No Fair

As a society, we are fixated upon the idea of things being “fair” and equal. As children, our idea of fairness is getting a piece of cake that’s just as big as the piece our brother got. When we become teens, we lament that it’s just “not fair” that we can’t stay out past 11 or borrow dad’s car to hang out with our friends. But, when we become adults, the idea of fairness becomes more significant, more testing on our lives. It’s just not fair when we lose our job because the economy tanks and it’s really and truly unfair that the people we love have to die. We graduate to bigger problems, harsher realities and bigger disappointments.


Sometimes, I think it would be easier to go back to our childhood problems. Do you remember what it was like when the biggest disappointment in your life was not getting what you wanted for Christmas? At the time, it was devastating—tear inducing, even. It never crossed your mind that life was bigger than the Puppy Surprise you would never tear open on Christmas morning. I’m still bitter about that Puppy Surprise, if you couldn’t tell.

These days, our biggest disappointments are the kind that changes our lives entirely. They rock us to our core, making us question our future and again lament that it’s just not fair. But, what is fair? Is fair having exactly what you want fall into your lap the moment you ask for it? Is fair having what you thought you’d want eventually happen right now, unexpectedly? Or, is fair working, crying and waiting for what you want so that you’ll treasure it even more the moment it arrives?

The more I live, the more I realize that it’s all subjective. Everything is. I think it’s unfair that the one thing I want most in this world isn’t mine right NOW. It’s unfair, I sometimes believe, that I can’t simply begin to want something one day and have it fall into my lap the next. Everyone else seems to get just what they want, so what about me? I throw myself a lovely pity party, groaning over all the things wrong with my life. Well, with just one thing I believe is wrong with my life. It’s hard to see the beauty in life when you’re so fixated on what you believe to be its greatest injustice.

But, as with all things in life, our “problems” and perceived injustices are relative. I am not dying, I don’t have cancer and I lead an otherwise beautiful life with more blessings than I can count. Then why, I wonder in my rare moments of clarity, am I so angry? Because, when it comes down to it, I am angry. Why fixate my mind on what I don’t have--what I have begun to believe I can’t have--when there are so many other things to be happy about? Why?

Why? Well, because it’s easy and sometimes it feels good—really good, actually. I don’t know what the answers are and I haven’t a clue what the future brings; these are the things I cannot control. I can control and harness the power of my bitterness and disappointment, wallowing in it like a pig in its slop. It feels good, that cool mud on my skin on a hot summer day. But, before I know it, I realize that I’m covered in filth and I stink. I guess that's only fair, right?