Sexy Times- Totally Not Depressing…

I had a list. A list of things to do that would ultimately decide whether I have a successful quarantine, that is, a quarantine that allows me to step out on the other side a new person- a better person, a person who is enlightened and stronger and wealthier in some way.

Or, if I couldn’t manage to check off all on my list, an unsuccessful quarantine, that is, a quarantine that left me to be the same old me, the me that wishes I had the discipline to become a better me, a me that never will actually learn a new language, a me whose hopes and dreams will remain just that until the day I die.

No pressure.

What was on the list?

Every day I would see people posting their fresh baked bread on Instagram. I’d see people posting their at-home workouts, and wonder how they have the motivation. I’d see snippets of a karaoke Zoom chat, or people dressing up for virtual happy hour, while I put on another episode.

Some of those things made the list, in hopes that once I achieved them I could steal a piece of the happiness that others exuded.

My happiness, or lack thereof, depended on it.

“I’m sick of these negative feelings that cycle through me. I’m sick of the way I measure my worth,” I finally confided in my friend one night, after a day of not checking off every item.

I knew to some degree that I was measuring my worth by weighing these random external achievements, but now, even when there’s nowhere to go, nothing to do, and a global pandemic and lunatic leaders threatening our collective future… well, the question remains, isn’t there something more to life?

What other ways can I grow, and achieve happiness?

I was stoned one night, scribbling down thoughts for an upcoming blog post, and I had an epiphany:

“I’m looking for answers to my fears about love. I’m doing it by answering other people’s questions about love, and by sharing what I’m learning.”

As soon as I wrote the words, it felt like I stumbled onto purpose, and not an external purpose, like what I had relied on in the past… one that meant something to me.

I already was working on my blog, but hadn’t yet felt I found my voice, but after that night, the subject of love and relationships, which had overwhelmed my mind for such a long time, was calling me more than ever, and the more I leaned into it (sure enough) the more I learned- not just about relationships in general… or the all consuming task of marketing a blog… but about myself.

For example…

In a response to one of my posts, an old friend reached out to me. He had shared some of his thoughts about jealousy and after a long conversation we began to reminisce about old times.

He is someone who I’ve known since I was a bright eyed and bushy (haired) tailed wanna-be actress, fresh off the plane from Florida in New York City. That was about 14 years ago, and since then I had shaped a story about my relationship with him that went something like… a lot of my relationships with a lot of people.

We met at some point, and went out for drinks together. I heard he was also dating another girl. I immediately gave up hope and text confronted him, and he took me out to breakfast to apologize, but it felt more like a rejection… letting me know he was going to ask out the other girl.

He went on to date the other beautiful, talented girl, and years later I dated one of his friends. For years, we co-existed in the same circle, but I held him in such high esteem- I held his girlfriend in such high esteem, that I always somehow felt inferior to them.

After my relationship ended I was too hurt to see the people who I felt I “lost in the breakup.” It wasn’t until I moved across the country to Los Angeles that I finally felt I could see my ex’s friends without reopening a wound.

We hung out when he did a show in LA, and not long after, I visited New York City and we hung out again.

As much as I enjoyed our time together, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was a runner up… a consolation prize. Not good enough to be the person he chose first.

You can imagine my surprise when he told me about his version of events, “… I did have a super big crush on you. We flirted a bit, hung out once or twice. You didn’t seem interested (seeing that you don’t remember [us meeting] justifies it) so I started dating someone who did…”

He went into more detail about what had “actually” happened, and as he used words like, “unbelievably gorgeous,” and “fantastically charming,” to describe.. who?… me?!… it started to sink in, that the feeling of inadequacy I took for truth might actually be not true.

This might seem like a simple turn of events, but learning that my entire interpretation of our history had been colored by the belief that I wasn’t good enough for this person was mind blowing.

Those feelings of inferiority that I felt hanging out with this guy were not exclusive to him, either.

To this day, I find that I have a tendency to feel inferior towards certain people, especially those I admire… like they’re so far out of my league that any kindness they show me feels like a mockery, or obligation. I can almost hear their chatter when I release a new video or post, saying, “Shira’s so pathetic… such an imposture… so shallow… so desperate.”

I once showed up on time to a close friend’s birthday party, sat in my car and thought, “I’m such an idiot, arriving on time. If no one else is here yet, they’re going to be so disappointed that they have to converse with stupid little me.”

And so on.

The problem isn’t that I missed out on a possible relationship #noregrets the problem is that my self-perception was astoundingly inaccurate, and it manifested in low self-esteem for years.

Even with his current insistence that he, in fact, holds me in high regard, I still scrutinize the compliments that he gives me, thinking they must be disingenuous. Force of habit, I guess.

Except now, I’m scrutinizing my scrutiny.

I’m tired. I’m done. My conversation exposed the absurdity of my self-image, and the important role that perspective has in a person’s life.  

By writing about love and relationships, I’m also rewriting my own narrative. Why not? So many of the ideas we hold about ourselves are bullshit, anyway. The problem is that we too often accept the unflattering ones as truths, never giving ourselves the benefit of the doubt.

I didn’t learn how to bake sourdough bread and my workout routines are inconsistent. I still get envious of those who’ve mastered the art of partying on “House Party.” I didn’t start a self-sustaining garden, or learn another language. I think the people who do those things are pretty badass!

But now, I don’t punish myself for not being one of them, at the end of the day.

Instead, I lean towards what comes most naturally to me, and so far, it’s paying off. Not on the outside (I’ll be patient with that one) but on the inside.

And yes, I think I might come out of quarantine a little better for it.