Film & Kay

While knowing comparison is the thief of joy, I can’t help feeling that I’m falling behind, or that something must be wrong with me. I know judging the surface of appearances never gives the full picture, but when I look at the world through the windshield, I see a couple in two lawn chairs, stranded on the side of the road beside their RV, unbothered by circumstance, looking into each other’s eyes. Smiling and happy. I see fathers in midlife holding their babies, cooing sweet nothings into tiny ears on Main Street. I see driveways with multiple cars in front of mid-size homes, rooms filled with matching furniture sets, while mom goes to pilates and dad takes business calls in the backyard.

Then it settles in.

There must be some memo I missed. The men I’ve dated are ever closer to an engagement with someone else, someone they’re excited to propose to. Planning a future. The next investment property. Who should move in with whom. How lucky they are that their dogs get along. Trust me, I am genuinely happy for their life when I see them. That doesn’t mean I can’t still feel the pang of uncertainty about my own future as I approach my mid-thirties. Or wonder why it was a power struggle between us, when the next woman seems to fit so seamlessly.

At some point, the common denominator is me. The sharp edge of that statement leans toward an existential moment of despair. The glass-half-full side declares, “Trust your timing!” “You’ve got so much going for you!” “Keep following your gut!” “You’re on the right path, it’s just around the corner!” Meanwhile, indulging a pity party never leads anywhere good. And yet, some days, doesn’t everyone find themselves exhausted just from putting their head down and moving forward?

Here and today, I need to get this off my chest. I want to be okay with the sinking pit in my heart, letting it surge like spring runoff. Maybe that’s the only honest place to leave it: not resolved, just acknowledged. The thief of joy doesn’t hand back what it takes just because you’ve named it. I think it’s a universal feeling, this sense of everyone else moving on without you. Knowing it doesn’t make the runoff stop, but it could mean I’m not standing in it alone.