I wrote a letter to a friend, she’s a nun and one of “those nuns” that doesn’t email, so it was my only option, although jumping on a train did cross my mind. Since she’s entered the convent I’ve told her all kinds of things, things I wasn’t ready to tell anyone else but I told her. She’s not one to run around saying things that aren’t already common knowledge so I’ve always considered her “safe.” Since she entered the religious life she feels even more “safe” to me. Part of it is who is she going to tell? Jesus. I think He already knows. She might tell some of her sister friends, and they’ll probably just pray about it or for me, or both. So my “safe” friend will just tell her “safe” friends, and I can just continue on in my twisted version of denial.

Before I wrote the letter I found a letter she wrote to me a few months ago. I loved reading it. I’m glad I saved it, and went back to read it again. I found the Christmas card she sent me last year too. They’re nothing spectacular to the average person but when you go from seeing someone almost every day for years to letters and cards every few months, well it just means more.

It’s always an interesting process to write to her. I never know where to start, and when to stop. I often laugh or cry, or both. I’ve sealed enveloped wondering if the pages will dry off before they reach her, or if she’ll be able to read my letter once the pages dry.

My latest letter was no exception. She’s my “safe” friend (even though I don’t think she knows it). I confided in her that it really has been hard for me to let people in these last few months, because I don’t even know how I feel the majority of the time so letting someone else in is pretty impossible. (It’s not much of a secret now though)

There are plenty of feelings and emotions I don’t believe in, or clearly understand, like pity. There use to be another big one too, although now that I feel it most of the time I really can’t say I don’t believe in it or understand it anymore.

jeal•ous
Pronunciation: \ˈje-ləs\
Function: adjective
Etymology: Middle English jelous, from Anglo-French gelus,
Date: 13th century
1 a: intolerant of rivalry or unfaithfulness b: disposed to suspect rivalry or unfaithfulness 2: hostile toward a rival or one believed to enjoy an advantage 3: vigilant in guarding a possession
-jeal•ous•ly adverb
-jeal•ous•ness noun

I am jealous.

And I hate it.

I’m jealous of people who can wash their own hair.

I’m jealous of people who don’t have to think about being able to dress or undress themselves.

I’m jealous of people that people have insurance.

I’m jealous of people who can live life the way they want to.

I’m jealous of those who have found their vocation.

I’m jealous of those still looking for their true vocation and are happy with that.

I’m jealous of people who can sleep at night.

I’m jealous of people that take naps.

I’m jealous of people that don’t walk around in a daze all day every day.

I’m jealous of people that live like a “normal 25 year old”.

I’m jealous of people that haven’t had to say things like, “that’s the one with the $8 co-pay?”

I’m jealous of people who don’t have to worry about not being able to pay for medical treatment.

I’m jealous of people that don’t have to think in timelines.

I’m jealous of people that don’t have to work in a cubical.

I’m jealous of people that have open relationships with their friends because they feel they have nothing to hide.

I’m jealous of people whose friends don’t seem to run and hide at the first sign of trouble.

I’m jealous of people who can wear whatever shoes they want.

I’m jealous of people who feel comfortable wearing shorts.

I’m jealous of people who were fortunate enough to get “free rides” to college.

I’m jealous of people who don’t consider going to graduate school just so they have something productive to do.

I’m jealous of people who think I’m some kind of some big inspiration when all I feel like is some kind of big fake.

I’m jealous of people who can drink.

I’m jealous of people who always have things “just work out” for them.

I’m jealous of people who have never had to consider if someone was staring at them in public.

I’m jealous of people who don’t have to think of themselves as a role model.

I’m jealous of people who have no idea what nerve pain or bone pain or a muscle spasm feels like.

I’m jealous of people who don’t go into doctors’ offices thinking, “maybe this will be the time they tell me nothing more can be done.”

I’m jealous of people who have had an easy transition to adulthood.

I’m jealous of people who never feel guilty for feeling bad.

I’m jealous of people who don’t read books thinking that maybe this is the closest they’ll get to visiting somewhere.

I’m jealous of people who still believe even when everything tells them not to.

I’m jealous of people who can sit down for more then 20 minutes without difficulty.

I’m jealous of people who have a discernable amount of patience.

I’m jealous of people that can roll with the punches.

I’m jealous of people that run out of things that they’re jealous of.

I’m jealous of people that rarely get jealous.