Month: April 2016
I walked
Shock and Awww
“Somewhere,
something
incredible
is waiting
to be known.”
~Carl Sagan
People use the word ‘shock’ a lot. The news keeps telling us how shocked we should be. Politicians are always shocked. Most things they use the word shock for, are not, in fact, shocking.
Shockingly, we’re still cavepeople. We just happen to be living in a modern world. The modern trend is toward being positive, but there is a reason humans tend to be negative. It kept us alive. It was important to caution your family, friends, even strangers about: the wolves in the forest, the cliff behind the bush, the saber tooth tiger about to jump on their head, the rabid bats in the cave, the poison berries, and so on. We spoke of, then later, wrote about negative things not always to dwell on them, but to often to help others, protect others. And sometimes, other times, it’s just mean.
Now we warn people about bad restaurants on Yelp, about faulty products, bad apps, terrible service, overcharging, scams, hoaxes, crimes, we even warn people are triggers and spoilers…Constant weather talk, a throwback to warning people about possible dangers. Gossip. Complaining. Oversharing on social media. Maybe it all throws back to this instinct to warn people. And when we feel people aren’t heeding the warnings, more aggressive, provocative, shocking language and images are used.
Things people are shocked by…but why?
1. It’s not shocking when someone dies. Poor, rich, old, young, famous, unknown…it can be sad, sudden, heartbreaking, but not shocking. To the best of my knowledge, everyone dies, unless there’s something I don’t know.
2. People make stuff up to get attention, money, power, and all kinds of stuff. People lie for all kinds of reason and sometimes, for no reason. Stupid, but not shocking.
3. TV, movies, even most books aren’t supposed to be your moral compass. Shockingly many of them contain questionable moral content. They’re entertainment.
4. Adultery and cheating. Why call them shocking? Wouldn’t have-your-cake-and-eat-it-too-cowards be more accurate?
5. News about money, sports, politics that you hear will make no sense whatsoever, sometimes in the same sentence, definitely 5 minutes from now, an hour, day, month, year. Too often confabulation, time-fillers, ratings-getters. When there’s blood in the water, in the race to tell us something, anything there’s little time for facts. Pathetic, pandering, and vacuous, not shocking.
6. Business is meant to be confusing, so don’t be shocked that Guerrilla Marketing doesn’t involve putting guerillas in adorable outfits while using the latest iPhone apps, and The Fatal 2% Rule has to do with market share, not 2% of main characters on TV shows being killed off, cough, cough, The Walking Dead, Game of Thrones, cough, cough.
7. It’s not shocking when fictional characters do bad things, things you don’t agree with, and even when they die (see #6)…it actually makes them less fictional and more realistic.
8. Relationships are uber complicated, ok, sometimes shockingly so…
9. Celebrities do weird stuff, say weird stuff, and/or wear weird stuff to get attention, you know, publicity. Shocker.
10. People do horrible things to each other, and for each other. You don’t have to like it, but it’s not shocking.
11. Don’t be shocked when people show their true colours and/or let you down, just try not to put yourself in the position where they can do it again.
12. It’s not shocking kittens and puppies are cute. Ok, maybe shock and awww.
We want to warn people of bad things, but it’s also human nature to spread joy, beauty, kindness, happiness and hope…the good. Blogs, books, art, music, poetry, tweets, updates, texts, email, TV, movies – information wants to be shared, given, known, to be free. Don’t be shocked when it does. Be grateful.
Thinking Out Loud
I was never particularly a girlie-girl, despite my mother’s valiant attempts.
You know the drill, cute, bright dresses and outfits (my Mom sewed), sometimes sleeping with curlers or rags in my long chestnut hair, and of course, hair decorations and thingamabobs (bows, ribbons, and remember that yarn in our pigtails?).
It didn’t take.
I wasn’t exactly a tomboy either.
Just a girl, who grew, slowly, into a woman.
My favourite colour now is black (yes, I’m aware it’s not actually a colour; black objects absorb all the colours of the visible spectrum and reflect none of them to the eyes, but humour me). My hair is a sexy (sure, ok) bob, though enduring the awkward process of growing out decades of hair dye. Not a ribbon or bow in sight.
My friends were an intriguing mixture of girlie and not-so-girlie, but we all had one thing in common, we were obsessed with one thing: numbers. Bra size. When we got our first period. How long each period was. How many days between periods. Weight. Height. Phone numbers. How many boys you’d kissed, or wanted to kiss, or who wanted to kiss you.
Oh yes, and occasionally grades in school slipped into that all important number cluster. It was all a numbers game.
From this angle, at this age, those numbers now seem adorable.
Reaching numbers in the 40s or 50s? You might as well have said I’d be driving a flying car, or getting my supper from a food replicator.
Those numbers were Sci-Fi.
Now they’re Non-Fiction.
For decades I’ve ridden the roller-coaster of confidence.
High up, I throw my hands in the air, tasting the ripe plum of thrills; believing I’d made the right choice…knowing I could do anything I put my mind to.
Then racing down, down, down to uncertain, overwhelmed, unsure.
My brain screaming, even if it never reaches my lips.
The sense that I could achieve being mercilessly pummeled by doubt.
Fear whipping cruelly at my hair.
Procrastination punching relentlessly at my gut.
The bar that should be protecting me from falling instead holds me in.
I chase challenges, but crash, tumble, fail to engage. The risks are too big. Too scary.
What if I disappoint?
What if I impress and can’t do it again?
Does everyone ride this roller-coaster, or do they ride the Ferris wheel, a perfect circle of confidence, around and around? Maybe they’re just better at faking it.
I don’t want to be the heroine or the victim in my story, just the writer. The writer who has snacks. Tasty snacks. Maybe a comfy chair or couch. And the ability to share her story.
The internet has helped spread that story. I love the internet, it connects people in ways never, ever imagined. And if you don’t have anyone to argue with, just express an opinion then…wait. And watch some cat videos.
A feeling of lassitude, tedium, ennui grips me. The usual stuff isn’t doing it for me. I have battled the demons of depression and anxiety, unashamed; their claws rake at me, their teeth snap at me, bloody, but not broken, I go on.
This seems like something else, could it be boredom? I hope not. Not my best state. It’s destructive. Causing zoning out, not caring, not engaging, or looking for routes to relieve that boredom, usually with negative consequences.
Boredom doesn’t have to always be bad. It can cause ignition. Spark. My boredom doesn’t feel like a visit from apathy, or its twin, indifference.
I’m not feeling particularly restrained or confined, no more than usual.
I feel thoughts wandering to ways to ease this blanket of boredom. So could this be the searching type of boredom? Looking for something. Open to new possibilities, positive changes? Could anticipation, expectation be masquerading as boredom?
My Grandma would’ve said I should pull up my bootstraps. But what if those straps are so worn, so frayed…just about to snap? She’d probably tell me to dig deeper and pull harder. I’m trying, Grandma.
yadadarcyyada 