Forget being the season to be jolly - apparently November through to January is the season for getting engaged. I have run out of fingers on which to count how many friends have recently announced their betrothal, although this figure is bolstered by people on Facebook I was at school with and haven't spoken to in seven years. They all count, ok?
It is not surprising; Christmas fosters sentimentality and in the bleak, grey, January days that limp in its wake there is nothing like the prospect of a wedding to cheer the soul. My friends and I, now that we are waving goodbye to our mid-twenties, are also of age for this sort of thing: careers have been forged and homes made, so now it is time to get married and in a few years will shall no doubt be welcoming the first wave of babies, sticky, noisy little things that they are.
The surprise has been my own reaction, for I have felt...happy. I have taken delight in every Facebook status, every text, every surprise birthday party that turned out to be a surprise engagement party (congratulations Rachel and bonus points for asking me to be a bridesmaid). I admit, I probably shouldn't be surprised by this, for the normal and natural reaction upon being told one's dear friend is due to be married is HAPPINESS, elation-by-proxy. But it is not always so straight-forward when your own life is in something of a state of disarray. Taking pleasure in other peoples' happiness when your own feels precarious is a skill, but it is a vital one. There is no worse role to assume than the bitter singleton on the balcony whilst everyone else admires the ring in the kitche, chain smoking and muttering darkly, "I give it three years" into a glass of (strong) JD and coke. I hate that girl, I do not want to ever become that girl but I have to admit, as kidney failure has eroded me over the last year, I have had moments of fear that I could become that girl. My friends sometimes all seem to be on an upward trajectory - better jobs, better flats, better boyfriends - whilst I am prone to feeling as though I am languishing, going nowhere fast. It is all too, too easy to start to resent, start to seethe, to start to wish bad things for other people rather than just similarly good things for oneself. I have had dark periods, but I have always been greatly relieved to find that when I crawl back into the light I still only want the best for those I love, and even more relieved that I can still find joy in their joy.
I may have lost my kidney function, some boyfriends, some careers and, on occasion, my sense of humour, but my humanity, thank O'Leary, has just about remained in-tact. In addition, I have discovered that when your own life is on the skids, the pleasure one can experience vicariously actually becomes more acute, more...pure. The knowledge that you cannot have it for yourself - not yet, anyway - forces you to genuinely, totally, relish someone else's happiness without agenda. How fucking sanctimonious I must sound...and it is not as though I don't still hope for marriage, babies and the whole kaboodle for myself at some point in the future (I just hope there is a market for a slightly damaged, 5 foot ginger with some parts missing). I also know that my friends will take just as much delight in a dialysis machine being plumbed into my bedroom as I have in their upcoming nuptuals, and it is said machine that will allow me to get drunk at their receptions and make a show of myself on the dance floor. Perhaps, in the end, there's something in it for all of us.
It is not surprising; Christmas fosters sentimentality and in the bleak, grey, January days that limp in its wake there is nothing like the prospect of a wedding to cheer the soul. My friends and I, now that we are waving goodbye to our mid-twenties, are also of age for this sort of thing: careers have been forged and homes made, so now it is time to get married and in a few years will shall no doubt be welcoming the first wave of babies, sticky, noisy little things that they are.
The surprise has been my own reaction, for I have felt...happy. I have taken delight in every Facebook status, every text, every surprise birthday party that turned out to be a surprise engagement party (congratulations Rachel and bonus points for asking me to be a bridesmaid). I admit, I probably shouldn't be surprised by this, for the normal and natural reaction upon being told one's dear friend is due to be married is HAPPINESS, elation-by-proxy. But it is not always so straight-forward when your own life is in something of a state of disarray. Taking pleasure in other peoples' happiness when your own feels precarious is a skill, but it is a vital one. There is no worse role to assume than the bitter singleton on the balcony whilst everyone else admires the ring in the kitche, chain smoking and muttering darkly, "I give it three years" into a glass of (strong) JD and coke. I hate that girl, I do not want to ever become that girl but I have to admit, as kidney failure has eroded me over the last year, I have had moments of fear that I could become that girl. My friends sometimes all seem to be on an upward trajectory - better jobs, better flats, better boyfriends - whilst I am prone to feeling as though I am languishing, going nowhere fast. It is all too, too easy to start to resent, start to seethe, to start to wish bad things for other people rather than just similarly good things for oneself. I have had dark periods, but I have always been greatly relieved to find that when I crawl back into the light I still only want the best for those I love, and even more relieved that I can still find joy in their joy.
I may have lost my kidney function, some boyfriends, some careers and, on occasion, my sense of humour, but my humanity, thank O'Leary, has just about remained in-tact. In addition, I have discovered that when your own life is on the skids, the pleasure one can experience vicariously actually becomes more acute, more...pure. The knowledge that you cannot have it for yourself - not yet, anyway - forces you to genuinely, totally, relish someone else's happiness without agenda. How fucking sanctimonious I must sound...and it is not as though I don't still hope for marriage, babies and the whole kaboodle for myself at some point in the future (I just hope there is a market for a slightly damaged, 5 foot ginger with some parts missing). I also know that my friends will take just as much delight in a dialysis machine being plumbed into my bedroom as I have in their upcoming nuptuals, and it is said machine that will allow me to get drunk at their receptions and make a show of myself on the dance floor. Perhaps, in the end, there's something in it for all of us.
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