There are times in our lives where we want something really badly. Could be a pint of Ben and Jerry’s strawberry cheesecake ice cream. Could be a new job. Could be a baby boy. All good rings. Well, maybe not that job. Or any of those jobs.
I was scrolling through some old notes yesterday and came across a note from fall 2018. The year 2017 had been a horrid one. I was determined that 2018 would be better. My word of the year then, as it is now, was “joy”. I was committed to that concept. In my notes from 2018, I found that I had written down three wishes. They were simple yet complex. They required a lot of moving parts to be locked in.
All three wishes came to fruition. But in some way, looking back, I wish I hadn’t been so diligent in making those wishes come through. Let’s be real, I didn’t have a fairy godmother to make those wishes come through. I did it. I accomplished them. Thus, I should feel good about that. I can get things done.
However, I wish I hadn’t.
By accomplishing and getting my three wishes, life took on a domino effect. My own butterfly effect. One wish ended up being a dud. It did not open up the path I thought it would. Another wish just had to be done and brought about high anxiety through blood, sweat, and tears. The third wish ended up causing chaos and eventual destruction. I know I sound cryptic. I don’t mean to be. It’s just that the details of the wishes don’t matter here. What matters is that old, somewhat trite, yet relevant saying of “be careful what you wish for”. I had been giddy with glee. But it was all for naught. Nothing good came out of any of it. Leaving me and others wounded and stretching hard to keep joy going.
This year, joy is my word again. But I will certainly be careful what I wish for.
Categories: identity, mental health, Psychology, women, work
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