Compensation

For once, I was in an aisle in the make-up section of Wal-Mart. I happened to notice a little boy of around five who was throwing something up in the air and catching it distractedly while his mother talked to him (also distractedly, as she was picking out the best shade for her skin tone, I suppose).

I paused for a moment in the next aisle, and after not finding what I needed, went on to the third. There again was the mother and child, but neither had seemed to notice me yet. As I searched, I overheard the mother asking the boy if a certain shade of nail polish was "right" for her. The boy actually gave her feedback, although I don't remember his exact words.

The sociological stereotyper in me found this funny as much as I tried to fight it, and as much as I knew there was really nothing wrong with the picture. I was surprised that a male child of such a young age would bother to give his mother feedback on something like nail polish. I couldn't help but wonder if "shopping trips with mom" in this fashion would cause him to grow up more feminine than if he had gone "tool shopping with dad" (assuming there is a father in the picture, of course).

However, as I moved further down and the two began to leave, the boy noticed me for the first time and stopped almost mid-sentence about the nail polish. He was awkwardly quiet until they were almost out of the aisle, when he very abruptly changed the subject by asking his mom loudly, "You know I played basketball at school today?"

I think I got my answer.

Shall I Chance It?

I'm not one to take certain kinds of chances easily. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. Why would I risk putting myself on the line when there is a possibility for failure in the imminent future?

But doesn't that same threat apply to daily life?

According to this logic, why should I get out of bed and put on clothes to face the world outside? Why should I even bother to attend classes, do the homework, take tests, or write papers? Why should I talk to anyone or go through the strenuous effort of maintaining a serious lasting relationship? Why should I even consider a future ahead of me that is anything but dismal?

I could meet with any manner of disaster daily. Rejection, disappointment, insufficiency, etc., etc. Even death! Yet, even though this "terrifying" prospect of basic day-to-day living now seems greater than taking advantage of any fresh opportunity that could present itself to me, I still hesitate. I reconsider sending in that application, and cringe at the thought of it until I hear a response if I do submit. I have second thoughts about going to that meeting where I might not know anyone personally, and will often skip it entirely to my own later dismay. I keep the question or comment to myself in class, even though at first I think it might be relevant.

Why is it easier to deal with larger uncertainty than a microcosm of it?

If I can chance total failure and rejection daily in front of everyone, then why the hell can't I just let go, step out of my safety zone, and try something for myself? Thinking that my sense of self is too fragile for me is only an illusion, especially considering that it's obviously not too fragile for my unforgiving society. I don't want to be known as the general who wins great wars but not small battles. It just doesn't make sense.

Therefore, I'm going to try and stop it. If I can deal with modern life, I can deal with silly chances that present themselves and grasp within them the possibility of a greater, more enriched life rather than the likelihood of catastrophe.

"Sorry, Wrong Number!" Text Message

Everyone hates to get the phone call from someone random looking for a Myrtle or Jim that you never knew existed. Usually it's an elderly woman that you can barely understand, or a guy who is pissed at you for the fact that he's dialed your number instead of his buddy's three times in a row.

But what about a text message of the same caliber?

This evening I got a text message from a number that was not saved in my phone (not that this fact in itself is surprising). The text read, verbatim: "Hey ambie its jjohnnie cum up to the school if u can lol im already here early my neighbor dropped me off or i coulsnt cum to gymnastics"

WHAT.

So I sent an admittedly over-the-top persnickety message in return: "Well that's very interesting, Johnnie, but I'm afraid I'll have to pass considering my name is not 'Ambie' and the last thing I want to be is in high school again."

The reply: "I am very sorry wrong #"

Is it just me, or was there a noticeable tone change between the first and second messages?

Anyway, the thing I realized in this ridiculous endeavor is that "wrong number text messages" are way more fun than "wrong number phone calls." For some reason, at least on my part, I feel more inclined to respond freely rather than politely. While those who call you generally know you about as well as someone who texts you, you don't have to hear a voice through a text and they don't hear yours. It's not so personal, and it leaves room for mischievous amusement that is less stressful. It's also easier to back out if the amusement turns sour, as ignoring a text message seems more undemanding than arguing with someone verbally which could lead to hanging up on them.

Is this the "prank call" of the future?? :)

It also made me realize that the war I'm going to have wage with my children later in life isn't "Eat your vegetables," but "PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD WRITE OUT YOUR WORDS."