Today’s culture is intensely interested in and infatuated with the lives of others.
With the Internet and social, it takes little effort to find out and keep up with what’s going on around us. Technology is amazing, and I’m thankful it allows us to be and stay connected, but be careful.
As I spend unhealthy amounts of time peering into the lives of others, I find myself comparing. I become distracted and farsighted, losing focus on the people and aspects of life that are closest to me. This cultivates the perfect environment for a type of bacteria to creep in, called discontentment.
After shallow analysis and justification, it’s clear that this area of life is unacceptable and can, nay, needs to improve. Therefore I react, conjuring up my next move because I deserve better and the grass is undoubtedly greener on the other side.
Then there’s the aspect of life that feels like that insatiable desire to get followers on Twitter or gather likes on Facebook.
There’s this prideful beast inside of me that hungers for acceptance, fame, fortune, notoriety. To keep this beast fed, I skew the way I portray or live life to conform to a level that brings me closer to being socially acceptable and highly regarded (whatever that means).
I begin to live life less for the key people in my life and more for the spectators that acknowledge me and occasionally shower me with adoration—living for the applause.
I’m married, I have 2 kids, and most of my days are spent with my family, working, or sleeping.
My Instagram and Facebook feeds are filled with pictures of and posts about my family and kids. I hardly attend social gatherings, and if I do, I’m usually one of the first ones to leave.
Excitement? Leaving the kids with a babysitter and getting away with my wife for a few hours to eat out, go shopping, or aimlessly roam the streets of Chicago.
Friday nights? If it isn’t date night with my wife, we’re home or we’re having a family date and home by 9pm.
Living on the edge? Putting our kids to bed, pulling out the good snacks, and watching Monday Night Football with my wife.
I stay out late once a year—Black Friday shopping with wife. We leave at 9pm Thursday night, and we’re usually home by 2am.
I party hard… on my wife’s and kids’ birthdays.
I hang out… with my wife and kids.
I pull all-nighters… in my sleep.
I go clubbin’… never.
I’ve been at life for 29 years, and I’ve noticed that at the surface I so badly want fame, notoriety, and recognition, but way deep-down inside, I want less to leave behind a renown legacy and more to be a good husband, a good dad, and a good friend to few; less to change the world and more to affect those around me; less to be on stage and speak to hundreds and more to have one-on-one conversations. I’m not adorned by thousands, but I’m “hubby” to one person that truly matters. I’m no celebrity, but I’m “daddy” to the two children that matter most.
My life is far from astonishing or awe-inspiring—in fact, some may consider it boring. But if my life is boring, let it be boring because I live boring on purpose. Don’t be fooled—it doesn’t come naturally. My innate sin-nature wouldn’t allow it if it wasn’t on purpose.
Maybe I’m too simple, and it’s probably just one of my many flaws, but at the last days of my life, woe unto me if I’ve managed to win the hearts of many but failed to keep the hearts of my loved ones.