The things you own begin to own you….-Fight Club
So I was at the mall today, attempting to buy a new pair of jeans. God, I hate jean shopping. But I did manage to snag a not-to-horrendous pair of jeans from Express, along with a few clearance tees.
I also wandered through the mall, searching for the holy grail of shopping: The perfect purse and the perfect pair or boots.
Now, I already have two perfect, no wait, three perfect pairs of boots, and some pretty close to perfect purses. But my purses are always either too big or too small and two of my boots have stiletto heels, while the other is a platform. I was searching for the perfect sized functional purse, and flat knee high boots.
Alas, I wandered the mall in vain. I found nothing.
But….I did find a whole lotta other stuff that I absolutely HAD to have. Well, actually I thought I had to have the stuff, but once I left, I realized I didn’t really need the stuff, and I already have plenty of cute stuff at home.
I’ve been thinking about the stuff I wanted to buy. And the stuff I wanted to buy wasn’t really about the stuff. It was more about what the stuff represented. And what the sweaters and coats and shoes expressed about me.
And I realized that the stuff that I wanted, the real things that I want to own, are things that I cannot buy.
I think this is true for us all.
The things that we wish we owned are things that we cannot buy.
Some people try. They buy drugs and hope that they will own their happiness. They buy cosmetic surgeries and hope that they will own their self-esteem.
So I got to thinking…..
What do I want to own?
What do I already own?
I want to own my sexuality and stop being afraid of it. Sometimes I manage to capture it for a few hours, usually under the influence of alcohol. I want to own that thing that makes me magnetic, that makes me electrically charged, that makes me confident and unafraid of what everyone around me thinks.
I want to own my happiness. I want to find that happy go lucky person that resides inside of me, that person that I rarely see, that person that rarely emerges long enough for anyone else to get to know her. That smiley, cheery faced, chatterbox child-like persona that belongs to some piece of me that I, myself, have not met. The happiness that I do find, or rather, the happiness that manages to find me, does not belong to me. It belongs to everyone around me, can be taken away by anyone around me, can be enhanced by anything around me, can instantly vanish if I am not careful, if I look too hard at it. I want a happiness that is all my own, that comes from within.
I want to own a happiness that cannot be blown out by the wind.
What do I already own? I own my intelligence. I am confident in my abilities in the academic playground. I am certain that when I want to do something, when I want to learn something, no matter the difficulty I face, I will do it, I will learn it. My intelligence has always been my most prized possession.
I am not always sure if I am a pretty girl. But I am sure that I am a smart girl.
Most recently, I have discovered that I own my ability to love. I have not always owned this, have not always understood this. But then again, I have not always loved myself. The hesitation, the discomfort, the overall itchiness I used to feel with love, that desire to strip it off, cut it out, run away from it, no longer resides inside of me. I’ve grown quite comfortable in this new emotion and my ability to express it. Receiving it has been a battle, and though I do not always receive it gracefully, I have learned how to receive it.
What do you own? What belongs to you?