Why are people so lazy that they don’t do exactly what would make them happy? Why do people think there’s enough time for happiness to come to them? Look around! The time has come (the walrus said) and I’m so fucking tired of talking to miserable people. It seems like everyone I talk to is just waiting for happiness to drop into their laps. They have built up their lives and have settled so deeply into what they see as “their existence” that they refuse to move.
Look, I get it. Change is scary, and every step has the possibility of turning into a nightmare. But why sit there and be scared to move? You’re going to let fear dictate how you live your life? People are passing you by constantly when they take their leaps of faith and you’re sitting there wondering why their life looks so fun, or lucrative, or fulfilling.
I had a moment of clarity when I was in Afghanistan. I thought, “If I manage to make it out of this country without killing myself or being killed, I have to start living, and I mean truly living.” I realized how close I was to death on multiple occasions and I just needed to wake the fuck up and go live my life! Other people I knew wouldn’t be able to go back and enjoy life. I would have to do it for them. And I had said constantly, prior to Afghanistan, “Oh, I’m going to travel, I’m going to get into running, I’m going to go on adventures and fucking see the world that I was placed in.” And there I was, inches from death multiple times, and I had done none of it.
How often do we come close to dying? It happens to us all, sometimes without us knowing. I can remember four distinct times in Afghanistan that I thought, “This is it.” One of those times, I had the barrel of my rifle firmly placed at the bottom of my jaw. I admit, I flirted with death often, and I still do, but I do it to see if I can feel that fear again, because the fear makes me feel alive. How cliche is that?
When I look around, I see people either chasing that feeling of being alive or firmly placing themselves into a life stalemate. I would rather chase that feeling than be a fucking pussy about life. Those people are going to wake up one day and realize that they aren’t living their truth, and they are fat, married to the wrong person, and miserable. If you’re reading this and you think I’m talking about you, I am.
I got back from Afghanistan and I made the most of my life. And you know why? Because my husband (then boyfriend) broke my habit of feeling like I couldn’t do anything. Everything I wanted to do was filled with encouragement from him, with solutions, with adventures daily. We jumped from planes, we cliff jumped, we ran triathlons, we went to college, we traveled America and the world, we dreamed of all the things we could do and we fucking did them.
After four months of me crying and refusing to get out of bed after Afghanistan, my husband (then friend and eventually boyfriend) forced me to get up, took me to get clothes because I owned nothing, forced me to eat mounds of ice cream to regain my weight, and made me experience life for the first time. So when I see you miserable fucks in your shitty marriages, in jobs you hate, with a body that is failing, with bad sex lives, with dreams that are passing you by, I can only think of my husband and how he made me who I am today. I want to pass his way on thinking onto everyone else.
“I want to ________.”
“So go do it.”
“But there’s all of these issues.”
“And here are all of these solutions.”
Stop being a fucking pussy. Live your life happily, because no one else is going to live it for you and you’ll die eventually.