Lather, Rinse, Repeat

What could be more boring and mundane then shampoo? Well, maybe the instructions on how to use it. Lather, rinse, repeat.

If you haven't already noticed, I love to take an idea and apply it to life and morals. It's just a thing I have. A friend of a friend mentioned how monotonous life can get, especially when talking about good vs. evil. Nothing is more cliche then good triumphing over bad but it is the structure of life. There are endless ways to look at it.

So what does this have to do with shampoo? Well, no matter how clean we get our hair, we are just going to have to do it again. No matter how much we lather and rinse, we will have to repeat. There will always be a new, cool looking bottle with the same stuff in it. But it always comes back to the basics, whether it's making the right choice between gossiping or keeping it to ourselves, cutting someone off in our car or being more patient, or creating a home of frustration and anxiety or finding the peace within to share. Finding the goodness in the mundane is what it's all about.

And don't forget, you have a nice clean head to think with when facing the real challenges of good vs. evil :)

Photo by Clean Wal-Mart

Being Noticed

I'm not sure why, but I have a fear of being noticed. I struggle with compliments, watching eyes and the ever-unseen judgements people may pass on me.


The other day I realized a possible tribute to this insecurity. When I was about the age of 9 or 10, I was deeply involved in ballet. I had a part in the Nutcracker and I was very confident in my growing abilities, despite being one of the youngest. One day, during a long Saturday practice, I had an experience that would be burned into my brain even to this day. We had been split up into groups to practice our parts. I was in the blue group. The instructor called out for the blue group to take a water break. We quickly ran to line up at the drinking fountain where I was close to the front. As I waited, I suddenly realized to my horror that I was in line with the red group and they were realizing the same thing. I looked back and saw everyone looking at me with disdain. One girl said, "What are you doing? Your group is dancing right now." I ran back into the studio as fast as I could to find the music had already begun. I quickly jumped into my group that was in the middle of the floor, stuttering a little to catch up. "Stop the music!" I heard the instructor yell. All of us stopped and got into first position. The instructor called to me and said, "Come here right now." No one was moving, no one was allowing a sound. At this point, I only remember the instructor yelling at me in my face as the whole room, filled with ballet dancers I had looked up to for years now, stood watching. My heart still races when I think about it.


I don't blame the instructor, I don't blame the dancers, and I don't even blame myself. But somehow I have carried it with me. In times when my self-esteem is small, I back away from even the edge of the spotlight. I do whatever it takes to not be noticed no matter how small.


But today I make a conscience effort to warm myself by the spotlight. And if I happen to be in it, I must remember that the spotlight is not for others to see me but for me to see myself in a better light. I must appreciate being noticed...








Photo by nattydreadd

For Crying Out Loud!

I love to laugh, ah ha ha ha! Loud and long and clear. The more I laugh, ah ha ha ha. The more I'm a merrier me!

It's true. But I think more importantly, I love to find humor where ever it can lurk. Under the covers, in the kitchen, outside or in a car.

I thought today, What would my world be like without humor? I think my brain would be stuck in a perpetual state of dullness. Bland, Alfredo, dullness.

There are times when I get too serious, too caught up in saying the right thing, doing the right thing, following the path of plain. Sure there is stress to sprinkle in, pms to suffer through, and fits to be endured. But what if the stress was from being afraid I might fall on my face? What if the pms could be a way for me to express my loathing for people who scrunch their noses? How about watching your own child throw a fit and lose all feeling in their extremities? Can you see how these things might just be funny?

Well, I don't always find the humor. But I hope I do today. I can laugh at my own idiosyncrasies, they are called idiosyncrasies for heaven sakes. Ahaha, that's funny. For crying out loud, I wanna find that humor :)

Photo by cindy47452

Fear of Getting Hurt

I am afraid of getting hurt! When I was younger, I put a lot into my friendships. I tried to build the friends that I had. I tried to encourage, help, and make them laugh. I ran with them, jumped with them, played with them. And I think they did the same for me. But now I'm older. I have a life of my very own, derived from those traits I used when I was young. But where are my friends? Where are those nights when I cried on my friends shoulders, laughed at my friends jokes and talked endlessly about the wonders of life? Those times when the door to my heart was wide open and I was vulnerable and naive. My heart was untested, unbruised, and unscarred. There were no sharp pains at the thought of a lost friend.

But today, there are sharp pains, bruises, and scars. Today there is a door that is closed, tattered and worn. Why would I open that door today? Why would I expose what has already been exposed? Why would I ask to be bruised where I have already been bruised? What if it is the last hit this heart can take? What if I am not strong enough to handle the next blow? I can keep going down this hopeless path or I can face my fear and see what happens.

I wonder if I can find healing? I wonder if I can find opposition to the pain? I think I can turn the knob for my husband. I can creek the door open for my kids. I can pull the door open for my sisters and my parents. That way I can have the door open for my friends.

I think it is time to face my fear of getting hurt...

Photo by Gabriela Camerotti

Clown

I hate clowns! In fact, I have a fear of clowns. So is that clownerphobic? Ha! But why do they scare me? Is it because they share a fundamental similarity to myself? Is it because they live behind a mask? A mask they can't take off no matter how hard they scrub. Or maybe it's a mask they choose to keep on?

A week ago, I was challenged to face my fears. To stare down that round red nose, to scan over that white face, and look deep into those sad eyes. What I see is me. I'm afraid to admit my flaws, my insecurities, my doubts. In that way, I am very much a clown.

Photo by kT LindSAy