Perceived Value

I was mad at him, at first. I thought he had sabotaged any chance I had at love with his letters and his promises and his offers of perfect romance. I thought it was unfair of him to interrupt my relationships by telling me he had more to offer. The boys always got mad, too. They would say, "he's confusing you, he's making me look bad," and various other excuses for everything they lacked. He understood my delight, however, when the item I purchased turned out to have an even smaller package within it. I remarked that I'd been had; I perceived a high value and bought something with more humble contents than I had suspected, but clever marketing intrigues me and I was even more satisfied with a meager amount than if I had received my money's worth. Somehow, by discovering what was inside, its value increased. Last night, the sun didn't want to set. He swithched chairs to block the light from my eyes so that I could look at him directly when he said, "You deserve someone who loves every awful, annoying thing about you." As it turns out, there is no substitute for love. To love a person, a thing, an idea, is to cherish and value its every part - the shiny outside and the bruised inside, as well.

It’s Like This:

We work, endlessly, to be the ones who discover the next break through innovation. We study trends, we worship products, we eat sleep and dream materials, directions and things - things which mean nothing - in effort to assist those who will receive credit for our work.

Tonight, she sat on my couch and candidly explained how she'll never work 9-5. She said she wants plenty of time for herself - and she said he understands this. She has a man who is willing to support these fantasies. She mentioned how she enjoys getting a paycheck, but how she really wants to raise a dog and run errands and take yoga classes. I choked up a little wine back into my cup as she talked, and I realized that this is what she has worked for. She passed her cotillion classes with flying colors, she highlights her hair, she diets and reflects perfection so that she can have the life millions of women have fought to overcome.

And somehow, as she spoke, her bangs fell over her perfect face, and she - the image of beauty and grace - ignited such rage and envy inside of me. 

I am the woman I always wanted to be. And now, I don't want to be her.

I pitied my mother, with her matrimonial duties and maternal responsibilities; I always thought she had traded a more meaningful life for something less significant. I thought that she had lost her identity when she allowed a man to be the primary source of income. I thought that by being a stay-at-home mom, she lost all dignity and all self-respect. I thought, "i will never be like her."

And on nights like these, I bite my tongue.

I was twenty minutes late for a meeting I was too busy to attend, but as I scurried into the conference room this afternoon, I overheard the publisher speaking of artists her company publishes. She was talking about how they vacation in Europe for months on end, seeking inspiration. I immediately tuned out this New Jersey publisher and mentally indulged in the life I could have had; I focused on all the inspiration I could find, if I still had the kind of freedom I sacrificed. 

He still stands by his word. And I still stick to my guns.

I have no idea why I - we? he? I? - put us through such torture. But, this is life. And life, after all, is like this.