Living in the moment is not my bag. Inner peace eludes me. The Universe does not move magically at my whim. Meditation drives me batty. What’s a girl to do?
I’ve tried contacting my inner shaman. I don’t have one. I am at one with no one. But I do think some solace for the weary might be nice. Is there an answer besides, “just relax,” for the girls that are wound too tight?
There are other dolls out there suffering. I see you. When getting a massage, we’re silently telling the masseuse what to do. When someone walks too slowly in the grocery store, we secretly wonder at ramming their ankles to teach proper pace. We turn the air blue with driving commentary.
Impatience is our go-to. When Miranda Priestly said, “By all means, move at a glacial pace. You know how that thrills me,” that made perfect sense, non?
So why am I not comfortable with my inner hamster wheel? Worry at 3 a.m. still manages to catch me off guard despite the regularity of its occurrence. And for god sake why am I not accomplishing shit left and right with all this angst?
I wanna be the Hallmark movie heroine before she goes to the small town and finds a slower pace and the love of her life. I just need an office on a higher floor, with a bigger window and people that fear me. Oh, and more money than I can spend since all my time is spent writing.
And perhaps there’s the circle. Some of us only think we crave inner peace, being one with the buddha and mastering the secrets of the The Secret. What we should really be embracing is the fact that sometimes our hearts race so face, we question whether its an actual attack; that the feeling of accomplishing a goal lasts for a millisecond before we look to the next and that enough will never be enough.
Or, we should just pour a glass of wine, turn on some Netflix and get over ourselves. Up to you.