Pardon my pity party

I have always had a bit of a flair for the dramatic – most of the time it manifests in a conversation style that borders on snippets of a bad stand-up comedy routine, which isn’t so bad (well, maybe I should ask the people I am talking to, eh?)

But often in the confines of my own mind, it takes shape as kind of over-thought-out melancholy, an overly developed ability to catastrophize any and every situation, including (but not limited to,) my entire future in the span of just a few minutes of thinking.

So you’ll have to pardon my self-attended pity party – it totally happened today as I pulled up at daycare, and it was caused by something as silly as a Brad Paisley song.

(I even make myself a little queasy with that statement.)

It was that “All because two people fell in love” song – which I have always thought was kind of icky in the most sentimentally manipulative sort of fashion, and which I would have switched away from had I not been in the process of navigating the busy parking situation at Coop’s school.

So instead I listened to Brad explain that:

“A baby’s born in the middle of the night in a local delivery room
They grab his feet smack him till cries he goes home the next afternoon
Before you know he’s off to school and he graduates in May
Goes out and gets a Ph.D. and then cures all sorts of things
Wins a Nobel Prize and saves a million different lives
The world a better place for all he’s done …”

And it occurred to me that I hoped that song was about Coop, because I sure wasn’t that baby he was singing about. (Seriously Keri, up the Celexia or the prayer or something, because people’s minds just shouldn’t crank these kind of thoughts out over a stupid country song.)

There is just something jarring about realizing that your time of promise is kind of over – it is the next generation’s turn.

Don’t get me wrong, if the only thing I ever contribute to the betterment of this world is loving and raising my son, then I will count myself lucky for that privilege.  It is just not quite what I pictured when I was young.

I think my younger self would be disappointed if she saw what 35 years of  “achievement” ended up looking like for her.

I guess I feel guilty for the waste of the potential that I felt so full of back then – but maybe it was just that I overestimated it to begin with.

It’s an awful lot to get from one verse of a country song isn’t it?


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