What if I didn't even like pizza?

We all have a story.

Some novels are obviously more exciting or dramatic than others.
I live a very un-extraordinary life with a story that is barely worthy of pages in a journal.
 I am not likely to win a Nobel Prize or cure cancer or marry a prince or become a world famous writer.
I probably won’t lose my limbs in a shark accident or go blind due to chemicals in a face wash.

I will continue to be the Alyssa I have always been.
The girl who worries an unhealthy amount about everything and is constantly paranoid about someone breaking into the house.
The girl who will scream all day about sexism and women’s rights, but let people trample on her feelings to avoid confrontation.
Even with as flawed and as messy as being that “Alyssa” can be…I wouldn’t know how to change…
I’m stubborn and pessimistic and my moods fly like a car on a roller coaster.
Even when I know I’m being the most irrational creature on the planet….I still act the same way…

I’ll always distrust birds….. because they have the freedom of flying and that seems unfair.
I’ll spend my sad days listening to Erick Baker’s “Unbroken Promise” on repeat thinking of the snowy nights I danced in my kitchen when I felt truly happy.
I’ll read old notes and marvel at the wonders of good friendships.
I’ll reread my favorite chapters of all my favorite books because I know exactly what to expect from them.
I am predictable and boring.

But what if I weren’t?

What if I woke up and I wasn’t Just Alyssa?

What if I didn’t refuse to wear pants at home or wasn't a complete lightweight with a glass of wine?
What if I didn't even like pizza?
What if I didn’t obsess over how clean my floors are or cry over missing someone who just left 5 minutes ago?
What if I was brave and not paranoid every time I’m home alone?
 
Perhaps maybe I do cure cancer or marry a prince….would that give my life more meaning?

We live in a very big world with very big dreams and we are constantly filled with images of what we perceive happiness to be. Because maybe if we fell in love with the right person or had the right career, being us would be more significant. Maybe our names would start to carry a new meaning. Like being the girl who finally broke free from a small town and made it in the big city.
Every day I stare off at people’s houses and cars and wish I could afford that lifestyle. I marvel at married couples, praying for the day when I, too, get to have a relationship like that. I smile at families of children and the life they have built for themselves and I wonder if that’s for me.

How is it we go most of our lives marveling at everything the world has to offer and yet turn it into worry at the same time? 

I spend every day staring at my bank account, stressing about student loans and finishing school. I check my phone to see if I’ve heard from far away friends and worry about the strain distance does to relationships. I worry about the Alyssa I have become and the Alyssa I will be in the future.

Because maybe I won’t ever get married or have a lasting career. Maybe I won’t have children or move out of this small town. And I won’t cure cancer or make it in the big city. I won’t marry a prince or survive a shark attack. Maybe I will do nothing significant from here until I die.

But maybe that’s okay…

Maybe the significance isn’t in the perceived “happinesses” of the world.
Maybe the significance is in how our friends see us.
Maybe it’s in the number of children that greet me with a hug every day at work.
Maybe it’s in the number of laughs shared with coworkers at the lunch table.
Maybe it’s in the warmth of a hug from your significant other.
And maybe it’s in the way others speak of you..


We all have a story.

Maybe we’re not the ones telling ours…