Television Wisdom

I have a little Grey's Anatomy problem. Thankfully, unlike other addictions I've had in the past, this one has led me to some good conclusions:

I don't want to be a doctor.
I don't want to marry a doctor.
I never want to be as thin as Ellen Pompeo.

Upon occasion, the teleplay is incredibly quotable, though usually this has far more to do with the quality of the acting than the quality of the writing. However, there's one line that has always stuck in my head:

You can have anything in the world that you want, if you are willing to give up everything else to get it.

I do believe this is true. In fact, I've made it work for me several times in the past--most often with boys, shallowly enough, but occasionally with jobs or classwork. Sheer, concentrated force of will is something more people should tap into.

For the first time in my life, though, I feel like there's nothing I can sacrifice. I'm ready for a real job, but to rush through graduate school would put my social life on hold, which I can't do. Similarly, I'd like to think about settling down in one area, but to do so would be to not give my education/early career the attention it deserves.

There are things that I want, but I want them all equally. I want the whole package. I no longer desire one thing, one person so much that everything else is nearly meaningless. And you know what? This is great. Yay balance, go maturity and all that.

But I fucking miss being able to love like that. To want like that. To be unreasonable, to flail and cry and feel in my entire body. To disengage from my head, no matter how undignified. To be so bloody singleminded that it didn't matter if my family or friends or boyfriend felt a certain way, I was going to do what I wanted and naysayers be damned. I miss the feeling that fate had its hand on me. I even sometimes miss the overblown drama and angst and the undeniable "but I love him/her/it" reason for doing anything.

Love isn't a reason anymore.

It's a good thing, really. You can't run around being led by your heart at all times. At least I can't. My heart is pretty capricious--if I followed it, I'd be running around the country and changing my major about every week. And love isn't a reason. It's a feeling.

I think it comes down to the difference between content and happy, in my very special Leigh Dictionary of Connotations. Happy is when your heart is so full you can't do anything but laugh. Sputter and laugh. Spin in circles. When you suddenly realize your ears ache from your smile and your chest is so full of feelings it's up around your collarbones. Happy is euphoria, stepping off a rollercoaster, putting down a great book you've just read for the first time, walking into your apartment after a really good first date. I'm happy now too, at times. But happy, for me, is to be enjoyed in the moment and then allowed to pass. Happy is a little too shallow to pursue as a daily goal.

Content is what I am now. Content lasts. It's tied to situation, to the more permanent parts of being. Content is enjoying--not adoring--your job. It's knowing that what you're doing right now will lead you to the future you want. It's thinking that perhaps this relationship will be your last, but if it's not, it's not the end of the world. Knowing that all's right with the world, and even if it's not, you'll make it through. It's reading a favorite book for the tenth time over and smiling at all the best parts. Content is what I really want for my future.

Happy's fireworks. Content is a 100-watt lightbulb. Less showy. But you can't read by fireworks.