Friday, February 03, 2012
Some people refer to their memory as a vault; capable of retaining important information for decades, ready to be neatly opened to reveal valuable information like some sort of certificate.
They can remember key points of a speech someone gave in the past, or what time that ridiculous train arrives into Boston if it left the New York train station 3 hours earlier at maximum speed (ugghhhhh, somebody kill me!).
I remember the odd, useless stuff. I can tell you what color of socks you were wearing when I ran into you on the street 3 years ago, and likely what color they were the time before that (yes, really). If I noticed you picking the olives out of your enchilada dinner and pushing them into a little pile on your plate (looking like a stack of Hot Wheels tires), then I will forever remember to keep olives far far away from you. I cannot seem to forget my Junior high locker combination from 20+ years ago (18-36-24), no matter how hard I want to let it go.
My memory seems more like an elevator, not a vault.
I would like to think that we all want to excel in life, or get to the next level. At least out of the lobby area, right?
Come take a ride with me...
'Second floor please'
I read articles and books about how to better myself a times. I often try to apply that to my life:
Being confident in my work skills, and how to effectively ask for a raise (I can impress you).
How to stay engaged in a conversation and keep eye contact with someone while speaking to them (I want to show you respect).
How to make a savory chicken soup by not only reading the recipe, but feeling talented enough to color outside of the recipe lines a bit (I want to nourish you).
But when it comes to my behavior when I am in pain, no matter how much I read, I don't retain enough of the necessary tools for that critical moment. When my bodily pain starts to creak and moan and squeeze out all positive feelings from mere moments earlier, I seem lost.
The elevator in my mind has then slammed the shiny steel doors and sent the car to 'P' (Parking level), and for the life of me, I cannot remember where I parked my memory!!!
And then there is my denial about it: "what the heck?! I pushed the 5th floor, NOT 'P'! Who's driving this thing anyway???"
We all start off at the Lobby Level in life, right? No one wants to go below that floor. There's NOTHING fun at the 'B' level (Basement), trust me. I'm well aware (after many years of stubbornness and denial), that I cannot expect to graduate to the higher levels of life (err, floors), by attempting to skip over important steps. Nope, not even if you pry open that emergency door hatch in the elevator car, trying to scramble out and up a few floors on your own (believe me, I have tried).
I can try to blame the switchboard all I want to, but it is not faulty wiring. The used piece of gum smooshed into the 'Open Door' button is not to blame. Do you want to know why? Because I keep pushing the 'B' (Basement) button with my eyes closed, SO SURE that I am pressing '2' the whole time, and expecting to move upward in my life.
Insanity is exhibiting the same behavior over and over again and expecting different results right? Ouch. So true...
I know what I need to do, and I am certain that you know what you need to do in life as well. The fine details are individual, sure, but the framework is the same:
Set some goals
Devise a solid plan
Get a support team lined up and USE it
Slap on some tunnel vision
Create a back up plan
Add some grace for the inevitable hiccups along the way
(perhaps a bumper sticker for some laughs).
I can't cry all of the time as a result of my pain, and I can't blame anyone for it (unless that elevator door has closed on my fingers, and then it is sooooooo your fault!! Yowsers!).
In all reality, my health will continue to get worse, and my well of tears will dry up at this pace (and snot is not cute).
I can however, acknowledge that my ailments are mean and nasty, but NOT react in a way that is mean and nasty to my body. I can stop pretending that I don't need to listen my pain when it calls on me to pull that red Emergency Stop button.
I am so thankful for those of you on this ride with me. I appreciate your advice, your virtual shoulder, and those thumps in the head when I need it.
Don't worry, I won't push the 'Close Door' button on you as you gallup toward the elevator car, headed to higher floors of satisfaction in health and in life. I need you there with me!
Besides, it's WAY more fun to jump in the air just before the elevator car comes to a stop with someone next to you, right?