Being Human is Easy (When It’s Not Hard)
Sometimes I don’t like the way my body looks. When I start gaining weight, my face becomes a little rounder, and it’s the thing I’m most insecure about. Some days I wish I could scrub away my acne scars.
I love how my eyelashes are only curly at the very tips. I love my legs. I love the color of my hair and my eyebrows and the way my arms can push me up when I do a push-up. I love that I laugh a lot — too much, my mom would argue.
I’ve never really lived. I’ve never been on a plane or gotten drunk with my friends or done something so insane it makes for a good story later on. I wish I could be a different person. I wish I could be brave.
I cry almost every night, but not of sadness. Of laughter. Because I’m so lucky to have the funniest siblings in the world. Siblings that make the sun rise in my chest. They make me feel alive.
I get jealous of other writers even though I try not to. Sometimes I compare my writing to theirs and stop believing I’m good enough. Sometimes, for tiny moments, I think I’ll never succeed and that my life is heading in the wrong direction.
I love what I write. I love that I get to write in the first place. I can read what I’ve written and publish it with pride. I imagine that life can only go up from here.
Sometimes I’m so lonely and everyone I love is so far away. Even if they’re right next to me.
Sometimes I feel so loved it hurts. I don’t need my friends next to me to know they’re thinking about me. To know they care.
Some days are so hard, for no particular reason or for all the reasons, that I sit in bed and daydream for hours about different lives, about the different people I could be.
I love that I am who I am. That this is the life I was thrown into. I wouldn’t have it any other way. My friends, my family, my overworn Girls crewneck, my grandma’s laugh, the room I sleep in, the food I get to eat, it’s all perfect.
I should’ve worked out tonight. I said I would, but it was so cold. The idea of changing from my warm clothes sounded as crazy as if you’d told me to jump into a cold lake. I was lazy, and I skipped, and I regretted it.
I am proud of myself because at least I am alive and I am breathing.
Sometimes my heart still beats too fast when I go up to the cash register and pay. Some days I’m confident, and other days, I want others to take the lead.
I can start a conversation so easily and make the topics flow. “You’re a good person to talk to. I feel like you always know what to say.” I am a confidant.
Sometimes I wish I could bang my head against the wall because I have such dark anger inside that I don’t know how else to let it out.
Some days are perfect for no particular reason. The sun is shining the right way, laughter bubbles easily, and there’s chocolate chip ice cream in the freezer.
I am grateful, I am proud, I am privileged to be human. I love that I am imperfect and flawed and a complete dramatic idiot sometimes. I’m grateful because I’m strong enough to get through the bad days, brave enough to overcome my obstacles. I am grateful for the good days and the fun times that have yet to come.
Being human is easy… when it’s not hard.
But being human is worth it.