The Unexpected Fear
Up until very recently I thought my biggest fear was failure, unemployment forever, a lifetime of spinsterhood. But now that things have suddenly and inexplicably fallen into place, I have discovered a whole new fear: contentedness. It's just so eerily unfamiliar that I'm not quite sure to make of it. Great job, great boyfriend - nobody can have it all, so it's frightening when it appears that you do. I find myself anxiously waiting a dreaded phone call that something terrible has happened, that my family has fallen apart, that someone I love has died, that it could all fall apart at any moment.
People have been telling me they wish they had my problems - my financial situation, while shaky, is gaining ground and I'm well on my way to supporting myself; the seriousness of the relationship (my first) with my boyfriend has suddenly terrified me and I don't know how to cope with that fear; I'm stressing about making a big purchase (my first real mattress since leaving home). But they're missing the point - problems are problems. It's like people who think that being a millionaire is blissfully perfect, smooth sailing once you've entered that coveted tax bracket. But it doesn't solve any problems, it just introduces a whole new set of problems.
Suddenly money + a fantastic job + an even more fantastic boyfriend doesn't equal perfection. I knew it would never be easy, I just never expected this fear that it wouldn't last to set in as a sort of permanent (though I hope it's temporary) rain cloud looming in the distance. I hope that I can embrace happiness and my good fortune, that I can accept that I've worked hard and deserve everything I finally have, but it just seems too risky. Is the bet worth it? Is it really worth it to live in the moment and not worry about what may or may not happen?
The logical answer is yes, that is what our ultimate goal should be - to embrace the good times and enjoy them while they're there. But that's so difficult to do when you've conditioned yourself to unhappiness, regret, and longing. How can we suddenly retrain our style of thinking when we realize we sort of have it all? The ideal situation, I guess, is to shed the worries of the future and love every moment (and I really despise such pathetic cliches).
This is becoming easier as I'm easing myself into this new phase of life - a phase filled with real, not empty, promise; filled with love and understanding and growth. I suppose one of the most important lessons of times of happiness and calmness is to allow yourself to grow and gain from the experience. Bank good feelings, recognize when you're blessed, and give yourself room to falter. As my new - and fabulous - boss reminds me every day, people make mistakes. You will fall, you will screw up, you will not please everybody you encounter. But allow yourself to enjoy the mistakes, because they're just minor blips on your current happiness radar.
I'm not really sure what my point is, or even what I'm talking about anymore, other than to point out that just because everything seems to be perfect doesn't mean it is - good fortune is still heavy with the mystique of what lies ahead, where the next block will take you. Because it won't always be like this.
But the eternal question still plagues me, the question that haunts me in my deepest moments of darkness and hatred and uncertainty still haunts me in my pleasant times: how did it end up like this?
