I like to think that I believe (got that?) that there’s no such thing as a bad day. Even bad days are themselves usually not inherently bad.
I remember trying to think of a day that would qualify as the worst day of my life.
(I thought I’d written about this before but I went back to see and couldn’t find a word of it, so here we are.)
I was trying to think of a day that would qualify as the worst day of my life, and I could think of nothing. I know for a fact I have said, “Ugh, this is the worst day of my life!” on more than one occasion, but those were all the kind of days where lots of little, petty things add up to annoy you out of your mind more than anything else. And because they are little, petty things, they seem to have evaporated and I don’t remember them. And then I thought of the more obvious “bad” things which have happened to me, though to be perfectly honest there haven’t been many of those either, because I’ve had a relatively tame existence up to this point. And that’s okay. I maintain that it isn’t what your life directly consists of that makes it exciting. Necessarily. Anyway, because I tangent, obvious bad things. I thought first of my two breakups, and then I thought that was ridiculous, to count either of those days as the worst day of my life. In the more direct aftermath, I might have thought they were pretty disastrous, but I cannot see those days quite as they actually happened anymore; instead it is all colored with all the optimistic nonsense about how much I learned, etc. Which is nonsense. But it is very true nonsense.
And then, naturally, I thought of the day my grandfather died. Which, yes, was a pretty difficult day for a few hours, off and on, depending. But the entire day in itself was not bad. I spent hours that day decorating Christmas cookies and trees with my sisters. It was a beautiful happy mess and I managed to just make the frosting, offhand, without doing it ever before, and got it right. And after the phone call, we held on to each other, and ate good food and laughed and I won at Monopoly (which rarely happens). There were more good moments in that day than bad.
And then I thought of the day of his service. Which, again, yes, was a pretty difficult day for the beginning about 45 percent of it. But right after the service one of the cousins had the brilliant idea that we should all go to the Malt Shop that my grandfather used to take the Minnesota cousins to. And so we did. And somebody – I can’t even remember who – spilled their shake somehow, and we all contributed napkins, and joked about potatoes, and later that evening we were all over at my uncle’s and spent hours in the basement playing games with an unselfconscious joy that I had missed the last couple of years. And it was awesome.
Then I wondered what the worst day of my high school career would be. Breakups already ruled out, I tried to remember other major disappointments. I couldn’t think of any that totally ruined that entire day. One of the many days I fought with my parents? Again, colored by the repair to our relationship. I thought of Valentine’s Day my senior year, which had a pretty crappy moment that still bugs me if I think about it. My high school’s chapter of the Honor Society does their main fundraiser around Valentine’s, involving selling Crush sodas for 50 cents to be sent to the recipient of your choice. Midway through the day my sister sent me a text saying, “Thanks for the Crush! :)” and I said, “What?” I hadn’t actually sent her one. She said, “But it was signed ‘Big Sis.'” We found out later it was a girl from my graduating class who was in my sister’s lifting class and had also been a bit of a mentor in the volleyball program. That still hurts. But, aside from the fact that it makes me look like every other girl who says her Valentine’s Days suck (for stupid reasons), it makes me feel ridiculous to say that Valentine’s Day my senior year was awful because of six little pencil letters on a soda can. I mean, seriously. Yikes.
And this leaves me wondering if maybe my existence hasn’t been as tame as I think it is because I am very very good at seeing the positive. But I’m not sure of that. I have no clue. My perception is quite flawed, I suppose.
I have been on a serious be-healthy kick lately, involving lots of vegetable eating to balance out the carbs I am so hopeless about, swimming, planks and going on the BLOODY BEAUTIFUL run which begins only minutes from my dorm room. It’s gorgeous, and it is probably the main reason why I could never live in the middle of a big city. There is nothing I like more than being at the top of a hill by myself. But all that great stuff aside, today I blew it and had a bag of orange slice candies for dinner. I’m cringing as I type.
I did my best to burn it off, but it’s the worst day foodwise I think I’ve had this year and made me feel quite disgusting, so that’s been bothering me. But, in my efforts to get back under calorie limit, I did three tabatas and a lovely ab workout. See? No day is inherently bad.
Now if I can just stop eying those lemon drops.