On faith, hope, and worry

I’m sure there is some tenet of some religion (or many religions) that holds that worry isn’t cool because it’s a sign you don’t have enough faith in the good Lord above. I’m sure I’ve heard this preached, or read it preached, and I’m sure I believe it.

I’m sure there is a school of intellectual discourse that holds that worry isn’t cool because it’s fruitless. Worry doesn’t change what will or won’t be; it only makes you miserable. I’m sure I believe it.

I’m sure I have always loved the poem Desiderata since I first read it posted on one of the secretary’s bulletin boards at the first job I ever had. It talks about not giving in to worry:

Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

I’m sure I believe it.

As sure as I am of these, I’m also sure I’m a worrier. A gut-clenching, heavy-hearted, deep-sighing worrier.

Like my dad. Not at all like my mom. She takes after my grandpap, who seemed to define the word happy-go-lucky. I sure didn’t get the h-g-l gene.

I’m sure the moments, minutes, hours, even years of my life lost to worry have never accomplished a darn thing. Nothing desirable anyway.

So why does it persist? Do I lack the faith…the intellect…the soul of a poet? All three?

If I pray to stop worrying, does that mean I have faith?

If I constantly tell myself it’s useless to worry, does that mean I’m smart?

If I keep going back to Desiderata, does that mean I have hope?

And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labours and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul. With all its shams, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful.

Strive to be happy.

I don’t know what it means. I don’t know what a lot of things mean. But I do know that that, at least, is not something to worry about. I wish I could convince myself that nothing else is either.

Let not your heart be troubled.
~ John: 14:1

Thanks, perfect strangers

It’s Sunday night and I worked in my office most of the day, so don’t have a lot of energy to write a meaningful post. But I would like to acknowledge that when Mike and I were at Home Depot yesterday in what had to be our 197th trip for the sunroom project, no less than 4 people — fellow customers mind you, not HD employees — stopped what they were doing, came over to us, and offered to help us wrangle the three sheets of plywood we were buying.

The first time, a young man with his girlfriend or wife walked by us in the aisle, left his big cart, and came over to help us with our task. Just a couple minutes later, another guy walking by asked if he could help us. Outside, the woman loading her purchases into her car next to us offered her help, and not a minute later, a man walked over from his car parked in another aisle to help. It was so darn nice. (Maybe it means I am looking really old and incapable these days, but regardless, it was nice.) And it made me more conscious of doing the same in similar situations where I can offer a helping hand.

That’s all. Just a little slice of life that really stood out as a highlight of the weekend. That must be what is meant by the term “perfect strangers.”

What this world needs is a new kind of army — the army of the kind. 
~ Cleveland Amory 

No we in team

I was having an email chat with a friend a couple weeks ago, and I mentioned that I get all my “news” from the checkout line tabloids. He answered that he was usually too busy chatting with his significant other (SO) to notice them, and that they usually do self-checkout to save time and avoid having to interact with mindless clerks (yeah, he’s a little antisocial that way — I love him). He also said it’s a good exercise in teamwork/efficiency.

Two things about our exchange struck me.

First: He and his SO have been together for about 25 years. Twenty-five years and they still find things to chat about in the checkout line.

Contrast this to Mike and me: I usually grocery shop alone, but when Mike and I are together, and we’ve crisscrossed Walmart 27 times and lost each other 3 times, we are anything but chatty by the time we hit the checkout. Usually I’m thinking about how much I don’t want to go home and put all this stuff away, or about how hungry I am, or how full (because we shopped after eating out), or how quickly I can put my jammies on. I have no idea what Mike is thinking about, because, well, I don’t really care. We have been together about 9 years.

Second: They are a team and handle self-checkout with ease and aplomb.

Contrast this to Mike and me: We only do self-checkout at Lowes or Home Depot and only if we have a small number of items. A typical exchange goes like this:

  1. Approach the self-checkout computer. Stare at it awhile before figuring out we need to press Scan Your First Item to begin.
  2. Run the item over the scanner 3 or 4 times before it works. Whoever isn’t doing the scanning snarls “Hold it THIS way. Don’t tilt it like that. Here let ME do it.” and then grabs the item out of the other one’s hand.
  3. Repeat for however many items we have.
  4. Occasionally get rebuked by the machine for not putting the item in a bag, or not moving it to the right spot, or not doing something. When this happens, snarl at the other person for not doing it right.
  5. Stare at the screen when we’ve scanned all the items, trying to figure out what to do next.
  6. Snarl at the other person to select Finish and Pay.
  7. Stare at the screen trying to figure out what to do next when presented with 27 payment options.
  8. Snarl at the other person to select Pay with Lowes/Home Depot Credit Card.
  9. Stare at the screen, which tells us to finish paying with the keypad.
  10. Look confused until we interpret this and locate the keypad.
  11. Swipe our card (the wrong way) while the other person snarls to do it THIS way.
  12. Complete the transaction (at last).

Not exactly a model of teamwork/efficiency. Dysfunctionality, yes. Teamwork/Efficiency, no.

Clearly, Mike and I are the Bickersons whereas our friends are the Nelsons or the Cleavers or (I’m searching for a modern “congenial couple” equivalent and can’t come up with one).

I hate that we’re like this. Seriously, we frequently snip and snap at each other over stupid stuff. Something my sister once called me out on, saying basically, “You should hear what you sound like.”

I know. It’s not pretty.

WE know it’s not pretty.

I’d love to change it, but realistically, it’s pretty much a part of our relationship.

We can snip and snap one second and be all, “Hey, did you see this article?” or “What do you want to do for dinner?” the next second. Our squabbles don’t usually turn into anything bigger, and we actually know we’re doing it. We frequently do the snip-snap-snarl over something stupid, look at each other and start laughing.

We are both stubborn. We are both passive-aggressive. We both feel that we’re right most all of the time.

I’m sure the marriage counselors would have a field day with us (“words hurt;” “change your tone;” “Use ‘I feel’ language instead of ‘you never’ or ‘you always;’” blah, blah).

Yeah, we’re one for the books alright. A textbook case of how not to communicate with your SO. How not to behave with your SO. How not to interact with your SO.

There’s way too little we in this team and way too much me (errr him, errr us as individuals).

But you know what, it sorta works for us. We really do love each other, even though our words often don’t reflect that.

That’s not to say it couldn’t work better, or that we don’t need to keep trying to improve. It could and we do.

But, so far, 9 years in, it’s working. And I’m grateful.

I’m also grateful for my friends — the ideal couple — to remind us that it IS possible to still have something to chat about in the checkout line after 25 years. And that working together can be an asset rather than an exercise in frustration. They give us something to strive for.

And, most importantly, I’m grateful that even though there’s no we in our team, there is a mate. The right one for each of us.

I love being married. It’s so great to find that one special person
you want to annoy for the rest of your life.

~ Rita Rudner 

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