Though generally content, I have lately found myself battling bouts of dissatisfaction. I covet the people responsible for a “sold” sign outside my favorite Craftsman home, the piles of primary-colored leaves in the background of friends’ Instagram photos, the couple on my Facebook feed trekking blissfully across Europe. Even girls wearing bright red lipstick or ballerina buns have found themselves in the crosshairs of my jealousy (I’m looking at you, Lauren Conrad), seeing as I am unable to follow such trends without resembling a clown or a toddler.
I rarely voice such complaints, recognizing they’re both absurd and outrageously outnumbered. Continue reading