Picture Perfect
You could have heard my gasp from across the entire supermarket. I was standing in line when I decided to reach for a pack of gum.
“OH MY GOD!” the shock in my voice stopped the cashier mid-check out. People in line stared.
Just above the Trident plastered on the front of “Guy’s Life” magazine was my college boyfriend. I glared harder at the cover- hoping I had suddenly become delusional.
Nope, that’s him. I could feel the puke brewing in my stomach- begging to be let out.
The fact is- it really shouldn’t be that shocking. I know he lives in LA. I know he has a few TV credits to his resume. I know there is a tiny chance he could one day be “discovered.” But I certainly hadn’t banked on this.
And worst of all “Why Do I Care?”
That’s the question that’s been bouncing around my brain since this supermarket fiasco began.
“It’s not him, it’s you,” Kelly says.
My friend Kelly has her Masters Degree in psychology.
“You equate mini-fame with success,” she adds. “You see him on a magazine cover and convince yourself he’s more successful than you.”
“Yeah, but he is. And this really bothers me. I know, I suck, tell me I’m evil.”
“No he’s not. What you feel is normal. Who wants to see their exes after it’s over?” Kelly states. “In simple terms we just want them- and the hurt feelings that go with them- gone.”
Kelly couldn’t be more right.
When a relationship ends I just want it to vanish. No phone calls, friendships, or mutual friends allowed. It’s healthiest that way.
And in this case the reminders are one-sided. So I feel super-ripped off.
I want to do something so fabulous he can see me on the cover of a magazine.
“Gals Life” would never look so good.
In truth, I need to accept that mini-fame doesn’t equal importance. I need to understand that I have no idea what troubles and problems he faces outside of the magazine. I need to remind myself that there’s no fairytale perfect world out there that I haven’t found.
And most importantly, I need to realize that the only person I need to make me feel successful is me.
“OH MY GOD!” the shock in my voice stopped the cashier mid-check out. People in line stared.
Just above the Trident plastered on the front of “Guy’s Life” magazine was my college boyfriend. I glared harder at the cover- hoping I had suddenly become delusional.
Nope, that’s him. I could feel the puke brewing in my stomach- begging to be let out.
The fact is- it really shouldn’t be that shocking. I know he lives in LA. I know he has a few TV credits to his resume. I know there is a tiny chance he could one day be “discovered.” But I certainly hadn’t banked on this.
And worst of all “Why Do I Care?”
That’s the question that’s been bouncing around my brain since this supermarket fiasco began.
“It’s not him, it’s you,” Kelly says.
My friend Kelly has her Masters Degree in psychology.
“You equate mini-fame with success,” she adds. “You see him on a magazine cover and convince yourself he’s more successful than you.”
“Yeah, but he is. And this really bothers me. I know, I suck, tell me I’m evil.”
“No he’s not. What you feel is normal. Who wants to see their exes after it’s over?” Kelly states. “In simple terms we just want them- and the hurt feelings that go with them- gone.”
Kelly couldn’t be more right.
When a relationship ends I just want it to vanish. No phone calls, friendships, or mutual friends allowed. It’s healthiest that way.
And in this case the reminders are one-sided. So I feel super-ripped off.
I want to do something so fabulous he can see me on the cover of a magazine.
“Gals Life” would never look so good.
In truth, I need to accept that mini-fame doesn’t equal importance. I need to understand that I have no idea what troubles and problems he faces outside of the magazine. I need to remind myself that there’s no fairytale perfect world out there that I haven’t found.
And most importantly, I need to realize that the only person I need to make me feel successful is me.
posted by Jan32 at 2:55 PM
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