When things happen to us the reason why is not always (immediately) clear. The logic is sometimes lacking and that can lead to gross misunderstanding. It can also cause damaged feelings and bruised egos. Rushing to any conclusion in an attempt to reconcile the happenings is a mistake.
When things happen to us the lesson we are meant to learn is not always (immediately) clear. The teaching bits are often muddled by the chaos and confusion unleashed by the previously mentioned misunderstanding. Sometimes living it isn’t enough. SOMETIMES you have to do the homework. That comes after the lesson. Regardless of whether there is a quiz to follow or not.
When things happen to us they are not always black and white. Sometimes situations and things fall into the grey zone. Sometimes it is not meant to happen to us. We can often be casualties caught up in the crossfire. And sometimes, what we are caught up in has nothing to do with us.
Junk in my Trunk
A few things have happened to me over the years, as I am sure many people have, leaving me asking really, that just happened?
Though if you ask my hubby the scales are imbalanced. I seem to get a seriously healthy dose of humiliating and humbling occurrences. I can handle (most of the time) the humiliating aspect of some events because I believe things are only as humiliating as you allow them to be. Some things that would naturally embarrass other people do not bother me.
When I was in the eighth grade my father drove me to and from school every day. There was no bus for me to take. I was attending a school in another town. By choice. I had moved and wanted to stay at the school I was currently attending. Even though I was picked on horribly, I had wanted to stay in a familiar situation when presented with the daunting task of trying to (once again) make new friends at another school. Looking back, perhaps, that wasn’t the best decision. But that’s another story (or blog post). Anyways, my father used to pull in to the parking lot, right up to the front doors. With the windows down and some kind of music (usually Beethoven or Mozart) blaring. And people would look. Stare. Whisper.
But I thought it was hilarious.
A couple of days ago I had a shift at the store, where I work part-time. I wore my favourite pair of jeans. For a couple of reasons they won my favour. They were the first pair of jeans I purchased after losing a significant amount of weight (after having my baby). They were a pewter grey colour. A neutral colour that went with everything. Whenever I had a rough day and needed something to wear (which can be more tasking than it appears) they were my go to. I wasn’t feeling my best that day. And having them on softened the blow.
My manager told me that our new district manager was stopping by later in the morning. She had yet to meet him. In walks a very friendly man, whom I greet, inquiring if he requires any help. In the background my manager is giggling, “I was going to see how far this was going to go” because dummy me was chatting up the DM. Sigh. While the two of them chatted business, I carried on tidying up the store. Always in need of TLC is our jean wall. So over I went to fix it up.
I squatted to put a pair on the bottom shelf. POP! The sound was actually audible. And it wasn’t my back. I was alone in that section of the store, so I snuck a quick feel (discreetly) of the crotch of my pants, hmm, there’s no tear there. So I stand. Whew, that’s a draft! And I glance down to find that the entire left inside thigh is ripped. Shredded. Done. Awe fuck. So I shuffle over to my manager and out of the side of my mouth say, totally just ripped my pants so I am headed to clearance to try and find a pair.
Everyone had a good giggle, myself included. The new DM asked if there was any way to sew them. How cute. But no. I tossed those suckers right there at the front cash. The pants I purchased to replace them did so only in their coverage.
Other Asinine Things
There have been many more mortifying moments in my life. Many more moments that would leave a person wondering, this can’t be real; she must be making this shit up! But I am not.
The summer before I turned sixteen a group of girlfriends and I attended a festival-style concert. We had packed up a bunch of snacks. When our bags were checked and the security team asked about the snacks my friend blurted out, “she’s a diabetic” while pointing at me. Not a year and a half later I was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes.
Got myself a fancy new hairdryer about a decade ago. I spent a lot of dosh on it. The gal at the store told me she had one. Loved it. It was the best ever. At the time I was working for a shoe store. While getting ready one morning I was running behind and grabbed the hairdryer to take the last of the dampness out of my hair. Mid-blow I heard a noise I cannot describe. But it scared me enough to shut the machine off and drop it. Only it didn’t fall to the ground. It hung there. From my hair. Apparently the dryer had an appetite for hair and not moisture. It had eaten a very visible chunk of my locks. Enough in fact that I had to book a hair CUT for after my shift. At that appointment I lost all of my hair. It was pixie short after that. And I hated it. But kept it that way for years because it was easier than the pains of growing it out. Turns out hubby wasn’t a fan either. Though he never said anything until I made the announcement that I was growing it back. I made him promise to stop me from cutting it in any drastic way. No matter how many tears are shed. Four years later all that remains of that event is a horrendous picture on my driver’s license.
Those are a couple of examples. Probably not enough to convince anyone that I seem to have more than my fair share of unpleasant luck. But some of the tales are absent of humour and I find those would be terribly out of place here. Again. Something for another day.
But. I have had a couple of giggle-worthy events. A bag full somewhere in this house, but I can’t find them right now. Ha ha. As I uncover more, I will surely keep you all in mind.
It’s Behind Me
We are never where we think we ought to be. And seldom where we want to be.
Why do you think that is?
Perhaps, it is because we humans are never satisfied. And that is completely different than being motivated. Dissatisfaction itself can be a motivating factor. But it is not the factor. Perhaps, we are too ever-changing. Never rested long enough to take in what is around us. All that we have accomplished. No pause long enough to admire our achievements. Instead we discount what we have gone through, the struggle, the goals met (even those not and some that have been reworked), the memories made.
We discount those things in favour of the future.
But should we?
Probably not. Never forget where it is you come from and what you have travelled through.
Like I said, the lesson isn’t always immediately clear.