I can’t help it.
I’m a thinker.
I consider the grand ideal.
I mentally investigate the minutia.
Let’s face it, life inside my head is much more fascinating, intricate and possibly agonizing than life outside.
The subject matter makes no difference as to the level of thought traffic speeding recklessly through the pathways of my brain.
If each one of my thought patterns was issued a citation for every time it raced through my head, the stack of tiny tickets given to the quest for the perfect handbag purchase would reach the sky and might very well equal that of the contemplation of my marriage and relationships.
In the past, some, including myself, have referred to this type of thinking as being “selfish and self-centered.”
After award-winning and meticulous mental analysis, I have come to the pedantic pronouncement of, “So what?!”
As a human animal, my primary directive is to survive. Granted, I am not having to elude any ferociously hungry lions, but my DNA is hard coated to out-dash, out-smart and out-live the other creatures surrounding me.
Does this make me heartless and a conceited bitch?
On the latter, sometimes. On the preceding – never.
When my child is sick for a week, like he has been this past one, I will do everything I can to wash my hands constantly, make sure the folks at work are appeased so that I don’t lose my job and pitifully ponder the fact that I am stuck at home because I have to take care of a sick kid.
Does that mean I do not hold his head when he throws up?
No – held it every time and wiped his forehead with a cold cloth.
Does it mean that I do not comfort him while he sits in a tub full of lukewarm water trying to break the fever whilst wearing his bathing suit out of modesty?
Nope – I held his hand and washed his hair and took in every moment of my “grown-up” little nine-year old who still needs his mommy.
Could my selfishness prevent me from apologizing to him when I get overly exasperated at his inability to take medicine without building it up into a psychological frenzy?
Nearly, but not in the end. I walked away for a few minutes, vented my overpowering annoyance outside of his ears and immediately marched back to his side, told him how much I loved him and how sorry I was at letting my frustration get in the way of taking care of him.
How about for my daughter? Is there anything my exceedingly pensive posture can do to prevent or eliminate the attacks of a seriously misinformed little second grade boy who called her “hairy” and the fall-out of attempting to secretly shave her legs with one of my old disposable razors resulting in a nasty cut on her shin?
Not at all. But I took that sense memory rushing back into my body like a tsunami of the same insults incurred when I was her age and used them to not only console her but as an opportunity to teach her about life and it’s strange, sometimes hurtful occurrences that we all live through and come out stronger on the other side.
Most recently, what about my husband and my best friend and their singing partnership? Do I allow my fears of being left behind to take care of the kids, not interesting, talented, witty or beautiful enough and singularly separate-from take over and obstruct my happiness at the success of the two people I love most in the world?
Not anymore. I opened the underbelly of my soul and expressed myself wholly and honestly, believing in the trust of our universe which, in turn, has empowered my true joy for their individual and combined gifts to bubble over the shallowness of my funk to be genuinely excited and thrilled for them before and after a great performance.
The conclusion I draw from all of my mindful, occasionally mysterious meditation on my life (and yours) is that we are blessed, bonded by mutual love and admiration and in this tricked-out, souped-up and totally-kickin’ Starship Enterprise-style-RV of life together.
And then I think: