The thoughts that come often unsought.

I believe there are two types of people in this world: forward thinkers and backward thinkers. My father-in-law is a prime example of a forward thinker. He does not dwell on the past because he knows he cannot change it. Instead he focuses on what he can change, taking life as it comes despite its hiccups and because of its joys. As a result, he is regarded as quite amiable and light hearted. Everyone he knows would most definitely say, “Jim is a very merry fellow.” I believe this is a direct product of forward thinking.

One of my great friends Carrie is another perfect example of a forward thinker. She literally lives life in the exact moment it’s happening, very rarely pausing to consider past regrets. In fact, she hardly thinks about the past at all. Most of her time is spent considering the possibilities of the minutes, hours, and days ahead of her. She dreams big and often, which makes her very exciting and excitable. But it has its downfalls, she’ll admit to that. Her childhood is a vast blur and most memories before yesterday are very, very faded. I will say, “Wasn’t it fun when we saw that movie a few weeks ago at the park?” And she will inevitably reply, “Remind me.”

I am the opposite. Anytime I let my mind relax, it automatically wanders to past moments, whether it’s the lunch conversation from yesterday’s workday or my first day of 3rd grade. My childhood is very vivid, my memories sharp and detailed. Positive side effects include sentimentality and attention to detail. I can recall feelings, smells, sights, and sounds from decades ago. But this, too, can backfire. Painful experiences heal at a snail’s pace when they are constantly on replay and I’ve always struggled with big changes. This doesn’t mean I am unable to move on from the past, consider the potentials in life, or dream about the future, just as I’m sure Father Baer and Carrie pause to reflect once in a while. What it means is that depending on our personalities, our minds wander in one of two directions, affecting how we live our day-to-day lives.

There is a distinct need for both types of thinkers to exist. It keeps us all balanced, people to help us reflect and those to help us look forward. That is a fact. What is not known is how to exactly channel those thoughts, backwards or forwards, positive or negative, into what we want them to be. We can only pick through what surfaces and try to understand why we think what we think without our brains exploding and try to rely on our opposing thinker friends and family to keep us in check.

Stereotypically men are not backward thinkers, forgetting things such as what she wore on the first date, when they said “I love you” for the first time, or what she asked for at the grocery store a few hours ago. Conversely, women are often branded as the scrapbook packrat type, rereading journals and remembering every last mistake. This is probably because men tend to be fixers and women tend to be reflectors, but like all stereotypes there is much room for disparity. My grandfather recalls the most obscure particulars from his childhood as if it was yesterday and I know many women who live life without looking back. It all depends where our passive thinking leads us and how it affects and trains us.

I notice it the most when I’m in the car and my mind is not being occupied by anything but default driving maneuvers and the occasional switch of the radio dial. As my mind relaxes instinctively, all of a sudden I’m back in high school singing Fiddler on the Roof or falling into my first kiss. I assure you it is completely reflexive, and I frequently jerk myself out of those memories and try to replace the space with where I want to be in five years instead of where I was. But it’s no use. We can try to fight our natural progression of thought as much as we like, but no amount of struggle can keep you from yourself. I’m hoping that will turn out to be a good thing.

The thoughts that come often unsought, and, as it were, drop into the mind, are commonly the most valuable of any we have. -John Locke, 1699

love and peace and rainbows

I’ve screamed like a little girl ever since I’ve been a little girl at anything and everything that happens to startle me. This trait has been passed down to me through generations of jumpy women and I must admit—it’s not flattering on me. This is no “oh dear me” scream, but more a “there is a giant man in a clown suit holding me at gunpoint” scream. I noticed it again last night when Baer said “It’s behind you! It’s going to bite your foot!” He was referring to a rabbit. I screamed. Ran. There was no rabbit. The morale of the story is that I’m too quick to fear and too jumpy to monitor exactly what noise is expelled from my mouth, thus being one of my least attractive qualities.

Before I became an old married lady a few weeks ago, I lived alone for a few glorious months in my very own apartment with all my very own space without having to share with a boy (not that I’m complaining). The only downside to this luxury were the minutes (or hours) before I fell asleep. It’s not like I’m afraid of the dark (lie), but I live in a very old house with many other tenants and you can’t help but notice all sorts of noises at night. I tried earplugs, I tried fans, I tried Sleepy Time Tea, but ended up lying awake just the same, imagining a large, lumbering predator creeping around my bedroom door at any second. Even after I fell asleep, I’d wake up eventually due to a very small bladder and a very large thirst. It was not uncommon for me shout into the darkness “You don’t scare me!” on the way to the lav. It was also not uncommon for me to shriek at the shadows cast by trees, birthday balloons, or my own dense self.

I don’t know where this alarm comes from. I was breastfed, nurtured, never allowed to watch Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and forced to go to Vacation Bible School. I never watch horror movies and I always make sure to close my eyes during any sort of other movie scene that might haunt me later. I realize there are some advantages to this sensitivity; however, most of the time I feel quite childish after screaming over my shadow or a harmless little rabbit. The problem is not paranoia; even after my car was broken into yesterday in broad daylight, I still do not fear walking around city. I am not one of those girls who carries pepper spray or rape whistles (not that there’s anything wrong with that), and I’m not worried about the Swine Flu. I suppose it’s the suddenness that bothers me, the unexpected.

Though I sleep well now, I am still tormented by the jitters every now and again which is not only an inconvenience but puts a strain on my ego. Weakness is not attractive, and while I’m not in the market to impress too many people, I feel I’m letting myself down by screaming like five-year old when someone unexpectedly comes around a corner. The feeling of fear and associated anxiety is included with our birth; it guides us to safety and is our survival mechanism, even our friend. But we were not made to live in that state continuously.

There are hundreds of pills that are available to quiet our inner voices, though most of us could be calmed by simply changing the channel. We are obsessed with death in this country, the fear of our own demise and the fascination of other people’s suffering consumes television and movies. I don’t own a TV, but I have seen enough movies and watched enough TV to have those images imprinted on my brain. Yet even without fictionalized horror, there is enough real life violence happening every second to make anyone paranoid. The news reeks of it, the world aches because of it. Americans like to ignore it, and I understand why. But like I’ve said before, ignorance is bliss but also socially irresponsible. Ignoring injustice creates the very wars that caused it in the first place. I am great at ignoring things, but I try not to ignore the fact that there is unjust suffering all around us. I just don’t know what to do about it or how to stop it from keeping me up at night.

It is believed by many that our thoughts create our reality; if we focus on disease and fear of disease, we are creating disease, if we focus on arguing, we create more arguing, if we focus war and crime, we create more war and crime. Of course it works in both directions, if we focus on peace, we create peace, if we focus on compassion and love, we create more compassion and love and if we focus on health and healing, we bring health into reality. I don’t know if this is true but I doubt that if I buy a yoga mat and sit and think about love and peace and rainbows I will be any less jumpy or satisfy any starving babies. But I’m a skeptic.

I suppose some positive thinking could do everyone some good, and I know that many would suggest a healthy dose of Jesus. I am also aware that fear is notably tied to our personalities, and my often inopportune vivid imagination combined with a certain sensitivity plays a large role in how I perceive the world. It is changing those perceptions that becomes the question; how? I don’t know the answer. I do know that it helps to shut your eyes and plug your ears and think about Christmas morning and waffles, but that is just a temporary solution to a much deeper problem. One that I’m assuming only divine intervention can ever really solve. Until then, stop jumping out from behind corners (it is not as funny as you think it is) and I will try to stop screaming in your face.

11:11

I am not a superstitious person; being raised Mennonite made it easy to avoid astrology signs and 1-800 psychic hotlines and those foul rabbit’s feet people attach to their key chains. God is a much cheaper (and hygienic) genie, and growing up I used him at every crossroad to plead for his divine intervention. Please don’t let my parents die. Please make my hair grow faster. Please don’t let my car break down. Please help me find my phone. In some of my more desperate moments I tried to bargain and work deals with the Almighty, but to no avail. God is sort of stubborn. Yet somehow I have arrived at a point in my life where I’ve stopped asking for big things.

This realization is recent. Last night at 11:11 when Baer said, “Make a wish,” I thought, “I have none.” My job is secure, my family is in good health, I just married a SFH at a perfect wedding, and I own a Dyson. What more could I want? I hesitate to write this not only because I sound incredibly conceited, but for those of you who are superstitious—I am jinxing myself to bad luck.

In third grade our teacher told us we should say “blessed” and not “lucky” because nothing in life happens by chance. I think about this every now and then when I’m forced to concede to the fact that I am fine and having nothing to complain about. I always use “lucky” though because “I am blessed” sounds old-fashioned and churchy. While I’m not superstitious, I did panic last night trying to come up with something wish-worthy. I did not think I was lucky or blessed to not have any requests, instead I worried I had forgotten something I desperately need.

I know this feeling of having everything I want is very temporary. My personality tends to dream big and let’s face it—I just got back from my honeymoon and we all know that euphoria has an expiration date. But before I return to a life of want and worry, I should pause in this brief peace of mind and enjoy the calm. I think this means living in the present, but I refuse to get any more cliché and start “carpe-dieming” everyone into a bad mood.  It’s just so odd to be content and I keep wondering if other people also feel this way on a regular basis. I certainly hope not. Ignorance is bliss but it can become so very tasteless. I will try to keep my joy to myself.

In other news, it’s summer and I haven’t written in quite a long time. Actually, I haven’t done a lot of things in a long time. I haven’t read books, drank uncaffeinated beverages, eaten meaty meals, or slept well in months. Those days are over, however, which most likely contributes to this newfound gratification with life. Today I was walking through the city on an errand for work when I came upon a pack of wild kindergarteners on a field trip. They were laughing and shouting and holding hands while their two tired looking teachers tried to usher them into a straight line. When I passed them, they all screamed “HI, HI, HI” and waved at me hysterically. Normally I would smile and roll my eyes at such a display, but today I found them so terribly beautiful and funny that tears came up behind my eyes. Perhaps I need to get a grip. Remind me when I return to my regularly scheduled self of this wonderful time when hamburgers taste like heaven and screaming children make me cry.

PS: I ended up wishing for Rita’s lemon water ice. I couldn’t think of anything else. Life is good.  (Knock on wood)