So much to say (Part 1)

Dave Matthews is going on in 30 minutes. I loved him back in college. I’m numb to everything right now but decided to come anyway. I would’ve wasted the night anyway. Now I can be alone in a crowd. (Confession: I didn’t give away the second ticket. I asked a few people and then stopped trying.)

It’s been a hard week. Been listening to Rising Strong again. This passage cut me today:

“I’ve rumbled with failure and shame enough over the past decade to know this: You can do everything right. You can cheer yourself on, have all the support you can find in place, and be 100 percent ready to go, and still fail…But if you can look back during your rumble and see that you didn’t hold back—that you were all in—you will feel very different than someone who didn’t fully show up. You may have to deal with the failure, but you won’t have to wrestle with the same level of shame that we experience when our efforts were halfhearted.”

Brene Brown, “Rising Strong”

That’s horseshit. Why do people need to compare themselves to others so much? That does NOTHING for me. Knowing that someone is suffering less or more than me is irrelevant. I don’t do life like that. Like, I’m wearing a mask at the concert. Have I encountered anyone else wearing one? No. Does that affect my feelings about wearing one? No. There is not a single fuck I could find, even with the help of Randy McNally and Google Maps.

The truth is that I failed. Period. I feel like shit. Feeling slightly less shitty wouldn’t feel like an improvement right now, Brene. I was BRAVING and have nothing to show for it. Love. Work. Life. Nothing.

I don’t want to feel better; I want to feel good. Since that isn’t possible, I’m going to get wasted on ridiculously expensive drinks.

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