Change is inevitable, necessary and even desired. We choose change all the time. We change our oil, address, hair color, diet, job, friends, toilet paper roll, underwear and even our operating system. We contemplate change regularly. Should I trade in my old car? Get a new pair of shoes? Change cell phone providers? Would the kitchen look better with yellow walls? Should I buy 2 percent milk instead of whole?
According to the all-knowing internet, humans worry because we live, at least partially, in the future. Most worries are about future events. The future is uncertain. Uncertainty means we are not in control. Loss of control is scary — and worrisome. Giraffes, and most other animals, do not worry because they do not live in the future. If a lion attacks, they run. When they are done running they go about their daily business — if they are still alive. With either outcome, worry doesn't enter the picture. Fear, yes. Worry, no. Since we are not giraffes, we lie awake in bed at night and let anxiety get the best of us.
A few times a year, my husband and I buy a lottery ticket. I always cross my fingers it's a lucky one. I hope we match lots of numbers. I want us to be winners. But I don't want to win the lottery. Not the whole thing. That would be too much. Mega-million dollars would turn my life upside down. It would change everything and change is hard. Even when it makes you mega-millions rich. Having mega millions would complicate life in ways I don't want complicated. I'd have to wonder if people liked me or my millions.
It's a simple concept and not at all hard to implement, yet we ignore opportunities for kindness all the time. Me included. We get busy or self-focused. We've got problems of our own and don't have time or energy to reach out to others. But we should.
Each of us has a limited amount to spend as we choose. And once time is gone, it's gone. There's no going back to five minutes ago to redo or re-experience.
In other countries, our American soccer is called football, which makes more sense because soccer (or football depending on where you live) predominantly involves kicking the ball — with one's feet. There's probably not a logical explanation for the name. Some things you just have to take at face value. Football is football. Unless, of course, it is soccer.
I loved Lucy in black and white on a screen that was more fat than flat. The picture was often fuzzy, something we called "snow." No one had high definition because it hadn't been invented yet. Nor had reality TV — unless you counted "The Lawrence Welk Show." We huddled around the extra-large, 24-inch picture tube console and got up from the couch when we wanted to change one of the four or five channels that our rabbit ears were able to pull in. <
Lately I've been feeling guilty about holidays. Days that are supposed to be celebrations filled with joy and fun fill me with dread and anxiety. I bet I'm not alone. Holidays often catch me off guard. I'm busy living my simple and ho-ho hum life when — bang! It's a national holiday, the kids are off school and I was supposed to bake a cake.
My calendar tells me where to go and what to do. With one quick glance I get a visual on how many days I have to prepare for Thanksgiving or whether my husband's birthday falls on a Thursday or Friday. By this time of year, the calendar is well-used and well-worn. It has been examined, peered at, studied and scrutinized so many times that its pages are no longer stapled neatly together.
What better way to be pampered than having someone make your bed?