Taking Chances

So many truisms, social rules and so-called sage advice call for prudence, conservatism, and “doing the proper thing.” It almost feels sometimes as if we function only for the greater good. Such lofty ideals are cold comfort when living a life of many shades of grey; when things are not cut-and-dry; when emotions spill out of their boxes.

In my lowest moments, I am tempted to step back, reign in, erect another wall, deflect, internalized, and to be fine!!

But mostly, what I want is just to be. To be blue when I am, be high when I am, be insecure, unsure of myself, feel foolish, frustrated, upset, confused, and not have to deal with all the guilt that comes with that baggage. To not listen to the voice in my head that goes: quit whining and pull yourself together! At least, not yet.

I like taking chances. But I haven’t always. After graduating from college, I set off to NYC to find a job, then to grow and develop professionally, then to build a career, then to get the most out of my career, then to find gratification in my work, then to find meaning in something outside my work, and finally, to find myself. I knew who I was but I wasn’t sure what I might become, or more specifically, what I’d dare become. So I stopped doing the proper thing, and set out to find what life held in store for me.

I like taking chances: in love, in life, in work, and in small day-to-day occasions. Like walking across a creek on a slippery wet log, or trying to scale down a mossy steep cliff wall only to abandon the attempt when the reality of a 50-foot drop set in.

Every now and again, I run into a brick wall, and it smarts. Every now and again, I have to come back the way I came, backtrack, take an alternative route, rethink, reassess, and occasionally, regret, despair and woefully admit that I don’t have my head screwed on right; that I am capable, even at the grand age of 33+, of acts of incredible stupidity.

And in my better moments, I can laugh at myself, knowing that the journey of self-discovery is a twisted labyrinth, holding many secrets, surprises, and who knows what else.

But I like taking chances. And even with all the dents, knocks, slaps and occasional closed-fist punches, I hope I never lose the chutzpah to keep on taking them.

Life Bits and Bites

I found my first deer shed this week, and it’s a good one. Must be nice to shed parts of you that you don’t care for.

It’s the week of spring break and for once, I care. And for the first time in months, I feel like I can catch a breath. And catch up on a few things in life. Including things I don’t care for.

I actually dared to start a book again, my first for 2010. After a fantastic year of reading in 2009, I came to an almost complete standstill on that front, barely able to keep up with class readings and relevant scientific papers. It’s Gabriel Garcia Marquez’ “Love in the Time of Cholera,” one of the few books that upon picking it up for the first time, I read it cover-to-cover and started it over. It’s been years since and I don’t remember what moved me when I read it before.

I broke one of my rules and started collecting books again. I’ve been breaking a few rules that have served me well in life, and have suffered for it. But heck, at least I haven’t broken the “no skulls until you get furniture” rule. (PD skulls, bison hooves, rattlesnake skins and turtle shells don’t count).

I sometimes think southern Illinois has rubbed off on me more than I’d care to admit. I have my NYC license plates hanging on my wall and now, antlers?! I hope this is about as redneck as I get.

My brother-in-law used to say that after I left NYC, I had been “declassified,” i.e. fallen far, far from the classy lady I once was. I may not be a lady but I’m more woman now than ever before. I guess that’s okay.

Ouch

I might need to keep my fist-waiving activities to a minimum this week. Feeling a little blue, a little bruised and a little broken down. Not broken, mind you, but some patching is in order, with some duct tape of time, self-reflective lube and multi-tool heart-afixing.

Bugger. Life strikes again…