Of asteroids and shattered glass

19 Apr

When I sit down to write these morning pages blogs, sometimes I have a silly thought or two on my mind. I start typing about it and then after a while, I have a little blog.

Some mornings I have a harder time that others. This would be one of those mornings. For one thing, I have some stuff on my mind, but I am grumpy about it and don’t feel like getting into that just now.

Do you ever tell yourself, “well that’s all resolved. That is completely behind me” only to find yourself, out of the blue, sometime later rehashing it all over again?

If you say you never do that, then I am the crazy one.

But I suspect everyone does that from time to time. It is like a little asteroid that orbits the brain. Sometimes it is out of sight, but then–“Oh, look! An asteroid…” and it comes circling round again. I should just wait for it to circle back to the dark side of my brain where I can’t see it anymore.

Sometimes I worry about what is really going on on the dark side of my brain.  Should I send an expedition to go blow up the asteroid? Can Bruce Willis and Ben Affleck help me with this?

The main reason I don’t want to go into it right now is, it will sound whinny.  No matter the situation, there are no fine vintages of whine. They’re all pretty chalky and sour. You need to let a whine ferment into a well thought out bitch before you unleash it upon someone else. I don’t want to whine, but I definitely don’t mind bitching.  Bitching can be very bitchin’.

I’ve written this before because I say it all the time: we tell ourselves stories.

I see that all day long. People come to me to tell me things about their jobs and their lives. I find people are often more troubled by the story they tell themselves about a situation than they are about what is really going on. They have decided what someone else is thinking, or they have discerned a definite motive for the way someone behaves, or they just know what is going to happen if that do or say a certain thing.

I often ask people if they’ve discussed something they are upset about with the person who has upset them and they answer, “No. She knows how I feel!” Why do you think she knows?  “She should know!” Yes, well…she might not.

The thing is. And I don’t want to break anyone’s heart, but–the thing is, you are the center of your own universe but that is the only universe of which you are the center. Everyone else is the center of their own personal universe and you know what? They might not really be as obsessed with you as you think they are.

Often if I get involved enough in one of these situations to actually circle back with the person who “should have known” how the other person felt, I find out they are on a completely different page than the offendee.

“Where in the world did she get that impression?” The short answer is, she made it up. She sat herself down for “story time” and then told herself a story which she took to heart. And the story became “real life” even though it wasn’t.

I keep saying “she” here, but men do this too. Kids do it. We all do it. I’m not a psychologist, nor do I play one on TV. But I do have a lot of conversations with a lot of people and I tell you, we’re all spinning tales all the time. I think our brains are just wired that way. It comes from trying to make order out of the zillions of things that cross our line of vision and our minds all day. “Let me just arrange all this” our ego or id or one of those things that occupies our mind tells us. And it busily goes about doing just that.

As Shakespeare said:  “Life…is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”

I don’t think we’re all idiots, but life is most certainly a tale we tell ourselves. Often that tale signifies nothing, as in, it isn’t even a close approximation of reality, but we let ourselves be guided by it anyway.

Some belief systems will tell you that life is an illusion. I don’t know about that, but there are certainly aspects of life that aren’t what they seem. We have only to discern the real story to make the illusion go away.

Of course, some illusions make us happy.  In one of my more emo teenage moments, I wrote in my journal:

“What happens when the illusions shatter and all that is left is the cold, sharp glass?”

I didn’t have an answer. At the age of 16, I am not even sure I understood the question. All I know for sure  is, someone needs to get a broom and a dust pan and clean that up before someone gets cut.

“No–don’t step over there. There’s shards of broken illusion over there and you might hurt yourself.”

I’m just lighting one cigarette of thought off of the butt of another thought here. Chain smoking thoughts that I am not at all sure are connected. Not to mention, mixing metaphors like a drunken poet.

I think I just mixed a metaphor and threw in a simile.

As we sometimes joke in my house, “We’re having fun with our friend, Mr. Language!” As if life is really just a bad kid’s TV show.

Oh, I am on some sort of coffee driven typing frenzy now!

If you’ve read this far, well then, God bless you. I had no idea where I was going with all of this and here we are.  At that place I had no idea we were going to, and I still don’t know where we are. I’d best stop before I get completely lost.

Have a good day. Watch out for stray asteroids, mixed metaphors and shards of shattered illusions.

Happy Thursday

One Response to “Of asteroids and shattered glass”

  1. Pamela N Red April 19, 2012 at 9:13 am #

    Good morning and happy Thursday, Bill. Watch out for those pieces of shattered illusions they’ll get you every time.

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