Perspective

I sat in my car finishing a quick, late lunch before I ran into another store. As I sat, I watched a beautiful girl cross the parking lot. She had long, gorgeous blonde hair and was looking fit and fabulous for fall. She seemed to be just about my age, maybe even younger. In her cute boots and sweater, she was pushing a perfect, adorable baby girl in an expensive stroller, with multiple shopping bags over her arm. She had a slight smile on her face. I kid you not, she walked over to her Land Rover and started to load her things into the car.

For a brief moment, I felt hot jealousy. I washed down my Chick Fil A with Advil, trying to kill the pain courtesy of my recent trip to the endodontist. I just kind of sat and stared at this woman, packing up her things from an afternoon of shopping. I wanted to be her.

There I stayed in my overflowing vehicle, full of paraphernalia belonging to a service dog. A giant-sized kennel took up the majority of the car and bags tumbled off of the front seat. I had just spent an enormous amount of money, on a dog. No $300 boots for me. My hair was unwashed, I probably had black circles under my eyes. See, while I was in the shower, I got a phone call from my son's nurse that he was having multiple seizures and I needed to come to the school right away. Yes, I even have my phone while I am in the bathroom, it is necessary. They had only been gone for 10 minutes, the first time that I have sent him to school without me. So, my hygiene was interrupted by my reality. I, of course, got out of the shower immediately and rushed over to his school. After we got home and settled, I did not have time for vanity, I had to go and run errands. So the haphazard "look" I had pulled together was going to have to work. We were leaving the next day to go and train with a service dog for my son. He has a rare, life-threatening disease and this dog could help to save his life. We are so happy that we finally get to give him this gift. I have been doing everything possible to make this happen for my son. We had been waiting for over a year and I of course had left things to the very last minute. My life is minute to minute.

All of these thoughts raced through my head of how I should be this woman. My husband and I have great education. We eat healthy, try to pay our bills. We work hard. So freaking hard.

Then my conscience kicked in and the therapist in my head told me that I knew better.

I, of all people, know that children who look and act "normal" may be the farthest thing from normal, whatever that may be. Maybe this woman was depressed. Perhaps she struggled with body image, could she have battled anorexia? Maybe she had lost someone close to her? Maybe she had been abused when she was younger? I live in an area where a lot of people work for the government. Perhaps her husband was in harm's way? There are a million things that can happen to someone and you would have no idea at first glance.

Maybe she really did have the perfect life! And why not? Isn't that part of the American dream? Work hard and get the reward. I shouldn't be jealous of someone that I have never even met, or anyone else for that matter! Maybe she doesn't have the same struggles that I do, but maybe she actually has more. Who am I to judge?

I know after a lifetime of hurt, that there is happiness around every corner if you look hard enough. That lemons into lemonade adage is true-but you have to find the sugar and the water first. My attitude is what is going to keep me from having a nervous breakdown. In a life full of drama and catastrophic events, mixed in with some plain 'ol boring, being positive is the thing that can make or break me.

So I don't have luscious hair. My child is not perfect. Hey, neither am I! My car is older, my sleep is little, my debt is outrageous. Yet, I have a fighting spirit, an empathetic heart and an old soul. I wouldn't change it for all of the Land Rovers in the world.

As I watched her pull away, I thought...it is all about perspective.