polar opposites

Does anyone remember a certain post of mine from '08 on the dialectical swing of the universe? Here. It's not a very good post--I just reread it--but it was interesting to me, because the concept is still very much on my mind. Things throughout history swing back and forth--action reaction--tick tock, tick tock.
But lately, I have been seeing how this applies to me, personally--to the workings inside my lil' head.

I work, earnestly, to tell the truth--not only to everyone else, but to myself. And that can be hard, if not nearly impossible. To tell the truth, you have to know what the truth is. I've noticed my thoughts about myself swing between two opposite extremes. In a nutshell: yes, I'm awesome, and no, I'm not. Some days I'm incredibly unique, hyperactive, brightly shining and off my rocker--other days I'm dull, scared, plain, sunk so firmly into normal that I barely have a pulse.

Those are both lies.

I think I've got a handle on it, now. Whenever I'm thinking something so extreme about myself--it's a lie. The truth is somewhere in the middle--perhaps not so easy to polarize and define, but blended. Perhaps a little bit of a paradox, now and then. Not high or low, but midrange. Not hot or cold, but fair. I'm a little bit of a lot of things. An alloy. Stronger than any one pure metal.

The more I can realize that--the more truth I can tell myself--the more balanced I become. More honest. More me. None of this wild swinging from one mutually exclusive extreme to the other.

 Maybe that's how everyone's mind works. I don't know. Maybe it's a little bit of the devil--he seems fond of encouraging extreme swings. I'm so thinking C.S. Lewis right now, and his statement about the "opposite and equal errors" people make about the devil. Either way, the thoughts are mine. And I'm giving them the boot.

What thoughts about yourself are rattling around inside your little head? Have you ever taken a look at the contradictions? Stop. Think. Reject the lies.

most awkward scenarios ever, part II

The company Christmas party. Yes, it’s just about that time of year again.
Office Christmas parties can be rough, even if you work with decent folks. There’s just endless opportunities for awkwardness. Example: bringing a date. Do you? Don’t you? All of the married folk will bring their spouses. Who wants to be number seven at an eight-seat table? Awkward. But so is bringing a random date to fill that eighth seat. More awkward. There is bound to be a bit of inquisition, especially since he is not a committed significant other. The best solutions I’ve come up with thus far are to a) bring my mom, or b) join forces with other single gals at the office and claim our own table.

But what if we went for a third option? What if we took the awkwardness up a few more notches? Instead of a regular date with an acquaintance—how about a blind date? Oh boy. Nothing says “doomed to fail” like a blind date at an office party.

Even better—how about all of the single girls in the office all bring a blind date? Now we’re talking pain. All of us could writhe in agony together.

But we’re not quite done—there’s one more bit of awkward joy we could add: each girl brings a buddy of hers as a blind date for one of her coworkers. We could draw names, like Secret Santa.

And the awkward bus has arrived.

So next time you’re at a company Christmas fling, single ladies—remember it could be worse. Much, much worse.

most awkward scenarios ever, part I

Sometimes it’s good to give yourself a little perspective—realize that whatever happened (or didn’t happen) isn’t, perhaps, quite as bad as you thought. Take a step back. Reduce the level of self-induced drama.

One of the most enjoyable ways to do that, in my opinion, is to imagine how horribly it could have gone.

Example: you spill half a glass of red wine on yourself at a party. Sad. But it could have been worse. You could have spilled your glass on another woman (perhaps your boss or pastor), and while floundering to help her clean up, you trip on the shag rug, accidentally grope her, and catch yourself on the wobbly end table—which has candles on it. The candles fall, and the alcohol-infused rug bursts into flame. You put it out, but burn your writing hand. You will now spend at least the next two weeks in awkward, pain-filled misery.

See, spilling some wine on yourself wasn’t so bad, after all, was it?

just another Saturday

This Saturday, my dad came over to help me limb the giant tree in my backyard. Not only is it just a bit too shady in the summer, it was also threatening my power lines and my garage. Here's a couple pics after we'd made our mess. The big branch on the driveway side is the most obvious difference, but the difficult part was on the power line side--we had to take the branches down a tiny piece at a time, mostly with a pole saw, trying to drop the branches neithr on our heads or onto the power lines. Good times. And...here's a couple pics after cleaning it all up. Happy sigh. Doesn't it look great? And I may even have enough firewood for half of next winter already.