I adulted this morning.
For the first time in two years, I bought new pillows for our beds. In line to check out, I thought about how grown I looked. Buying mass amounts of new pillows made me feel mature. I was sure everyone saw it. I held my pimpled, 30-something-year-old chin high. I hoped someone would take notice of my grown-up posture and confidence. I looked like a woman taking care of her family. I hadn’t showered in a few days, but still, I looked adult with all of those pillows on the conveyer belt. I was positive other moms were looking at me with envious eyes. I oozed responsibility.
That’s when the girl behind the counter asked if I needed my pillows in bags.
It was raining. Of course I wanted them in bags! Did she want my responsibility to get wet? There were a hundred asphalt guys in the parking lot creating an awful dust storm that would most definitely stick to my brand new, wet, grown-up pillow purchase. Plus, I am all of 5-foot-3 (and a half). How was I to hold all of these puffy pillows? Couldn’t this woman see how mature I was being? Why was she trying to ruin that by not giving me a bag?! My arms are like a T-Rex’s. I can’t possibly carry them all without a bag. Open your eyes, lady!
With my shoulders slumped and my head cocked to the side with all kinds of attitude, I told the woman I NEEDED a bag, preferably more than one. She shrugged and threw my pillows into two massive bags. I carried them to my car with not as much confidence.
I brought the pillows home and shoved them into the old cases. They looked massive. Almost too big to be comfortable. My discarded, flat pillows on the floor, I wondered if I had made a mistake. These big, fluffy pillows looked awkward. I just knew I would never sleep again. These pillows that looked so great in the store, in my cart, on the conveyer belt, in the bags as I walked them to my car, they looked wrong in my home.
Lately, there has been quite a lot of change happening. Not only in my life, but also in those lives around me. People are having babies, starting new jobs, looking for new churches, remodeling basements, and some are even moving.
I see these things around me and grow envious. Not because I want to do any of those things; some of them I have actually lived through and have no desire to go through again. (NO MORE KIDS.) I envy them because of appearances. Pictures of newborn babies on Instagram and people packing up belongings to move to The New House. It looks like fun. My old house and old clothes and old kids, they don’t look as shiny anymore. I lose myself in the happenings of other people’s lives.
I look at my brand new pillows and think they look awkward. Maybe I should get a new blanket for my bed. Or maybe it is the headboard. Or the paint. That’s it, I should redecorate my bedroom. But the living room is starting to look dull as well. New pillows would look great in there. We definitely need some new couches. A bigger TV would help balance the room and allow my neighbors to watch American Ninja Warrior from their driveway.
I could go on and on. I could rip apart every single part of my home, my family, and myself. I could find flaws in my old pillows as well as my new ones. I could busy my mind with thoughts of other people’s lives. If I continue to focus on everyone else’s adventures, I will miss out on the adventures in own my life. Adventures that were perfectly designed for me. Adventures that were created specifically for me and my desires. At some point in my life, I hope that I can quit comparing and enjoy the life I have.