Better

Many people know how it feels after a long struggle to arrive at a place where things are finally falling into line in life. No, things aren’t perfect, but also they’re not even close to being the metal-clanging, flesh-grinding, calamitous disaster they once were. "Better" kicked out "awful," and make no mistake, that’s something to be grateful for.

The trouble with better is its tendency to lay down a rose petal-sprinkled welcome mat for complacency. It was better’s night to go to the gym, but better was tired, and dragging that mat out and cleaning it burned a few calories, didn't it? Soon after there’s a light knock, and better gleefully invites complacency in. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, says complacency. How is it that we never talk anymore? The thought crosses better’s mind that something happened around the time they stopped hanging out. But just seeing complacency, with its slow grin and easy manner, fills better with calm, and makes anything that might have come before seem unimportant by comparison.

Better and complacency make great pals at first. Complacency wins better’s affections with its infectious, laid-back personality, bottles of wine and boxes of fine, soft, dark chocolate truffles wrapped in red and gold ribbons. After a bit of conversation and feigned interest in how great better’s life has been as of late, complacency casually suggests a quick sit down on the couch, and to see what ‘s playing on Netflix. This is nice, says better. I’ve worked so hard to be better, says better, and don’t I deserve to celebrate? To take a little time out for me? Complacency says nothing; just pats better on the head gently and begins flipping through the Netflix offerings. I love you, complacency, says better. Complacency settles deeper into better’s couch cushions and smiles and smiles.

It’s one month later, and better is gone, replaced one night in classic body-snatcher fashion by relapse. Relapse, as everyone knows, is highly attracted to apple pie, peanut butter and chocolate pretzel binges with a generous side helping of celebrity housewives drama. Better knew, well, better, but better stops thinking clearly whenever complacency’s around.

Complacency’s gone; it pulled a Houdini around the time relapse entered stage wrong. Complacency finds relapse’s depression and self-loathing entirely tiresome to be around, and soon its thoughts stray to better friends it could be visiting. Alone, broke, and stricken by a serious case of dyspepsia, relapse soon is replaced by awful. For the lucky, awful leads to a spurt of motivation and desperate change for the better. And the cycle begins anew.

Except once in a great while, better wises up. For some, it’s told this doesn’t happen until the cycle has continued for quite some time - 30, maybe 40 years. Maybe it’s the position of the moon in the sky. Maybe it’s better’s advancing age and the accompanying sense that time is running out to get it right. Maybe it’s the fact that better has accumulated an exceptionally fine wardrobe that better would no longer be able to wear if better were to regain all that weight. Whatever the reason, as through a glorious awakening to better's truest potential, better sees the light.

And so it happens that better takes matters into its own hands.

The welcome mat is laid one last time. It’s a little dusty, and better can’t be bothered with the rose petals. Roses are expensive, and better’s been trying to save money. But still, here comes complacency, cool and confident. Complacency doesn’t even notice about the dust or the rose petals. Complacency doesn’t make a habit out of noticing very much at all.

Better flings the door open. Well, so we meet again, says better. Coldly; a tight smile stretched across its face.

Complacency doesn’t notice about the cold or the tight. Complacency is more focused on better’s warm and cozy couch, and cranes its neck to gaze longingly at it around better’s shoulder; wonders when better might be planning to invite complacency in. Hello, says complacency, I have wine! It’s red; your favorite. Please, can I come in?

Better says nothing and complacency doesn’t notice that better’s left hand has been behind its back this whole time. Now, better moves that arm to reveal a yogurt, banana and strawberry smoothie, a red and white straw protruding from its slushy surface. Better lifts the smoothie and slurps noisily.

Better has made its point.

Complacency flinches; chuckles nervously. Yes, complacency is nervous, and this can only mean something is quite off, because complacency very rarely is moved to feel anything but self-indulgent pleasure. Oh but look, says complacency, I have a box, festooned in bright ribbons - tied by ribbon-tying experts!

Better stands firm and stares at complacency, eyes glowing with determination.

Look, I’ll just tell you what’s inside, says complacency, you needn’t so much as open it to see - truffles - the finest quality, I guarantee.

Better looks complacency square in the eyes. I’m not hungry, says better. I just had dinner, and I am quite satisfied. And besides, I’ve been saving money, and if I wanted truffles, I would buy them myself!

Complacency, still standing in the doorway, takes a long look at better; up and down, then up again. Who are you, says complacency, with casual displeasure. I don’t even know you.

That’s right, says better. You don’t know me. I was once better. But as of now, as of this moment, when I cast you from my life forever, I am no longer better.

I am better than better.

I am at peace.

And with that, the door is slammed on complacency’s stunned face.

But stunned only for a moment. With a shrug, complacency pivots and shuffles away. Don’t worry for complacency; complacency has no trouble moving on, and other, better friends to visit with soft couches who still remember how to have a good time.