Wednesday, October 2, 2013

My New Mantra


I was lying in my bed, feeling lazy and lethargic when my husband began prodding me to rise and greet the day, inquiring about my lack of ambition.  
“What’s wrong, Angela?” he asked as he sat himself down on the edge of the bed, shoving disheveled sheets out of the way in the process.
When I simply shrugged my shoulders, he maintained his inquisition by running through a series of possible explanations for my prolonged state of repose.  “Do you have stomach cramps again? Is your colitis acting up?” he probed.   “Does your back hurt? Are you anxious? Are you feeling depressed? What can I do?” 
I wasn’t anxious or depressed until that moment when he started barraging me with a series of questions.  I felt like a criminal under interrogation.
His interrogation tactics succeeded as I succumbed to his inquiry and admitted to recent feelings of worthlessness and doubt. I confessed to lingering disappointment and depression about my job loss the prior year.  I explained that I felt I wasn’t really contributing to society in a positive and productive way void of my full time teaching position.  I also acknowledged that new ambitions were developing in my soul.
“Maybe I am supposed to write now,” I said.  He looked at me a bit hesitantly.  I lost my job last year, and the truth is I’m still grieving this loss.  Another truth, however, is that I believe the cliché that things happen for a reason.  Right now, I wanted to believe that reason was my writing.
After all, hadn’t I been seeing signs everywhere?  I kept on seeing images and postings declaring platitudes akin to “When God closes a door, stop banging on it and trust that whatever is behind it is not for you.”  Regrettably, the prevalence of such declarations was probably not a sign of my destiny, and rather an indication I had been spending too much fucking time on Pinterest again.  Regardless, it was happier and more hopeful to believe, however deceived I might be.
My current worry was that I was also unwillingly deceived about my ability to write.  Maybe I didn’t have a talent.  Maybe I didn’t have a way with words.  Maybe I would never write anything more than an obscure little blog that I had dreadfully neglected over the past few months.  
“I don’t know,” I mumbled, “I mean, I want to write and sometimes I truly believe that’s what I am destined to do, but other times I fully doubt my ability.  I just fuck things up.”
“Angela, you do not.  You are a good writer.  Your blog is good,” he offered as means of encouragement.
This failed to appease my current doubt.  Good? Good?  I was good?  I didn’t want my husband, who ought to be my biggest supporter, to describe my work as merely “good.”  I wanted him to describe my writing as superior or stellar – not good.  His word choice was the equivalent of a coach patting the back of the worst fucking kid on the team with an “atta’ boy – nice effort.”  That wasn’t what I wanted; I wanted him to prompt me to write, prevail, and publish.
I gulped down more self-doubt with his words, and then whined, “Good? I’m just good?  I wish you believed in me more than that!”
 “I do believe in you.  You are better than good.  You’re more than adequate.”
More than adequate? More than adequate?  What the fuck kind of pep talk is that? 
 
 
As I fumed over his further word choice, a memory of an old SNL sketch flashed through my mind.  Rather than announcing though, “I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and doggone it, people like me,” I then imagined myself seated stoically in front of a mirror proclaiming, “I’m okay. I’m good. I’m more than adequate.” 
This would most assuredly become my new mantra.  I knew that the next time I just didn’t want to get out of bed on a Saturday morning, I need only assure myself that I am “more than adequate.”  I would repeat “I’m okay.  I’m good.  I’m more than adequate. I’m okay.  I’m good.  I’m more than adequate” until I believed those ultra-affirming words and awoke ready to embrace the day, and whatever challenge lay in my way. 
I’m okay. I’m good. I’m more than adequate. 

10 comments:

  1. I feel the need to defend your husband, he said some amazingly nice things about your blog when we were sitting around the campfire. He IS your biggest fan, your sister-wife is a close second ;)

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    1. His nice comments must have come while I was barrel rolling down the hill. :) And you know I love that man -- and my sister-wife.

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  2. You ARE good!!!
    Thanks for sharing this post. It's the best thing I read all day.....and I read A LOT today.

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    1. Thank you! I will take that comment if you read published works or other blogs, but not if the reading you did today was sophomore research essays. I've had to read A LOT of those before too, and it can sometimes be painful -- like the essay arguing that global warming wasn't real where the student's only source was his step-dad. Yikes! Thanks for stopping by my blog. :)

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  3. Are we married to the same man? Guess what husband said about the Blogger Idol thing? "That's good." He NEVER acts excited or thrilled for me like asshole husbands on tv. Whatever. Ill cheer you on. Your writing is SUPERB and your talent is IMMENSE. Go write. Preferably a book about non-communicative asshole husbands with the zest and emotion of a comatose squirrel.

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    1. Yes! Your IMPRESSIVE vocabulary her makes me very ELATED!

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  4. Are we married to the same man? Guess what husband said about the Blogger Idol thing? "That's good." He NEVER acts excited or thrilled for me like asshole husbands on tv. Whatever. Ill cheer you on. Your writing is SUPERB and your talent is IMMENSE. Go write. Preferably a book about non-communicative asshole husbands with the zest and emotion of a comatose squirrel.

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  5. Sing your own song - Beat your own drum
    Fly on the wind - it'll carry you.
    Dance your own dance – There’s no better chance
    Fly on the wind – it’ll carry you.
    Why hesitate when there's nothing to fear?
    Why do we wait with the moment right here?
    Be your own light - Keep your heart strong
    and sing your own song.
    by Miten - “Sing your own Song”

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    1. <3 Thanks! <3 Yes, why hesitate? You are correct, my dear smart friend.

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  6. I think his comment only serves to prove the point that he is perhaps NOT a stellar writer. While he may be willing to settle for an adjective so primitive as "good" to describe your fabulously stupendous writing, you are not. He may not have the best of vocabularies, but he has a warm heart that belongs to an amazing woman. <3

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