There needs to be a rehab program for those of us who prefer to spin one hundred plates at a time, while piling as much as we can onto them. Or maybe still, I just need to learn how to more effectively use my time.
Or, maybe, I just need to learn that everything isn’t always going to blow up in my face. Therefore my brain won’t need to spin in violent, dramatic replays, when ever something potentially bad is brought up.
It’s one of those things, there’s been so much, I just think I know better, that I know the outcome, and that I should just go ahead and crumble now, before it happens, so I’m all better by the time it happens. Sometimes it helps, sometimes I’m right, and sometimes I just waste an entire day grumbling in misery all for nothing.
Over thinking, it’s what us humans do. We’re at step A, and we’re planning out step R, while forgetting how to get to step B. We outline the potential losses, grieve long before the loss that may never even come to be, and we miss out on precious seconds of a way too short life. Just because of those “What if’s”.
And our lungs tighten, our blood pressure soars, and our souls fizzle out. Because life isn’t supposed to be this way. It’s supposed to be Martha Stewart, Little House on the Prairie (without all the epic illnesses), Leave it to Beaver, with a twist of I love Lucy and a sprinkle of Dick Van Dyke. It’s not supposed to be Everybody Loves Raymond without the laugh track.
Because sometimes life just isn’t funny. Not even those moments people tell you, “One day you’ll look back at this and laugh.” Sorry buddy, but that’s not from humor, it’s from my insane finally showing. Go ahead and call the guys with the giant white jacket, I promise to not fight.
Yet we know the routine; Fall Apart, Get Back Up, Move On. Lather, Rinse, Repeat. There’s no getting around it. There’s no switching the order. To learn to walk, you have to fall… over and over and over again. The more you push it, the faster you try to move, the worse the fall. And if you close your eyes, you’ll run straight into a corner and bust your head open. Ask my son.
So it’s a new day, a new week, a new month. Here’s to letting some plates drop, watching them shatter on the ground, and stomping on them while blasting music until they’re nothing more than a fine dust, and letting the kids draw smiley faced critters in the mess. Because that’s just the way life is. ❤
What’s on your spinning plate?