Blessed and Lucky

So if you came around today looking for a light hearted, "Bridget's sharing her most embarrassing (daily) moments with us again" post, maybe skip this one and continue on to the one below from yesterday - it will fill your requirements much better. This one is lighter on the random and heavier on the honesty.

I got out of bed super late this morning. As in, the "almost this afternoon" kind of "this morning." As I was lolling about in bed, I checked Facebook to see what people were up to and saw a status update of my friend/college roommate Sara Rich. Sara is - and always has been since I've known her - extraordinary. Naturally, I mean, I try to make it a habit to only befriend extraordinary people :-) You can find her blog here. (I almost didn't post that link because her blog made my blog feel so intimidated). Anyway, Sara lived on the same hall as me in Lefevre (one of the "Old Dorms" at UVA) and then we lived together for our 2nd year in an apartment back on Preston.

I think when I knew Sara, I must have had a six pack because she made me laugh so often. She also convinced me to join the rugby team where I got my ankle broken, but that's a story for another day. If you've heard Sara Rich laugh, you never forget it. She literally changed the way that I laugh. I know that sounds funny, but it's like her laugh is an infection, and your laugh hears her laugh and gets laugh-envy and changes to be just like hers. She laughs like a crazy person (in the best way possible) and it's amazing. Try it sometimes - just totally let go while you're laughing and you'll see - it will be come this screaming/laughing thing in your voice. Anyway, this post is not about her laugh. It's about her life and who she is, among other things. I'm not going to get into what she's doing right now because she can tell you much better in her own words on her blog, but basically, Sara quit her job as a teacher, picked up her life, and moved it all to Goma (not gonna lie, I just Googled "Where is Goma?"...it's in the Congo, to save you the trouble) to be a volunteer and to make a difference in the educational programs for young people there.

What?

This chick and I lived together for two years, and after school she moves to the Congo to help people and I move to Ohio (which I'd like to compare to the Congo but I don't want to because I don't want to disrespect what Sara is doing) to make clothing that encourages a lack of self esteem in young people. I just had one of those "What the HELL am I doing?" moments this morning.

Sara. You are an inspiration.

So after I eventually forced myself to get out of bed, I watched some DVR, and then went to Panera to get some lunch. Or breakfast. Brunch. Whatever. Let me tell you, if you go to the Panera on Hamilton on the first sunny Saturday in Columbus in MONTHS, you better really effing want to be there. That place was packed. It reminded me of what it must have been like that time that the manager at the Panera in Barracks asked Austin to leave while she was studying because there were too many people there. I don't know why I remember that. But I digress. You know what I'm really good at? Digressing. You know who else is? Molly Laufer.

Seriously, back to the point. I order my food at Panera and go to wait in line to pick it up, and there's a woman there who is trying to pick up her food as well. She already has her drink in her hand and it's shaking - the drink is shaking, her hands/arms are shaking, and she's really struggling. Then her food is placed on the counter and she tries to get it and when she picks it up, that starts shaking too. I was paralyzed. I had no idea what to do. Do I offer to help, or is that offensive? As if saying to this woman, oh, you obviously can't handle yourself, so why don't I swoop in here and help you because I am so capable? It felt like an argument in favor of all those who believe that volunteerism is really just an exercise in narcissism. In the end she handled it fine and got to her table, but I can't stop thinking about it. What is so hard about my life, after all? Nothing, really. Yeah, I get irritated about every 5 minutes with things that I'd like to change, but let's be real. In the end, I am extremely, embarrassingly lucky. I am able-bodied, I am smart, I've had all the opportunities anyone could want, but what have I done with them? Not enough. Not yet.

And then I think about you people. One time I told my Planner (the person who tells me how much of each item I have to buy in order to make the amount of money I need to make) that I have a couple of blogs, and he said "I always thought blogs were for people who needed another way to talk about themselves." And you know what? He's kind of right. Now, don't get me wrong, I love reading the blogs of all my friends and if you stop blogging I will come to your house and tape your hands to the keyboard (don't think I'm above that. I'm not above much). But the thing is, I have these friends who don't care that all this blog is is another way to talk about myself, and you like it and you read it and you care. How great is that? You don't care when it is just random honesty, you still want to hear what I have to say. That's pretty great.

So I come back to the title of this post - I am blessed and lucky. And the reminders that I get of just how blessed and lucky I am are blessings in themselves. The question then becomes, what am I going to do with this knowledge? Move to Goma? Let's be real, there's a reason that people like Sara are extraordinary - because they have the guts to do something like that. I am not one of those people, and that's another reason on the list of reasons why I respect Sara so much. Maybe I'll just be a little better about letting (or rather, not letting) all those silly little things that I cannot control irritate me. Maybe it's as simple as remembering all the time just how blessed and lucky I am.