Why the whimsy?

Why the Whimsy? 

And why all “cloak-n-dagger” about your blog? 

Warning: This post isn’t nearly as entertaining as some of the others might be.  I’m kind of getting a little personal here.  So if you could really care less because you don’t know me – or if you really do care less — maybe you don’t need to spend your time on this one?  Of course, as always, the time is yours.

People who converse with me at my work must surely think I’m the most boring waste of carbon to walk the planet.  You see, I work at a place where I have to be a grown-up.  Above all, integrity is the motto.  Anything I say or do as a representative of that company that could be misconstrued to be offensive in any way would reflect poorly on the company, not just me.  And in my line of work, the possibilities for doing so are truly endless.  Therefore, as long as I want to speak freely as a non-representative of my company — just li’l ol’ me — “cloak-n-dagger” it is.  (P.S. — If you do know who I am, I’d much appreciate it if you wouldn’t spread it around.  Many Thanks!)

As to the “why…”.  I recently had a bit of a revelation about my life and my job and how they were fitting together.  It looked kind of like this:

Yeah.  Not so great.  I realized that if I didn’t take steps to alter that picture it wouldn’t be long before there was no more “me”.  Oh, I might keep on living for a while: heart beating, brain functioning, maybe even hanging onto my job by my increasingly bloody fingernails.  But somewhere along this road, if I continue in this way, I will lose myself.  And that would be a cryin’ shame cause dangit I ain’t so bad and I know I have something more to contribute to this world than what I do in my job!

It’s not a bad job.  It’s a great job.  And I’m very grateful for it and, frankly, I’m really very good at it.  I actually love my job sometimes.  And I hate my job sometimes.  Everybody has up’s and down’s.  But it’s not what I wanted to end up doing every day of my life.  It’s not what I had planned.

If you had asked me when I was four what I wanted to be when I grew up, I would have said, “a doctor.”  If you had asked me the same question anytime through the middle of my Sophomore year in college, I would have given the same answer.

Check it:  My parents had a “Mother’s Encyclopedia” in our library.  The thing was about three inches thick and chock full of colored pictures of diseases and the insides of homo sapiens.  It was 640 pages of sage wisdom and advice from the perspective of 1965 medical knowledge.  Egads!  I was fascinated by this book.  I had memorized a good chunk of it by second grade.  By the time I was ten, there wasn’t any part you could have stumped me on.  My peers were so shocked about the whole “sex-ed” thing in school.  Puh-lease!  I’ve known how to talk to your own kids about it since I was six!  And did you know that all doctors are… MALE?  At least that’s what the pictures show and the text says to consult “him.”  I thought for the longest time that I was going to be the first female doctor… ever!  So excited.

But I did not become a doctor.

Another career path that could have easily swept me off my feet would have been “acting.”  Crazy, I know.  You can tell how much I really hate performing by all this audio interpretation I’m embedding in this blog.

Before I learned that I wasn’t safe to be me, I was a total hambone.  I learned to read at an early age and had a favorite book that I never simply read, oh no!

This book must be performed!  To merely read it would be a tragedy indeed.  “The Monster at the End of this Book” was my go-to monologue.  I remember at the tender age of four, my parents opened our home to some college girls who were traveling with a university performance group.  Company… in our house!  New blood!  I couldn’t wait to show them my version of “The Monster at the End of this Book.”  They laughed hysterically and told my parents over and over how adorably bright and charming I was.  The more they bought, the more I sold until it was long past my bedtime.  As I dozed off I wondered if I could be a doctor and an actor at the same time…

I pursued thespianism further in college — 3 years while also pursuing other degrees — and found it just as fulfilling if not even more so.  It’s a truly personal art, requiring immense discipline in all areas of one’s life, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love it.  Yup, there’s that word again.

But I did not become an actor.

When I expressed an interest in learning to play the piano, my father purchased an old beat-up clunker to see if I would really take to it.  After my first lesson, I came home to practice and laid hands on the piano for the first time.  Two seconds into my practice I walked in to see my father.  “Dad,” with hands on my hips, “This piano is out of tune.”  My parents knew then they’d better get a better piano.

What can I say, I had a knack for it.  Plunking became fingering exercises which became chording, then broken-chording, then embellishment, then composition.  My music became a solace for me: a magical moment in time and space where I could commune with the truth of my soul in the most perfect of all languages… music.

I picked up a few other instruments along the way.  It seemed that anything I set my mind to, I could do.  Any instrument I wanted to play, I could play it.

But I didn’t become a musician, nor a composer.

You may be trying to divine the reasons for my unspeakable lack of consummation.  But, you would probably be wrong.  Interestingly, when my shoulder angels and devils debate, I usually go with the angel.  My devils are highly entertaining and often effectively convincing, but I know better and I’ve chosen better the majority of my life.

The “why’s” of this lack of fulfillment really boggles my mind.  I know it, and yet I don’t.  John Greenleaf Whittier penned, “For of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these: ‘It might have been!’

So to answer the question, “Why the whimsy,” with regard to this blog?  Why not talk about politics or religion or the environment or aid to the needy or preventing child and animal abuse,… or any number of those things which I am also passionate about?  There’s already so much heavy in a lot of people’s lives, including mine.  I think we need more light.  This blog is my gateway to catharsis.  I have a lot of creativity fighting to get out of me and a lot of lost time to make up for.  This is a warm-up for greater things to come.

Tons and Masses and Billions of Super-Confetti Thanks for reading!  (There’s more to read, you know? You don’t have to stop here ;-))  I’ll catch you down the street!

Peace.

About imacrab

I'm on the road to find myself. Although, I had no idea there'd be so much construction.
This entry was posted in Gum on my shoe and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Why the whimsy?

  1. AR2 says:

    I know what you mean. It’s amazing how many opportunities in life, and it’s interesting to see which ones we choose and which we don’t. There are many things I wish I would have done that I didn’t and I’m not sure why. Sometimes I think it’s fear or a sense of duty…whatever the reason, I think there’s a lot of value in living life as it comes and finding time amidst everything to make something of yourself…be it something great and world-renowned or something less-renowned but much-beloved and appreciated by those who are lucky enough to know you. I think it’s fantastic that you HAVE taken the time to cultivate those skills! Also, I appreciate your stories and the chance to laugh and enjoy some “light” creative humor. 🙂

    • imacrab says:

      Aw-w-w-w Thanks, AR2! I’m blushing. You are a true gem. I’m so blessed to know you. Thank you for sharing your insights and for reading! Huzzah!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s