My Imaginary Life

Forever, for actual ever, I have been a mess. I was born in a hurry. I had colic. I was always spitting up and crying. A toddler that refuses to potty train on principle. A different kind of child that loved to sing but couldn’t carry a tune. A teenager who pretended to be whatever she saw. I always had new story for my life everyday. A young adult watching the others and taking cues from their lives of marriage, houses, boats, and vacations, but always falling short and failing up. Now, a middle aged woman who can’t be bothered by trends, as I’m too busy setting them. My Imaginary life, a day to day surprise for everyone, even me.

Within the parameters of what one ought to be or what one ought to do or what one ought to think, feel, say, have, want, like, love, hate… I have an imaginary life. I’ve always just wanted to be normal. I just want to look like the other girls, dress pretty and be sweet. I’m not normal. I can’t pull together a professional outfit for the life of me. My makeup is half assed. My hair, my fucking hair is always a messy bun. I think about sex all of the time. When people talk to me I think about the story I would write to narrate the situation instead of engaging. I smile all of the time. I say what needs to be said. I stay up until 3 am creating a business plan that may go nowhere. I hyperfocus on new and novel things. When I drop my kids off at school, I wait until they are just about to open the door to the building and I scream at the top of my lungs; I LOVE YOU! HAVE A GOOD DAY! They giggle and walk in. I don’t live here, in the present. I like that. I like my brain that buzzes on so many cylinders. I have a secret vault deep in my soul that knows I need to keep all of those things safe and secure. My heart and my mind know I need to worship those idiosyncrasies about me.

This doesn’t protect me from the outside world. I understand what people see and it is not lost on me that it annoys some, challenges others, and can be concerning to most. I get it. I understand that I am not normal. I sit alone and wish I could go along to get along. I feel bad when friends and family critisize the way I do things or how I should be different. I hold myself to my own standards and the ones put upon me by the world and by my loved ones. When I feel the most awful, when I feel the resistence rise in me, I try and identify that root cause. It comes from doubt. It comes from desparation. It comes from fear. But it’s those feelings that I need to pay the most attention to. That discomfort. When I feel that discomfort I know some great things are happening. Onlookers watching me go through that discomfort want to do anything they can to protect me from it’s wrath. It’s hard to watch someone you love struggle.

My imaginary life has done some fucking amazing things. My imaginary life pulls me one way and pushes me into realms that those seeking comfort dispise. In this imaginary life; I have built companies, I have written books, I have published articles, I have created life, I have learned sports I have no business doing, I have talked to amazing creatures, I have gone on secret vacations, I have loved so hard. My imaginary life lets me be one of the people who create the things that you will one day buy. My imaginary life allows me to have all of the fun and all of the sad. My imaginary life is a struggle, but I want the struggle. When you see me smile at you, because smiling is my favorite, know I’ve got this. You’ve got this Amber Frisch.

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