Month: March 2015

Three things I’ve learned:

Life is scary no matter what you choose.

*****   You can choose safety and bad things can happen.

*****    You can take a risk and bad things can happen.

*****    You can survive the bad things.

It’s okay to be afraid as long as you do it anyway.

*****     Fear is a normal human emotion – and so is panic.

*****     We can learn to control fear and panic.

*****     Courage is also a normal human emotion.

If you don’t do it, you will never get it.

*****   This is clearly a given. It makes perfect sense.

*****    You’ll never win the lottery if you don’t buy the ticket.

Buy the ticket, damn it!

I took this one as proof there is someone who can fix anything. You just have to look in the right place.

There’s a lot of discussion today over our rights as citizens. Sometimes it seems like some of us think we’re entitled to do pretty much whatever we want. But if there’s one thing Americans truly seem to consider their right to do, it’s to sue. Whether or not someone is going to file a lawsuit over what happened is often the first thing that comes to our minds when we read the news. Whether or not a lawsuit turns out well is another story. Take the guy who only wanted everyone to see him praying in public.

http://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation/2015/03/04/man-burned-by-fajitas-cant-sue-applebees/24403053/

If you read this, you’ll know his exercise of his right didn’t turn out to be the gold mine I’m sure he was hoping for. The thing that really gets me though, is wouldn’t you think having everyone around him snickering would be enough punishment? Why in the world would you take such an embarrassing incident to a more public level by filing a lawsuit? Did he think it would be less embarrassing when repeated in a court of law? I mean, what was his thought process: “Hey, guess what, I was trying to appear really cool and uber-religious so God and everyone around me would notice how great I was but those d*^* people at Applebee’s screwed it up. If they hadn’t served me hot food like I asked for, I wouldn’t have gotten burned and there would have been applause instead of laughter.”

Perhaps it’s just me, because I go out of my way to hide my embarrassing missteps. Believe me, there are a number of them. But it’s my fervent hope that most of you will never know what they are. My philosophy is if you didn’t happen to be there at the time to enjoy it in its original form, you aren’t going to learn about them from me. This philosophy is one of the reasons I skipped my high school reunion. I knew it would go any better than actual high school had when they sent me this questionnaire that asked me to write down my most embarrassing memories during that time. I thought, why in the hell would I do that? Just because the rest of you may have lost your hair or your cheerleader figure doesn’t mean I’ve lost my common sense. What happened at high school needs to stay buried in that locker.

Found this today and it’s the perfect scapegoat, I mean explanation for my crazy trip:

http://elitedaily.com/life/culture/wanderlust-gene-people-born-travel/953464/?utm_source=huffingtonpost.com&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=pubexchange

It’s clear now that it’s all genetic. The craziness is in my blood. I was born to wander on this journey:

“According to Dobbs, the mutant form of the DRD4 gene, 7r, results in people who are “more likely to take risks; explore new places, ideas, foods, relationships, drugs, or sexual opportunities,” he went on to say that bearers of this gene, “generally embrace movement, change, and adventure.”

Of course, there is the caveat at the end of the article:

“…while carriers of this genetic variant might be “incredibly resourceful, pioneering, creative,” and more predisposed for wanderlust, they also might be “utterly out of control.”

I either need to renew my passport or get serious help.

I once got my friend, Kristen, yelled at. It wasn’t intentional. I’d been saying things to make her laugh, and of course she did. Our boss fussed, saying she was being too loud and no one else could concentrate. Kristen looked at me, then asked, “why didn’t she yell at you too? You were the one talking.”

I thought to myself, well, duh, I know how to whisper. That quality defined most of my life. I was the kid no teacher remembered was there, the person sitting in the corner who nobody remembered coming to the party. I was, and still am, quiet.

But I’m learning not to whisper. Maybe the whole journey thing is a big shout out to the Universe to say, HEY, I’M STILL HERE! And I’m looking to do some yelling.