I’m going to use this forum to work through something that’s been on my mind lately. Growing up, my siblings and I were all fairly healthy. Despite a “Worrier’s stomach,” I was never seriously ill and was never sick more than a day at a time. I never had the Chickenpox, Measles, or Mono – even though my cousins seemed to suffer from chronic Mono and Tonsillitis. The only time I stepped inside a hospital was to see my mom and new baby sister. No broken bones or sprained anythings, though that was more luck than carefulness. My point is I was pretty healthy. And my siblings were very similar except my younger sister did have a case of the Chickenpox. At one point, I remember my brother commenting on the fact we were all so vigorous and wondered if we had some sort of strong immune system.
Subdued Tones
Therapeutic Tears
I’m about to admit something personal and I hope all of my 2.5 readers don’t get uncomfortable. Ready? I am a crybaby. Not in the complaining and whining sense (ok, maybe a little bit) but literally someone who cries. Let me explain before this gets forwarded to budding mental health therapists who need practice diagnosing poor saps. I am a social phobic which means I experience my fair share of panic attacks. Most people think I’m experiencing a panic attack when my face turns red. That is usually false. My face turns red when I talk and it has nothing to do with nerves until somebody points it out. Then the panic attack hits. My most common panic attack is actually crying. How embarrassing is that? I’m a grown woman and I start crying in public. Years ago I saw a mental health therapist. Her suggestion was that I let the tears flow uninhibited when I feel like crying. I’ve never been able to do that public display so instead, I’m going to write about it and post it on the internet. Maybe it will have the same end result?
On a Dime
Thursday: I was assigned to a CPR class at work. The annual CPR class is a requirement for each employee. The teacher told us that on average, each person will have to use CPR at least once in a lifetime. As I was getting ready to leave the class for the day I had a feeling I would be using the skills I relearned. I scowled at the thought. But the thought occurred to me I’d be using it soon. Perhaps, even that weekend.
My Nemesis
I have a nemesis. In the grand scheme of things, does it matter that I was equally offended in the process of events? My carnal nature says, “Yes, it matters. Take care of you.” My divine nature answers back, “No, it doesn’t matter. Take care of God’s children.” The amazing human body can heal itself from bumps, cuts, bruises, and scrapes. But an injured pride isn’t always so resilient. A soul that has indulged in bitterness makes the road to healing even more distant and painful.
No Regrets!
“No regrets!” that’s the naive mantra of youth. At one time in my life, more than a decade ago, it was my motto, also. To live a life with no regret is synonymous with living life to the fullest and always making the right choice. Or, at least, being content with the decisions you make. Regret means to “feel sorry for something” (Word dictionary). The ingenuous of youth looks at this definition and thinks, “It’s wrong to feel sorrow.”
To live a life with no regrets is only possible in one of two ways:
One, you always make the right choice. You never, ever make a wrong decision. This is technically impossible. You will make the wrong choice from time to time. If you’re foolhardy enough to never second guess yourself, well, bully for you! But that doesn’t mean you choose wisely in every decision that you make.
Two, you never learn better. You remain locked in a state of immaturity that never lets you gain wisdom. I wish there was a better way to learn than by trial and error. But sometimes, there isn’t. Some things you do will work. Some won’t. It’s a part of life. But to never regret or feel sorrow for making a wrong decision, that implies a prideful will too stubborn to see error. Personally, I don’t want to be that kind of person.
I am going to continue to make mistakes. Some I will recognize instantly and others other time. In both cases I may feel the pangs of regret. But that’s okay because it shows I’m growing and getting wiser. The youth can keep their infallibility and boldly declare, “No regrets!” As for me, I prefer the wisdom that comes from penitence.
Success
Elizabeth Taylor died last month, she was 79 years old. Born in 1932, she was only two years older than my dad. Ms. Taylor’s life is being described with adjectives such as: legend, actress, icon, larger than life. Twice she was awarded with the industry’s highest achievement, the Oscar. She possessed a humanitarian’s heart and received recognition for her efforts with the AIDS community.
The headlines also made note of her personal life which went in a vastly different direction than her professional career. Sordid details of her turbulent love affairs read like a juicy romance novel. Even though she married eight times and had seven spouses, she died single. Her four children are half-siblings as they have three different fathers. Later in her life, she had numerous physical ailments which prevented her from acting.
In contrast, my dad has been working at the same wearisome job for over 50 years. Why? He’s traveled over a million miles, 100 miles at a time, in order to provide a modest house and food for his family. For nearly 47 years he’s been married to the same woman. He is the model definition of a true father, provider, example, friend, and disciplinarian to his four children. His grand-children adore him. For more than thirty years, he has given up worldly vices and turned his life over to the Lord.
Who led a more successful life? Ms. Taylor may have received the accolades and the opulent lifestyle. But my father’s life, without a doubt, has been more successful.
ck's days 