Who I am today.

First: I love the internet. I owe many friendships and loves and moments and so on and so forth to the internet.

This morning I was scrolling through my google reader, catching up on 20 blog posts I’ve missed in the past day, and at the end of it I had to do a serious self-identity self-evalutation.

Because in 20 posts, I saw a beautiful woman with her newborn baby, I saw a list of clothing items someone wanted, a “wish list” of gifts, a list of tokens of affection in someone’s life, a beautiful woman standing in the fall wearing beautiful clothes she got for very little money, a list of beautiful celebrities and what they wore and why their clothing styles were good or bad.. lots of “things I want” and pictures of beautiful people, and then I realize that I am sitting here looking like this:

…trying to decide if I can get away with one more day of unwashed hair, and thinking how I should invest in that dry shampoo for moments like this, and wishing my hair was longer and feeling like I have nothing nice to wear and…

all of those blogs started to creep in.

Looking at other people’s lives started to weigh on me.

Stephanie, your hair is never going to grow long again and you will forever have awkward length ugly hair {the fact that today I accidentally double booked having dinner with my friend and getting my hair done and would rather see Cassie than get my horrible self-cut fixed doesn’t help this one}

Stephanie, you dress like a grandma and not like some cool, quirky girl like the ones who take pictures of themselves…

and Stephanie, your camera won’t even open its little lens thing without you having to help it along the way, so even if you didn’t dress like a grandma you couldn’t even take pictures of yourself.

Stephanie, when do people send you gift baskets just because?

Stephanie, you will always wear glasses.

Stephanie, if you tried to make that, it would look like a second grade art project.

See that? See what happened there?

It’s the comparison game, and that is such a dangerous game to play. When we compare, we cheapen what we have and want to trade in heirlooms for gadgets, memories for tangible items, our happiness for someone else’s.

I struggle with enough-ness as it is. I don’t need to see a tutorial on how to make your long hair all beautiful and wavy to make me feel awful about my short hair. I don’t need someone’s super-hip outfit to make me feel like I dress like a grandma, or great pictures to make me frustrated at my broken camera, or pictures of gifts to remind me of empty mailboxes or contacts to make me remember glasses. I do just fine at realizing all of these things on a daily basis.

Even without the blogs or the pictures, I cheapen what I have. I didn’t want to write my pity moment about gift baskets, because out of the corner of my eye I see a quilt and pillowcase and then look over and see the books that my friend Jessica sent me. For no reason other than she loves me. And guess what? I never wrote back. I didn’t want to write about the empty mailbox because sitting on my bed is a letter from Taylor that I never responded to.

You know why? I am so busy wishing I was someone I was not that I completely deny myself the joy of who I am. I will never again get to experience November 10th, 2011 as who I am today, and the more time I spend wishing I was someone I am not, the less time I have to be who I actually am.

And this is who I am today:

Today I am a girl who

•  spent no less than 35 minutes making the bed, carefully arranging my 7 blankets in well-thought out order
• poured a glass of chocolate soy milk but took one extra drink from the carton as sort of a free gift with pourchase.
• laughed at the word “pourchase” like it was the funniest thing ever
• will eventually go through and get rid of all of my clothes with holes/stains/etc… but not today
• will most likely lose two rounds of Words with Friends today and win… 0
• is not going to take a shower before leaving
• and is going to make the best of my own November 10th, 2011 and not wish mine looked more like someone else’s.

I’ll learn to get by with little victories