Stop Being a Pussy
I’ve been feeling really down on myself for about two weeks.
My plan for this year has been to honestly reflect on my personal and professional struggles and failures, process the experiences, learn from my mistakes and take corrective action where necessary. While this is a worthy endeavor, I had no idea how mentally taxing and emotionally draining it would be.
As I catalogued my shortcomings, I quickly realized a top priority that needed fast action was my physical health. Nine weeks ago I made a commitment to approaching physical activity as seriously as I do daily hygiene. While I’ve done a great job of working out consistently, better than I’ve ever done in my life, my weight has barely budged. This has been getting more and more discouraging and has made it more difficult to get out of bed early to hit the gym.
While I’ve been working hard to build my storytelling skills, I’ve not seen near the success I had hoped in landing paying jobs. I recognize that insecurity, imposter syndrome and fear are holding me back, but I’ve yet to find the confidence to overcome. I have frequent moments of doubt and wonder if I should just go back to a full-time job in recruiting.
Then the cherry on top of this shit sundae, my 17-year-old cat, Petunia has been on her 9th life for several weeks. She showed up in our yard in July of 2002 as a kitten with fleas, ear mites, worms and a tick. I nursed her back to health, and even though I had never been a cat person, she quickly became part of the Bentley clan.
Petunia was there for me in my darkest hours. When my anxiety was out of control in my 20’s, she sat by my side as I crocheted for 48 hours straight. In 2005, she sat on the edge of the bathtub while I was having a miscarriage. When our boys were infants and sleep was at a minimum, she cuddled on the couch next to me while I was nursing—her purring keeping me from dozing off. Just last week when I was fighting the blues, her cries for food forced me out of bed even though I wanted to hide there all day.
Last night it became apparent that her time had come. I spent the night on the couch with her, mostly petting her head with tears in my eyes, silently thanking her for being my friend. It’s funny how we connect with animals, often more intimately than with other people. In many ways, Petunia knew me better than anybody—good deeds I’ve done quietly and secrets I’ve hidden when I thought nobody was looking. And today she’s gone.
I’ve been feeling a bit numb all afternoon, trying to process the end of my furry friend’s existence. Death is so final. I’m reminded it will happen to me someday too, and everyone I care about. With my struggles with weight, career and death on my mind, I went to Twitter for a distraction. My friend, Ted Bauer (Ted has a great blog about the bullshit of work you should check out), posed an innocent question:
One of the responses was a screenshot of a Facebook post by a guy named Tim Kennedy who is apparently a Green Beret, Special Forces Sniper, Army Ranger and MMA fighter. As I read, “I'll tell you how to get better. You stop being a pussy,” I felt like I was getting a not-so-gentle reminder that I’ve allowed myself to be self-indulgent and lazy. Please read the entire post below.
Thanks, Tim Kennedy. I needed the reminder that my problems are not problems at all, I’m being whiny and that the only way to solve any of this is to focus and work so hard that when my head hits the pillow I immediately fall asleep.
So on this day that I lost my pussy, Petunia, I’m going to stop being one. And more importantly, I will remember that every day is a gift that should not be squandered because I do not have 9 lives to waste.
