for people. When you allow yourself that, it's like a heavy weight drops off you and you can breathe more easily. Try it and tell me I'm wrong. I'll eat my computer if you don't experience this or something equally as lovely.
We all have an equal right to be happy. Most of the time we are the ones keeping ourselves from it. Being upset when something great happens to someone else or lamenting when they have something we wish we had is a clear indication of insecurity. At times like that we may as well just send out to those "more fortunate" folks a picture postcard of hell itself, with the words "Wish you were here!" scratched into the back of it by one of our envious little claws.
I drink this vanilla hazelnut tea made by a company called Yogi Tea. On the paper attached to each tea bag string they print these short philosophical thoughts. One of them stuck out and I wrote it down on a Post-It and stuck it by the front door.
Recognize that the other person is you.
That just kicks my ass. We're all in this together, have we forgotten that? I want the best for you, whether I know you or not. Not because I think that's the right thing to do, either. It just feels good to want that for you. I might have moments of feeling sorry for myself and wishing I could be you, but I never wish to take anything from you.
Sometimes while I'm out I look at people and think of all our insecurities, all our heartaches and longing, our frailty and bitterness, our losses, our pain, and it kills me. The world breaks my heart. Sometimes I feel so much compassion I think I will implode. We are all fragile. We are all strong. We all matter.
And we all like pizza. Have you ever met anyone who does not enjoy a nice slice of pizza? Please let me know if you know this person. If one exists, there can only be one; one crazy pizza-hating bastard. I'd like to interview that person, I really would. I would also like to go to Canada, preferably today. The sooner the better, but I can wait. One day I'm going to hop on my seventh plane and go there. And you know what I'm going to do there? Walk. I'm going to walk all over the joint and take it all in. I'm going to hum John Denver songs under my breath as I smile hello at everyone I pass. I'm going to drink tea and coffee and eat things I shouldn't eat and dream about everything. Until then I'll just do that here. Here in Los Angeles, where a person like myself feels considerably out of place and always a bit undone. But at least I know how to put myself back together now.
There is this bird, this bird with a hat, who visits my backyard daily. On the top of his head sits a pile of fluffy feathers that looks like a helmet or a hat. Anyway, he quite enjoys crapping on the solar lamps. He hops from light to light. He drinks out of the pool. Somewhere in between he shits. I think it's cute and funny. Who cares if the lamps are covered in shit? That bird gets a kick out of my backyard for some reason. I like that he visits. Or she. The bird's sex doesn't matter. No one's does, come to think of it.
Quote From My World
"Should I make more chicken? There's too much."
Well, I'm off to have a day. Thanks for reading. You look stunning, by the way.
Linda
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