Green-colored Glasses
If I had to pick something that best symbolizes me, I’d pick green-colored glasses. You’ve heard of people who wear rose-colored glasses. Those people for whom life tends to come up roses. The perpetual optimists. That’s not me.
Green is my symbol because, first of all, the old adage, “the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence,” was written for me. I have good health, a wonderful husband, great family, fantastic friends, a rewarding career, and a lovely home. I am so grateful. Yes, I am blessed beyond measure. Yes. Yes. Yes!
Even so, I always wish for more. I chide myself for that aspect of my character. Is the green actually greed? I already have so much.
Is it envy? Do I want more because I see other people with material goods I don’t have? No… although I do sometimes covet a good espresso machine.
But the green is still over there, on the other side.
On that side of the fence await all the places I haven’t seen, all the other careers I might have had, the things I have not learned, the people I have not met. The stories I have not written.
I want more. I want to go everywhere, see everything, do everything.
Why can’t I just be thankful for all I have, relax, and coast for a while?
Other people have mastered the art of contentment. My husband has. He picked the career he wanted, and enjoyed it until he retired, without the constant niggling “What-about-that-other-thing?” thought at the back of his mind that plagues me. The only thing he really wants to do more of is: go fishing. Travel? Sure, so long as the destination includes a fishing hole.
I ache from wanting, and I finally discovered the underlying condition causing the pain. Jeff Olson offered the diagnosis in his book The Slight Edge, where he attributed the discomfort to the difference between where we are in our lives, and where we want to be. It’s not envy, or greed.
It’s the tug of my dream pulling on me, propelling me.
Sometimes with my wholehearted consent.
Sometimes not.
It’s exhausting.
Whenever I am with my mom for any length of time, she tries to get me to pause, rest, sit. Take a deep breath. Her favorite colors are pastels, soothing her favorite word. There are times when that is truly what I need, and we’ll talk about that later. But for the most part, sitting and resting often just intensifies the glare of the green. Green means go.
I hope she understands that I choose to wear my green-colored glasses. They add beauty to my viewpoint, too, not just a vision of what’s lacking. I was reminded of the phenomenon minutes after I left the eye doctor with my new sunglasses. Everything was brighter, more vibrant, more alive, than it had been just a short while earlier. The trees—when had they leafed out? The grass—when had it become so tender, lush, and soft?
Ah, Dorothy! The Land of Oz sparkles through my green glasses! Remember what I discovered in that story?
