Sometimes I think about life, and I wonder a couple of things. I wonder about the expectations we set for ourselves and I wonder about the life we have in a more satirical sense. At the beginning of last year, whilst everyone was baking sourdough break and making whipped coffee, I was learning how to hate myself. I was stuck alone in a house with nothing to do, nothing to think about and so I started to self-reflect. I’ve always been a bit of a workaholic so self-reflection isn’t something I did often.
The biggest thing I learned was how much I hated everything I did. From my voice to my mannerisms, to my academic success, and my writing, there was nothing about me I deemed okay enough to like. There was nothing about me that stood out and I sometimes wonder if I was just floating through life, meaningless.
Recently, I won an award for compassion, and of course, in an otherworldy satirical and also literal sense, no one I invited showed up. I’d be lying I said I wasn’t a little disappointed. I thought about why they wouldn’t deem it important enough to show up, I wondered why I wasn’t enough for them. I wondered why, even when I achieve my best, it’s not enough for anyone I love to show up and celebrate with me.
This led me to an extremely important realization. The things that were once accomplishments for me were now expectations. They were no longer “Hey everyone, look at how good Laiba did” and instead radio silence. But the problem with this ideology is when I don’t win an award in a bit, I just poked and prodded. By my own head, my own devices, and by others metrics of me that exist without my knowledge.
I can’t fail, but I am not celebrated when I succeed.
This award last weekend and the aftermath made me realize that once again I was basing my self-worth off of work, off of mundane things that don’t matter in the long run. I realized that I once again lost myself, and it’s going to take a lot to bring me back.
Wish me luck.
