The famous comic strip “ran in newspapers 365 days a year from 1976 to 2010.” Now, the creator of Cathy has written a book. And it was her title, Fifty Things That Aren’t My Fault, that first caught my attention.
I read through this collection of essays and while I didn’t enjoy them all, I did find several to be both amusing and relatable.
This week, I’d like to share just a few of the “stand-out bits” that resonated with me.
From the essay titled “The Build-A-Boob Workshop”:
“Yesterday, the Build-A-Bear Workshop. Today, the Build-A-Boob Workshop.”
(You’ll have to read the entire essay. It’s entertaining and rings oh-so-true!)
From the essay titled “Infidelity”:
“I woke up with the exhilarating urge to cheat on my Fitbit fitness tracker.”
(Which made me think about my own personal essay about “breaking up” with my Fitbit. You can click here to read it.)
And the one that just screamed “Wendy,” from the essay titled “I’m Flunking Retirement”:
“They call it the ‘sandwich generation,’ but it seems much more squashed than that. More like the ‘panini generation.’ I feel absolutely flattened some days by the pressure to be everything to everyone, including myself.”
Do you have a body part, that only now, a bit later in life, you have learned to genuinely appreciate? A body part you now realize wasn’t nearly as “bad/flabby/unattractive/you-fill-in-the-adjective” as you used to think?
“I have a complicated relationship with my legs, because sometimes they just seem like these “things” that are disconnected from the rest of me.These limbs that aren’t behaving the way I want them to.These appendages that are causing me nothing but trouble and pain.”
The paragraph above is taken from my recently published essay “Why My Rare Condition Puts Me in a Complicated Relationship With My Legs.” Click here to be redirected to The Mighty where you can read the essay in its entirety.
It temporarily stopped me, because I don’t consider myself a particularly brave person.
I have lived my entire life within the same ZIP code.
My first passport expired before I earned a stamp in it. And since then, I’ve had one international trip.
But my neighbor spoke of my bravery in a different context.
We were speaking, in very general terms, of my autoimmune disease.
We were speaking, in very general terms, about my pain level increasing as the day goes on.
Yet, she sees me outside on a regular basis, sweeping my front steps and my back patio. Watering my plants. Going for a walk with my son.
I don’t regard those activities as “brave.” They are merely the activities that make up a part of my days.
Am I brave? I don’t know.
So I did what I usually do when I’m not sure about something, when I need more information. I looked it up. I used my computer’s dictionary to read the definition of “brave” – “ready to face and endure danger or pain; showing courage.”