Dropkick the Joneses

Dropkick the Joneses

I’ve never really noticed brands of clothing. To me, clothes are either cute or not cute. That black ruffled shirt? Can’t tell if it’s from Nordstrom or Target. Doesn’t matter to me. If it looks good, I’ll tell ya. 

I’m a quantity over quality girl when it comes to wardrobe.

Give me four Thrift store shirts over one expensive blouse. Then it’s no big deal if my son wipes his peanut buttered mouth on my shoulder. 

Cheaper clothing, less to worry about. So it’s a happier life, right? That’s been my motto and I’ve been blissfully content with it for 29 years.

Then something changed. 

It could be that I’m rounding the big 3-0 or that my peer group shifted a bit. 

Either way, I started to realize that my friends were shopping at nicer clothing stores. Loft dresses, J.Crew cardigans. I asked and it seems they’ve been doing that for a couple years now. I just never bothered to notice before. Now I do.

I have been hit with the Joneses bug.

And it’s a nasty one.

It spread from clothing, to home décor to automobiles. I had the same mentality about cars that I did about clothing. Give me a beat up old car so I can park it close to the door and not give it a second thought. Life is too short to fret over scratched paint.

Not anymore. Now I want to keep up with the Joneses. And boy, do the Joneses have nice things! A BMW, for example, and a closet full of Anthropologie. Pottery Barn furnished their house and they have Apple products for every single one of their children. 

I could go on. Lululemon at the gym and Callaway on the golf course. Mrs. Jones only wears MAC makeup and Mr. Jones’ cologne is special order from Italy. Now let’s talk about what their children wear… Ah! 

See, I’m sick with it and have been for about a year. I say it’s time to kick this illness. Actually, I’d like to dropkick it. Knock out style, send it crying home to mama. 

I don’t want to give two hoots about what the Joneses have. But is there a cure? I might just be terminal, folks.

Luckily, I’m not. The antidote is surprisingly simple, and I’m going to share it with you. But please know I’m still on my first round of treatment so I can’t be an expert here. Although, the doc says the prognosis looks good.

I’m taking a daily dose of gratitude. It’s cherry flavored.

The more thankful I am for the things that I have, the less I worry about the things that others have. I started keeping a journal and making lists of things I’m thankful for. Nothing is too small or silly to make the list. It ranges from, “Thankful for my son,” to, “Thankful for my favorite blue Bic pens.”

I realized that I’m extremely thankful for the outdoors. Since being outside is not a commodity I can purchase it helps me put in perspective the fact that I’ve been focusing on purchasing things when really, what matters more are people and doing life with them, like going for walks together. That’s #42 on my thankful list.

I’m thankful to own cars. Full disclosure, we own two cars. Not just one. Two. I’m thankful for a place to live, and multiple clothes to choose from and the ability to go out to eat every once in awhile. 

There is a lot in my life to be thankful for. I have quite a few things. However, being grateful has reminded me to focus on what’s most important—loving God and loving others. When my eyes are on that fact, they are not on the Joneses and their shiny big ticket items.

So it’s a slow recovery, but I’m making progress. Little by little, each day is easier and I’m finding that the more grateful I am for my lovely life, the better and happier I live it.

 

 

 

 

The Art of Sharing Space

The Art of Sharing Space

Dear Infertility,

Dear Infertility,