It’s a miracle I’m alive after a near-fatal almost-accident this morning- a Tundra ran me off the right lane – presumably because he decided to exit from the left lane onto the right-sided exit ramp too late- so I was forced to slam on my brakes (possibly in need of replacement now), screeching in halt, spinning off in a 180- off the highway, into the construction zone of I-75, left in a cloud of dust and fog underneath falling rain.
So, in light of that, I find myself suddenly conscious of my mortality- thoughtfully combing over what life is really all about and such.
In retrospect, my instincts warned me to turn around when I got into the car and I realized how much I hated what I had chosen to wear. I have this irrational fear of wasting good clothes on quiet days like today. “Who am I potentially seeing today?” I ask myself as I get dressed each morning. However, I’d probably run into my soap-opera-esque worst enemy on the day I’m dressed like a suburban soccer mom (yes, I was wearing a Juicy velour track suit) and bad clothes put me into the worst mood.
Well, bad clothes, fluorescently-lit places, and casual dining restaurant chains.
Fully aware of how melodramatic this is going to seem: I liken the awful mood that takes over me to encountering a Dementor – suddenly the world is a dark, depressing place- everything is ugly and pudgy and uniform- what’s the point of living, of trying, of going on- why even work hard when life is basically free t-shirts from blood drives, bad skin, rowdy kids, and mozzarella sticks.
Not to get all Oprah on you- but, I’ve been musing over newly grasped wisdom that I will now bestow on you, my test audience.
First, let me warn you- this hit me during tedious LSAT prep, when my mind tends to wander and stuff that would be obvious to anyone else is suddenly crystal-clear to me.
Recently, I found out I was proposed to old-school Arab style where I’m informed that someone wants to marry me by his parents asking my parents.
My Mom, who has been ready to get rid of me since I was 10, was all “just tell me where to sign.” But, my Dad immediately refused and I mistakenly learned all this went down this past Friday.
When I asked my Dad who the guy was and why nobody told me (normally, there’d be a tea ceremony of sorts)- he told me who he was didn’t matter because he knows the guy would never make me happy.
I’ve never given much thought to happiness. I still don’t really, but I appreciate that my Dad does on my behalf.
My attentions have always been focused elsewhere, and at times I find myself unsure of myself and how to proceed.
I’m not one to ever subscribe to a passive “have faith” philosophy- “what’s meant to be will be” would never comfort me. The game of life is like archery- you can’t be spineless, you must be flexible, you have to stand firmly, and most importantly: to hit your target, you have to withdraw first, take a step back, and evaluate: not the big picture, but the entire picture.
I hope you’re inspired.
On that note, good day.
xx
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