On: Greener Grasses
This article is best enjoyed whilst listening to the song “Love Love Love” by Of Monsters And Men — https://youtu.be/beiPP_MGz6I
I guess I am old enough now to realize one truth: the grass is indeed always greener on the other side. And it’s not a thing of perception or perspective, as we have been wont to optimistically believe; it’s just facts. If you’re peeking through the cracks of the metaphorical fence of your neighbor's garden and it appears that the grass is greener on that side, then it most likely is.
This simple truth has been something I have always known but tried to shake off for fear of not wanting to seem ungrateful to the cosmic universe for my own less-than-ideal, but somewhat okay-ish watered grasses. It has always felt like a betrayal for me to admit that over there —in those lives I admire and get somewhat envious of— there was the certainty of the kind of bliss and fulfillment I have always dreamed of.
It felt much easier to sink into the accepted dogma of “only he who wears the shoe knows where it pinches him”, when in fact, there are some folks, of which, only the most comfortable of shoes grace their feet. And it doesn’t matter what you want to call it —luck, fate, destiny— what matters is that these ones have what it takes to ensure that their grasses remain evergreen; enough so that whenever the rest of us peek overhead or through the many cracks of our self-esteem, all we can see is how picturesque it all appears and marvel.
In my case, I don’t just marvel —I ogle, and I daydream, and I wish that somehow my reality could be swapped with these ‘greener grassy’ neighbors. I find myself profoundly wishing that for a brief moment in time, I could be the one on the other side with those green tendril-like freshness caressing the sole of my feet as I run, jump, and try a somersault on it. And probably there’d be sprinklers there too, so as I run amok in unparalleled bliss, I would be able to feel the warmth of raindrops showering down on me.
I imagine I’d be able to feel the ebb of cosmic energies flow through my veins, too ethereal for the ordinary eyes of those peeking at me from behind their fences to see, but with just enough otherworldly pull to make the moment palpable. I imagine laying down on these pastiche pastures and closing my eyes to the calming noisiness of birds chirping and insects bickering —not in the annoyingness of mosquito hummings, but with harmonious melody, replete with the sort of orchestra vibe of an Apollo theatre production— acting as a meditative backdrop for my moment in the sun.
Yes, I often imagine these all day, almost. Whenever I get to peek at the greener grass on the other side of other people’s lives, either via the machinations of social media or otherwise, I feel terrible for how less green my own side’s grasses are. I also feel especially embarrassed because, in this maze of Pickett-fenced mentalities and clashes of ego and self-image falsities that we exist in, I know there’s probably someone else peeking over my fence and thinking “Yeah, I wish I had this guy's grass too.” I really wish they didn’t.
I really wish the other person —whoever they are— could read my thoughts and see the truth: that besides a few good days of watering, a lot of my greener-looking pastures, are covered in the withered bite marks of insects with overgrown weeds as mere hue enhancers. I want to tell this onlooker not to pay attention to what they think is a greener side because, in reality, it isn’t. And in those moments, I wish I could share my eyes with them so they can see the beauty of what greener grasses look like. And, hopefully, it will make them less in awe of the travesty that is mine.
And if I could, I’d invite this onlooker into my side of the fence and ask that they take off their shoes to feel how much the grasses on my side aren’t that green or fresh, to begin with. I’m sure a few thorns might prick them as we gently walk together toward the next fence. To this onlooker, I’ll probably recount my daydreams about the other greener grass I admire, and how it would be the perfect experience to tread on it. And I would hope that this onlooker can —like me— become in awe about the greener grass on the other side as we stare, admire, and daydream together.
And as we do that, I imagine that the other person —with the greener grass— might take a moment from the amazingness that is their life, and invite us in. And as we both, in delighted surprise, walk to the other side where the grass is “definitely” greener, we’d be able to stop and hopefully, catch a glimpse of our own grasses behind us. And who knows, at that moment, we’d realize that maybe the grass always appears greener on the other side of other people’s lives simply because we are often standing on the wrong side of our own.
Maybe…