I Like to Move Around

www.secretlyfunny.com

If Katy Perry were here, I'd tell her that yes, sometimes I do feel like a plastic bag

I was about to delve into a dissertation on ways to survive the next four days of February. Because February is the purgatory of months. And I have decided to blame it for my problems. But I was interrupted by a Google search result. Which I'll get to later.

First, some clarifications.

My problems aren't problems so much as they are decisions. But I hate decision-making, especially in February. And because it is February (and because no amount of self-help books have been able to make me decisive) every time I make a decision, I end up unmaking it five or 10 minutes later.

You see, I could tell you that I'm sitting on my bed, wearing heart-spotted socks, trying to decide what to do with my life. But that wouldn't be exactly true. What I'm trying to do, actually, is to un-decide what to do with the rest of my life.

According to the quote section of Pinterest (which I have spent many a minute on lately, since my current coping mechanism for February funk is using Pinterest and Dove chocolates to fuel my addiction to inspirational messages), I should "be okay with no one else understanding," "let go, and see what happens," "don't settle if you haven't found it yet". And the one that I haven't pinned but keep repeating in my mind over and over, "If your dreams don't scare you, they're not big enough."

Forget the rules and follow your heart, Dove tells me every time I eat a piece of chocolate.

But Dove doesn't have to deal with the repercussions of heart-following. Dove just has to keep writing "calories don't count" on the tinfoil outsides of their chocolate so people addicted to inspirational messages will choose them over Hershey's. Every time. No matter what kind of discount the other brand is offering.

I know what my heart wants.

I know, because when I let myself fall into a daydream about it, my heart feels the way it does when a boy calls you pretty. It's the feeling I got when my 11th grade English teacher told me I did a good job on my essay.

I think it's also probably how the Grinch felt after he saved Christmas. But it's not fair to make references to endearing Christmas movies in February. So forget I said anything.

Point is, when I let myself think about my dream, my heart swells. I won't bore you with additional adjectives. I think you get my drift.

And that's why I'm here, half-covered with a fleece blanket, on the last Monday in February, trying to un-decide what to do with my life.

Because my heart has gone all rogue on me.

Hi heart, I'm going to need you to grow three times your size for something practical.

Maybe engineering.

Perhaps you could climb the corporate ladder at a yogurt factory.

No? No swelling?

Well what about project management at a local company. You could work your way up to it. And I think you have the right(ish) skill set for project management. That could be fun. Right heart? Do you feel it? Best idea ever?

No.

Oh.

Hmm.

You know, I think I'll start taking a fish oil supplement. Maybe with some additional Omega-3s, my heart will be better at smart decision making.

ANYWAY, I thought while I was coming up with a list of ways to cope with February, I'd let Google determine my future. (Remember the Google search I mentioned 22 paragraphs ago? I'm finally getting to it!)  Since my heart obviously can't be trusted, I decided to let Google help with some of the decision making.

 Before I posted my first two ideas for enduring February: 1. find a lucky penny and never let it go and 2. hibernate, I typed in happiest place into Google.

I was going to finish with happiest places to live, but Google finished my search for me and entered happiest place on earth, instead.

Top search result:

Magic Kingdom.

I just.

Well.

That's interesting.

Are you trying to tell me something?

Or is this just a February joke?

Really long story condensed down into a 10-word conclusion:

I still don't know what to do with my life.


Happy February!

I just ate an entire packet of hot chocolate without the hot or the water part.

I poured it into my mouth like a pixie stick.

It wasn't very good. And it didn't really melt properly, like pixie sticks do. You kind of have to chew it. I wasn't expecting that.

That was a couple of hours ago.

Now I'm testing other methods of forcing creativity. I'm lying on the ground with my feet above my head. Maybe the blood will rush to my brain. That's supposed to help with ideas, right?

Or if that doesn't work I'll just do interpretative dance moves to Mumford and Sons Pandora station. Surely interpretative dancing will spark something.

In addition to the aforementioned procedures, I've also been checking Facebook every 42 seconds, as if, at any given moment, something inspirational is going to pop up on my wall. I know what it sounds like, but idea isn't completely unsubstantiated.

One time I read a quote on Facebook that said, "Whenever you feel sad just remember that there are billions of cells in your body and all they care about is you. Okay?"

Now, sometimes, when I feel sad, I picture little cells floating around with smiley faces like the ones on goldfish crackers. I don't think I have to say this makes me happy. It's assumed, right?

Anyway, since my feet are falling asleep, and I still have no ideas, I decided to turn to Google for advice. It told me I should be open to bad ideas.

Thanks Google. I think I got that covered. Please refer to the pixie stick hot chocolate experience.

Don't worry Google. I have lots more bad ideas where that one came from.

Next up, urban camping in Walmart parking lots.

Selling hand-crafted tinfoil accessories on Etsy.

Crocheting seat covers for my car.

Starting a hedgehog obedience course.

Painting miniature masterpieces on toilet paper rolls then hanging them from my ceiling like a baby mobile.

Jump roping after 10pm on the highest floor of an apartment complex.

I'll let you know how it goes.

Today

On days like this one I just want to lie in the grass and watch the clouds.

But I don't.

Because I'm afraid someone will see me and call an ambulance.


Instead, I bring the dog home and get ready to face the laundry.

The dog says she will help. 

But I tell her not to worry. I have a plan to make laundry FUN!

I will turn my dirty clothing into an art masterpiece! Just like Queenie Liao did with her napping baby and a few well-placed sheets. 

Laundry won't get me down. 

It will sail me away into a world full of creativity, and adventure and probably wild things. 

Except. 

Well. 

I'm not sure I'm actually on the same--you know--material-placing, artistic caliber as Liao.

I mean. 

You can tell it's a mermaid, right?

Right? 

And then the dog gives me this look. She might as well just open her mouth and say it, "I wish I would have been sent home with a normal foster family." 

Sometimes I wish I was normal too, Honey Bunches. 

But it's not the wish I make on the stars, because it's not the one I want to come true. 

Today my wish is big and vague and stems from a google attention span that all connects but I don't have time to explain. 

So instead I'm just going to tell you that I think I tried to sell my creativity for perfection. 

I tried to sell anything I could to be perfect. 

Instead it made me small and scared to cross lines. 

I created a world that was black and white, and tried desperately to tip-toe in the white without ever touching gray. 

And now I'm trying to buy back my creativity by being brave enough to make mistakes. 

Because, I'm scared to say so, but I don't believe in the same black and white world I used to. 

I don't think God cares what we call Him. 

Allah. Jehovah. The Great I Am. 

I often call him Love. 

Because I feel closest to God when I love in a way that should be impossible. 

So today I'm trying to do that. 

And today I'm trying to buy back creativity with bravery. 

Not with laundry pieces. Because sometimes you have to leave things behind--let them go. And today, I'm letting laundry art go. 

And today I'm staring up at the sky, wishing I could lie down in the grass, and just watch for a while. 

There's so much color out there. 

Hardly any black or white at all. 

Aruthur Miller says "The best work that anybody ever writes is the work that is on the verge of embarrassing him, always." This is what I came up with.

One day, in the page behind my to-do list, I started writing a story.

Like Sally, I wrote, from that one movie I only watched half of*, I'm losing pieces of me as I go.

I promised myself once I wouldn't romanticize being broken. Because I want to be brave, and strong, and kind, and honest. And if I spend all my time setting myself up as a damsel in distress, I won't have any time to become the things I want to be.

I'd like to put myself back together. Sew seams that wouldn't rip. Put my head on straight and make it places prompt, classy and well dressed, I wrote.

Instead I'm showing up five minutes late with my hair wet and partially combed.

Someone called me silly today. Not in a mean way. Not even in a way that hurt my feelings.

Just in a way that made me think. Am I silly? Is that what I am? Is that what I want to be?

I'm not a broken human, I continued with my story.

Sometimes I can juggle tasks, and organize and keep the backseat of my car clean. 

I can. 

And on the busiest of days I can blow dry my hair and brush my teeth at the same time.

It's just that right now, I'm holding myself together. 

And sometimes I drop a limb. 

Sew it back on. 

Keep walking.

I think we try to define ourselves. We try to narrow ourselves down to a few adjectives. Because it would be easier if we could simplify ourselves to an acrostic.

Alec:
Amicable
Light-hearted
Entertaining
Courageous

What if I could always count on myself to be those things?

Then I wouldn't find myself wishing I would have spoken up when that boy told me he thought I was pretty.

And I wouldn't have to regret the thing I said, heard or didn't stand up against.

I wouldn't find myself running to work last minute. And the dishes piling up on my nightstand would disappear like they had been summoned by one of Mary Poppins' magic snaps.

I'm losing pieces of me as I go. 

But I'm going. 

I think I'm glad I'm more than a few words tied together by some acronym or another.

Because I get bored when things are always the same.

Monotone never suited me.

I'm glad I can surprise myself. Even if the surprise is that I'm silly.

There's good and bad in everything, I wrote behind the to-do list I would not make time to finish.

And the good part about me falling a little apart is I realize I'm not broken...

So I need to be easier on other people. 

Even if they get stuck resewing and resewing and resewing. 

I find myself working on the same things over and over and over.

Resewing and resewing and resewing.

I don't know why I get upset with other people for needing to resew their broken pieces too.

Maybe the next time I see someone falling apart. 

I'll remember how I fall sometimes too. 

When I make lists, not just about what I need to do today, but about what I want to do tomorrow, where I want to go, what I want to accomplish, who I want to be, I always add Africa.

When I'm brave I'll go to Africa.

Africa means one hundred different things to me.

Africa is telling someone you love them.

It's running away not because you want to but because deep inside your soul you know the only way to see the world is to run to it.

It's breaking habits that have kept you safe but not happy.

And it's learning to let yourself be a thousand different adjectives that move and change, appear and dissolve.

Sometimes I fall. 

I crack...

You can tell me don't panic about it. 

But that's like asking me to pick my arm off the ground and sew it back on. 

People will tell you there are a million things you need to be, have to be, ought to be.

Don't fall too hard for it. Everyone has a different Africa.

And like Jon Acuff says in the book I should probably re-read, "The starting line is the only line you're in control of."

I'm going to start.

Even if it means taking a couple of well-calculated risks.

Even if it means failing and restarting.

Even if it means resewing and resewing and resewing.

I'm going to start.

Because I want to see where this story goes.

OK, I wrote, in the pages behind my to-do list. I'll sew. But could you lend me some thread and maybe a needle? 





*The Nightmare Before Christmas

**Start