February 17, 2015

It's another bad dream

Poison in my bloodstream

I'm dyin' but I can't scream

Will you show me the way?

~ "Wolf Bite"  |  Owl City

I am so fascinated by, and in awe of, people who are suited to a nice, quiet, "average" life and are truly content in it. People who can appreciate the joyful service in emptying the dishwasher, or who genuinely take pleasure in things like trying a new recipe, building a sturdy bookshelf, redecorating the house, or tinkering with the car. As in, they truly enjoy these tasks, without trying to find some lofty meaning behind them or sending their brain off on a melodrama while their hands work their tasks.

People like this may think they're not "special," but trust me, as a twitchy, disengaged person who lives her whole life waiting for some vague Adventure somewhere just around the riverbend, you are very special. Being able to truly pay attention to the details of your home project is special. It makes your work better and more reliable. Noticing the details in whether the flowers should be on this end of the bookshelf or that end is special. It makes your home cheerier. Truly investing yourself in the little things that keep our homes and businesses and entire society running, and truly living those things rather than just enduring them, is special.

I barely notice the muddy boot lying in the middle of the hall; I step over it (this really happened this evening, true story) and run to grab my computer or my book or my camera to continue whatever fantasy story I've been unraveling in my head all day. I sit red-faced in teleconferences, listening to executives laughing about the funny typos they found in my FINAL DRAFT WHICH I HAD SUBMITTED FOR FINAL APPROVAL, probably because I was listening to Rick Astley at the time or dreaming up a music video. I walk run out the door late every morning because I was up late the night before (just like I am tonight), listening to bad 80's rock ballads and writing dramatic comments on people's Facebook pages.

Solid, hardworking people like to pretend that we floaty, absent-minded people are something special, probably just because literature tends to portray us that way. But please believe me when I say that there is so much more value in the "little" things you actually do, than the "big" things I just sit on the couch and think about. And most of us know it, if we're honest. We cocoon ourselves in this little bubble of feeling "special" and "unique," but the reality is that most of us are just lazy, selfish, apathetic, and short-sighted.

Please feel free to give us a kick in the pants when our Anne Shirley-ing interrupts your good solid Gilbert Blythe-ing. Turns out we Annes need a little more reality than we think we do.