My Fair Lazy - Jen Lancaster [91]
I try to get to the root of my discomfort because I don’t want to ruin another day at the pool. Why do I feel this way? I don’t have sore-thumb syndrome—I took special pains on wardrobe today.175 It’s not a fitness thing because I’m happy with my current level of strongs as I’ve incorporated exercise back into my life. And every body shape is represented here, so even though I’m not the thinnest, I’m not the fattest. I’m also not the youngest or oldest or ugliest or prettiest. Seriously, I’m the median in every outward aspect. So whatever’s going on right now is internal.
This has got to be some manifestation of the cognitive dissonance I felt back in our Sears Tower club. I knew deep down we couldn’t afford what we were doing, but I figured if we kept it up long enough, everything would fall into place. You know, fake it till you make it. Only we didn’t make it.
That’s not the case now, though. I mean, I didn’t even sign for anything from the snack bar because we have a full pantry and fridge at home.
Maybe it’s the vitriolic feedback I sometimes receive. Some people get all pissed off when they come to my blog and find out I’m no longer stuck in a terrible apartment and cashing in coins to pay my electric bill. They accuse, “You’ve changed!” Which I have, because change is inevitable. No one’s exactly who they were half a decade ago. Plus, I never pledged to live like a monk. I have no issue with anyone having nice things, myself included. My lesson was never “You can’t own a Prada bag,” it was “Your Prada bag can’t own you.”176
Eventually I found a way not only to live my life on my own terms, but also to live within my own means. Sometimes those means include a trip to Vegas or new shoes. I’d be lying if I said this didn’t make me happy. Not being broke177 is a hell of a lot better than being broke.178
Yet there’s a huge part of me burdened with survivor’s guilt. Not everyone bounced back from the dot-com era. A lot of people who were devastated stayed devastated. Or they managed to get their shit together, only to be redevastated by the current economy. My heart aches for them. I feel so guilty that Fletch and I made it out—although not without struggle—when others didn’t.
I wish I could make things right for them, too.
Yet I know it’s not my responsibility.
But you know what?
I do have a responsibility.
I made a commitment to try to improve myself. So I guess the root of my problem today—and what’s making me feel like a phony—isn’t this situation. The club members aren’t at fault, nor are the flashy sunglasses. The issue isn’t that I drove here in my own car, instead of having to take the bus like I did back in the day.
The problem is that I’m sitting here mindlessly reading a book by a reality television star instead of taking this time to listen to an opera or watch a classic film or take in a new museum exhibit. I was doing well in my cultural pursuits, but the Maisy news threw me so much that I got off track. I didn’t want to go to see the new exhibit at the Field Museum; I just wanted to lie on the couch and hug my dog and watch So You Think You Can Dance.
In so doing, I’ve gone back on my promise to try to expand my mind, and that’s the problem.
Fortunately, the fix is simple.
I close my Kindle and place it back in my bag. Then I pull out an old paperback copy of a novel from my classics reading list, and I turn to page one.
Hours later, I’m rock-lobster-red from the sun and totally dehydrated, yet I haven’t been able to pull myself away from what I’ve been reading. I found my old copy of Brave New World recently, and I haven’t looked at it in twenty years. I kind of want to kick myself for not doing so sooner.
Huxley’s novel is sort of like Virginia Madsen’s character’s description of wine in Sideways—it’s living and constantly evolving. For example, if you drank a particular wine now and then resampled the same vintage ten years from now, you’d taste