Don't Take Me Seriously - Book - Page 98
The universe is waiting to pop your balloon
S
o, you’ve just graduated from your inner-peace-meditation
class and are serenely driving home with Enya playing on the car stereo and
reed diffuser sticks wafting the aroma of lavender
all around you — when, of
course, some son of a gun
in a Beemer sports car cuts
you off. You slam on the
brakes, splattering concentrated flower-stink all over
your carpet. And before
you can chant “serenity
now,” the Beemer is gone
and you’ve been politely
rear-ended by a rusty van
with no license plates.
As you watch the van’s
occupants scatter like
cockroaches in a sudden
light, you ponder….
“Am I being tested?”
Well, of course you are,
Sparky.
Life is a test.
Well, actually, life is a
series of tests, broken up
by pop-quizzes, and followed up by one killer of a
final exam.
And the answers to life’s
tests are rarely true/false.
Usually, they’re multiple
choice.
So, in this particular automotive test, you have
several possible responses.
(A) break down and weep
(B) break out the booze
(C) break out the M-16
from your knocked-open
trunk and let the world
know you are ju-ust a little
frustrated
Oh, and the positive
choice?
It
Well, the
doesn’t
nambymatter
pamby
whether
new-age
it’s the
thing
devil,
to do
odds or
would
entroprobapy
beDON’T TAKE ME SERIOUSLY
bly be
hind the
to count
plot to
your blessings, be happy
torture you. The fact is,
your neck still works and
what goes up must eventulook around for that little
ally come down — what is
miracle that God must have beautiful gets door-dinged
in the parking lot, and what
planted on the street corner for you to see. He obvi- starts out as cute turns into
ously intended all this as a
a teenager.
Face it. For every hopeway to get your attention.
ful balloon you inflate, life
Well, either that or the
has an assortment of pins
devil drives a Beemer.
Later, when you get
waiting. And the larger the
(home/out of rehab/out of
balloon, the louder it’s goprison), you, once again,
ing to pop.
brood over the succession
Therefore, it would apof ordeals existence has
pear you have two choicthrown at you. Doesn’t it
es in lifestyle. You could
(1) blow up as many balseem that every time you
loons as you can, as fast as
hack your way through
life’s jungle-growth, just as you can. That way you’ll
always have a few pretty
you reach broad daylight,
balloons in place (though
you fall into a river?
Seriously, was there ever you might go deaf from the
a significant stretch of time continual sounds of popping). Or (2), you can suck
in your life when nothing
all the air out of your balmajor went wrong? Well,
loons (and your life) and
I mean, after your parents
hide with them under the
stopped paying for everycovers.
thing.
Jim
WALKER
Those of us in the Bipolar-bear Club alternate between these two styles.
But hold on. ... This just
in.
The self-awareness police have pulled me over. It
would seem I have a perception problem. Somehow
or another, I have the expectation that the “normal”
state of life should be ease,
not stress. I keep expecting
long stretches of smooth
highway between the potholes.
Probably like you, I always figure that, once I
swim free of the vortex I’m
currently in, there won’t
be any more whirlpools to
navigate.
You know, for the rest of
my life.
I mean, my expectation
for the easy life is so pervasive I’m always shocked
and feel unjustly persecuted when the stapler runs
out of staples — just when
I need one.
(Think about it….)
But, I am at this moment informed, in celestial terms, the potholes of
life are the norm, and the
smooth stretches are merely there to lull me into
semiconsciousness, so that
the next hole can jolt me
out of it so hard my forehead hits the steering
wheel — and, thereby, the
cosmic road crew gets a
good laugh at my expense.
OK, I think I’m catching
on. So then the trick to all
this would be to anticipate
life’s challenges. As soon
as things get smooth, you
should get nervous. Be paranoid. Cock your guns and
scan the horizon. Trouble
is coming and you need to
shoot first, right?
(Sound of “incorrect”
buzzer)
No? Well, what then?
Seriously? You’re putting
me on. The universe wants
me to enjoy the bumps? To
look forward to them as
opportunities to prove myself and grow?
Oi …. That sounds hard.
I don’t know about you
guys, but I’m going back
under the covers.
I think I’ll skip all these
tests. ... And just cram for
the final when the time
comes.
Jim Walker can be
reached at jwalker@thesignal.com. His column reflects his own views and
not necessarily those of
The Signal.
