Eat the Cake

"Take it from a 54-year-old: Eat the cake."

This was the wisdom imparted on my roommate and I from the lady at the next table over in the IKEA cafeteria today.  It was ironically imparted after we had done just that -- we ate the cake -- but I liked her point anyway, which was that life isn't worth stressing; it's meant to be enjoyed.

We bought bar stools.  Four of them.  We can't fit a dining room table in our place, but now we can have four people eat at the bar at the same time. This makes us feel a little more civilized.  

I hope there are many nights ahead of us that involve sitting on those bar stools, drinking wine and maybe eating cake.  Because I have to say, I agree with the kind stranger from IKEA: Why so much stress?  We're allowed to sit back, from time to time, and enjoy.

This is what I believe: It's important to be responsible and to be healthy.  We need to take care of ourselves and we need to stay on top of our check-ups and we need to make an effort to consume healthy nutrients, move our bodies, and work our minds.  We need to always try to be kind to others and we need to be honest, loyal, compassionate and empathetic. And as long as we're doing all of that, we need to calm down.  We need to take deep breaths and we need to enjoy.

A conversation with my friend this week reminded me of what kind of person I was as a kid.  And that person was nervous, anxious, with a perpetual stomachache from all the worry and stress.  If we were playing kickball in P.E. and it was my turn to kick, I would be dying inside, so nervous about being watched by the other kids.  When my mom tucked me in at night, I would lie completely and rigidly still until I fell asleep.  For some bizarre reason, I  thought that if she ever returned to my room and saw that I had moved -- even an inch -- she would be offended that I hadn't  stayed in the position she had so lovingly tucked me into.  Shyness scorched through my body with such ferocity, questions directed at me evoked physical pain.  I was a bit of a wreck.

Because I had such a nervous and anxious childhood, I feel like I've paid my dues.  I've spent enough time worrying about what others think and enough time obsessing over the mistakes I have made.  I'm a good person -- which also means I'm a bad person, as all humans are -- who generally tries to do the right thing and who puts a lot of effort into the things that really matter to me.  And I think that maybe, just maybe, this is enough.  I don't have to lose sleep at night, I don't have to wring my hands, and I don't have to question my every decision.

I've already done all that.

Now, it's time to eat the cake.