By Cherimie Crane Weatherford
There are rare, precious moments throughout my week that are void of catastrophe, humiliation, and strategically placed stressed. When those moments occur, I find myself somewhat lost, drifting aimlessly in unfamiliar peace. Although they do occur frequently, sometimes even weekly, they are always a surprise. Similar to tax season or a hangover, I know they are coming yet shocked as can be when they do in fact arrive. I find myself currently enjoying such a moment and quite frankly it is slightly uncomfortable. Pessimism isn’t my color, but positive precaution seems to bring out my baby blues. When not otherwise preoccupied with extinguishing and/or fanning the flames of an unusually hectic career in real estate, my brain tiptoes around thought as if terrified of waking an unsuspecting creature of chaos. In other words, I am bored.
It is in boredom where I often find myself in some sort of trouble. Whether it be over estimating my ability to rearrange, renovate or refinish some inanimate object, fancy myself as Jane Fonda and hit the weights, challenge Rachael Ray’s latest humanly impossible recipe, or at my worst, cut my own hair. So to avoid an unfinished do-it-yourself disaster, an emergency room visit, and having to call my hairdresser to undo my do, I reckon it is best that I sit and ponder.
In my preventative ponder, I realize that life occurs memorably in those unprotected moments. As deep as in thought a person can go, it is impossible for me to retrieve either a pleasurable or painful experience that was gained through sitting still and minding my manners. Obviously, minding my manners gained useful experience but nothing really overly outstanding came from it; not that I can easily recall anyway. It makes me wonder if life is best lived well, live?
Each delicately placed freckle, wrinkle and scar remind me of the moments that were without prior planning, precaution, and in some instances, the common sense God gave a squirrel; however, each is like a turned down page in my favorite book. By looking at them, I am transformed immediately to a moment in time that either makes for a tremendous story and/or taught me to look before leaping, especially into a glass door. It happens.
No matter how hard I try, I just can’t find any moment in my peculiarly positioned existence that is worth remembering where there wasn’t some occurrence of questionable measure. Obviously it is likely that I buried deeply into the abyss that is recollection many a moment that didn’t showcase my finer characteristics, but that is perfect example of free will, and it is free will that is the basis for every story worth telling, or worth hiding.
In conclusion of my sitting still and behaving, even if just for a few moments, it is crystal clear that my flare for the fiery, my tendency towards trepidation, and my speak-now-think-later approach has made for a relatively interesting, although absurd, life. The “what if’s?” and “why nots?” and “heck yeahs” make it worth the ride. After all, like my extremely eccentric and often intoxicated college professor used to eloquently slur: “Fifty percent of LIFE is ‘if,’ the rest is just filler.”
