kitsch

one of the more difficult parts of being a part of life is how continuous and routine it is. each of us wakes at a designated time and completes tasks set before us, whether it's bringing home the bacon, raising offspring, or getting an education. in some ways, this routine is nice. it gives us purpose to our day, it keeps our destructive sides at bay, and allows us to connect with people on a more consistent level. i mean, turn on the tv and some constipated looking reporter lets you know a whole village in peru has been washed away in floods and a new study shows we're all going to die from using our cell phone; all i have to do is turn it off and go floss my teeth. there.  i've given purpose to my day by keeping plaque at bay.  if i'm really bothered by it, maybe i'll update my facebook status and get it off my chest; this way i'm both being globally minded and fostering open internet relationships. even better. what i'm trying to say is, i like routine and can shelter myself from things out of the ordinary, that is, until it happens to me. and that's when it gets difficult.

i like to think of humans as homemade stuff. like pottery. each piece can be made beautifully and even look a like, but when you trace your fingers over it, you know each one is slightly different. you can feel the patterns of the potters hand moving in a slightly different course and perhaps it's a bit heavier than the others.  i know this isn't a new concept, in fact, it's rather cliche. but it makes too much sense for me to try to think of a wittier analogy. i only bring it up to say, i forget there's nothing wrong with me or my life but i choose to look at the pattern of those lives around me instead of the textures. because we all resemble one another in some fashion, i unconsciously choose to believe we should be experiencing the same things and responding in the same ways. i wrongly believe our textures are identical. to put it bluntly, i'm sitting in a minivan in triple digit heat sipping on a coffee that was supposed to be iced -but the barista forgot that part so i cram a donut in my face for size to see if that makes up for the mix up. i try to memorize one bible verse, ONE verse for the week, and already forgot it over the weekend, plus i have a wonderful six month relationship gone down the drain on my mind. of course i'm  picking up a beautiful fifteen year old kid i nanny who is an AWANA poster child, nibbling on a single whole grain pita chip who already is feeling refreshed from its nutrients, and is gushing about a boy who is pursuing her with more fervor and romance than mr. darcy himself. and then she turns to you and flashes a sickeningly gorgeous smile and says, "bri, sometimes i wish we could switch lives." that's when it hit me in the gut: she's feeling that smooth even part in her texture of life and i'm definitely feeling that grain. or that part where i got dropped and shattered into a trillion pieces that incidentally got stepped on by orphaned babies and accidentally made their feet bleed.

i, probably more than the average person, love things that are different, but somehow that doesn't seem to apply to issues of the heart. i have found in my young 21 years on earth, that i haven't encountered anything more difficult than having your heart broken over things that have happened in your life, and hearing your alarm clock go off in the morning. because as soon as that alarm clock goes off, your feet hit the carpet and you feel your heart chained to your ankles and that's how you start your day. walking around, dragging that beast of emotion behind you and no one else sees it or feels it like you do. their lives carry on and yours does too, which is so bizarre. how it must feel to wake up after your village has been decimated and realize no one but your community cares. or how it feels to know your spouse has three months to live and you have three wedding invitations on your fridge. or how it feels to be utterly depressed and be in the presence of a dear friend who's life is full of happiness.
life is always hit and miss. it seems cruel but i know that i know better than that. i want a pity party, really. but i don't necessarily want to take the time to stop and listen to the pulses of souls placed in my life to bleed with them to hold their hand or hold a punching bag. i want to change that. existing amidst the routine is hard! i want to be with people who  can link arms together and take these days one at a time. 

i express this whole topic often to friends and family who nod in agreement but it makes me more frustrated.  get angry with me man! i can't decide if i'm frustrated at them for being shallow minded dimwits or my inability to clearly express myself. judging by this stream of consciousness, i'm going with the latter. i hope that one day though i'll gripe the usual, "life needs to stop so i can deal with one thing at a time." and that person will unexpectedly punch me in the face and yell back, "YOU'RE RIGHT!"