As usual on a gloomy, rainy morning, I sat in gridlocked traffic with my friendly slugs. Somehow, our conversation morphed into one of my regular riders mentioning how his former poker buddies were impressed with how well he's settled into his new life: new house, great job, nice things.
Ahh, to be young, unmarried, and kidless. (Nope, can't really imagine that being a good life. Despite all my crazy, hectic, hair-pulling schedules and issues, I wouldn't trade my family in for anything.)
Since I'm usually one to offer bullsh*t advice to almost strangers, I said to him, "You should be impressed and happy with yourself, too. Stop and smell the roses every once in awhile."
"Nah," he said, "Maybe when I own more, bigger, better."
Ha. (For those who know me well, you know what's coming: a cheesy piece of real life experience.) "I mean it. It's okay to want more, growth, but one day when shit falls apart you won't have any good memories to pull you through because you never stopped and said, 'Damn, I've done good.'"
Stop trying to correct my grammar. It was conversation.
Of course, when I offer advice to unsuspecting victims—I mean slugs—I look inward. Make sure I'm following my own wisdom.
I realized I wasn't. I hardly ever do.
My poor friend Susie listens to me lament almost daily about how I suck as an author, how my books are no good, how I'm no good, how I'm an imposter. She usually reminds me by saying something like, "Krystal, you've been published three times, have a ton of amazing reviews, have adoring fans, just snagged an agent for your newest book, and you're being considered by editors of the Big Houses. Seriously?"
Then I feel stupid, like I was fishing for compliments. Although, I wasn't. I want more, bigger, better. (Imagine me saying that in a dreamy voice with stars in my eyes, k?)
Maybe I need to stop and smell the roses. Maybe I need to live in these amazing moments and commit them to memory. One day shit will hit the fan. Something bad always happens. But without any good memories, how will I pull through?
Ahh, to be young, unmarried, and kidless. (Nope, can't really imagine that being a good life. Despite all my crazy, hectic, hair-pulling schedules and issues, I wouldn't trade my family in for anything.)
Since I'm usually one to offer bullsh*t advice to almost strangers, I said to him, "You should be impressed and happy with yourself, too. Stop and smell the roses every once in awhile."
"Nah," he said, "Maybe when I own more, bigger, better."
Ha. (For those who know me well, you know what's coming: a cheesy piece of real life experience.) "I mean it. It's okay to want more, growth, but one day when shit falls apart you won't have any good memories to pull you through because you never stopped and said, 'Damn, I've done good.'"
Stop trying to correct my grammar. It was conversation.
Of course, when I offer advice to unsuspecting victims—I mean slugs—I look inward. Make sure I'm following my own wisdom.
I realized I wasn't. I hardly ever do.
My poor friend Susie listens to me lament almost daily about how I suck as an author, how my books are no good, how I'm no good, how I'm an imposter. She usually reminds me by saying something like, "Krystal, you've been published three times, have a ton of amazing reviews, have adoring fans, just snagged an agent for your newest book, and you're being considered by editors of the Big Houses. Seriously?"
Then I feel stupid, like I was fishing for compliments. Although, I wasn't. I want more, bigger, better. (Imagine me saying that in a dreamy voice with stars in my eyes, k?)
Maybe I need to stop and smell the roses. Maybe I need to live in these amazing moments and commit them to memory. One day shit will hit the fan. Something bad always happens. But without any good memories, how will I pull through?