I give up.

So I’ve been reading this book on happiness, and it’s depressing. At least the section on “Playfulness” is. The narrator is boorring. Her idea of having a good time is basically scrap-booking. She has realized that she is never going to be or do certain things because they’re not really her, like hang out at a jazz club after midnight and see off off Broadway shows. So she writes about it in her blog and all these other people identify with her. They realize they will never be more than a homebody, never own a business, become an astronaut (ok, like that one was going to happen anyway) overcome their shyness and be that easy going person that actually likes talking to other people, enjoy drinking fancy cocktails while discussing high end fashion, etc…This is not uplifting. This is the exact opposite of uplifting. It’s supposed to be about accepting yourself for who you are, but what if I’m not ready to give up on myself like that? How does one even get to that point? Somehow I will go backpacking, sip wine or espresso in a café in Paris (even if it’s only with Wesley eating a chocolate croissant across from me), walk around Macchu Picchu and go white water rafting.

Ok so the point seemed to be that they wanted to do these things but when it came down to it that’s not who they were. So I guess I could say goodbye to ever being a Vegan (even though it makes you better than everybody else, and in my secret heart I already know that I am), cooking every recipe in “Mastering the Art of French Cooking” by Julia Child, staying in an Ashram for 3 months (no way I could find a sitter for that long) before Wesley turns 18, publishing my book before I hit 30 (since that kind of already happened in August…), and ever walking down the aisle in a Vera Wang wedding dress (mostly because I can’t imagine getting married or justify the cost when that could be spent on like an entire month in Italy).