Skip to main content

Mondays Mean More: Over-thinking

I am, by nature, a thinker. A details person, through-and-through. Combine the two, and I might go so far as to say that it is in my blood to over-think most things in life. It is a rare occasion when I act too quickly or make a decision without extended time to consider all potential angles.

(The exception is speaking too soon. I do that regularly. Then my over-thinker kicks in and I spend the next six weeks wondering what sort of damage I've done. Usually, the other person hasn't noticed, or lets it go far before I do.)

As you might guess, this often gets me into trouble - I stress out over unnecessary things. Decisions that should be simple and obvious. Group activities that require the consideration of more than six peoples' feelings. The consequences of the off-handed comment I made to a friend two weeks ago. This blog entry, that I've been thinking about for 2 weeks and writing for 2 days.

It is now Tuesday morning, and my life-twin Nadine has just said to me, "Man, brains need a pause button." She didn't know that I am in the middle of writing these thoughts down. And that's why she's my life-twin.

It's my own fault that I'm here. In this particular situation, it started with an increased curiousity about who exactly is reading my blog. So I searched out a little info from my stats counter, which was mildly helpful. Someone in Portland reads my blog. But I don't know anyone there. Then a friend texted me that she'd just spent 2 hours catching up on my blog. Then more people came out of the woodwork. It was encouraging. Exciting. And frightening.

If I don't know who's reading my random thoughts, I can't control their perception of me. They know me better than I know them. I've given the world access into my head and my heart. For someone who considers herself fairly private, I'm not sure what I was thinking.

Where am I going with all these thoughts? This entry is already a day late.

It's been hard to write when I've become absorbed with who is reading. And I'm not gonna lie, I've been a bit nervous about the things I've realized regarding readership (which is why complete access to information via the internet is a dangerous thing). But at the end of the day, I don't want to change my blogging behaviour out of fear. So I won't.

Go to sleep, over-thinker. It's time to put your mind on pause.


Kendra said…
Dear Beth,

I live in Portland. And I read your blog. I found your blog in a very round-about way, but it's just so honest and fun that I've kept reading. I'm pretty sure we're kindred spirits. If you're ever in Portland, (which you should be, it's lovely) you have a friend here.

Beth said…
Kendra, Thanks for leaving a note! I'm happy to have you here in my head...and if you blog, I'd love a look inside yours!

I haven't made it to Portland yet, but I do want to come. If/when I do, I'll be sure to blog about it so I can touch base with you :)

Popular posts from this blog

What About Travis!?

I just watched Hope Floats, the second movie in my I-really-need-to-vegetate night. Now that we have more than three channels, there are so many quality programs on TV! Like movies in the middle of the week. I enjoyed many of the lines in this movie, including:

"I went home and told my mama you had a seizure in my mouth."
(referring to her first french-kissing experience)

"Dancing's just a conversation between two people. Talk to me."
(the conversation in our living room then went,
Girl 1: Only Harry Connick Jr. could say that line without it being incredibly cheezy.
Boy: Without it being cheezy? That's all I heard. Cheez, cheez, cheez.
Girl 2: Yeah, but it was sexy, sexy cheez...sigh.)
"Better do what she says, Travis. Grandma stuffs little dogs."

Bernice: At home we had a pet skunk. Mama used to call it Justin Matisse. Do you think that's just a coincidence? All day long she would scream, "You stink Justin Matisse!" Then one day she just…

Fostering FAQ: What's Her (Mom's) Story?

This is probably the second most common question I hear about the baby currently in our care, right after, "Will you keep her?"

It comes in many forms:

"So, what's her story?"
"Is her mom in the picture?"
"How did she end up in your home?
"Is her mom a drug addict?"
"How could a mom not love such a cute baby!"

I get it. It's natural curiousity, and I know I've asked similar questions of my friends who are adoptive parents.

But here's what I'm learning: a child's story is their own. And equally as important, the parent's story is their own.

Imagine how it might feel to hear that for the foreseeable future, you are not allowed to care for your child. On top of whatever difficult circumstances you are already in - perhaps poverty, social isolation, lack of adequate housing, domestic violence, intergenerational trauma, drug or alcohol dependency, low cognitive functioning, or a myriad of other complex strug…

Simone Weil: On "Forms of the Implicit Love of God"

Simone Weil time again! One of the essays in Waiting for God is entitled "Forms of the Implicit Love of God." Her main argument is that before a soul has "direct contact" with God, there are three types of love that are implicitly the love of God, though they seem to have a different explicit object. That is, in loving X, you are really loving Y. (in this case, Y = God). As for the X of the equation, she lists:

Love of neighbor Love of the beauty of the world Love of religious practices and a special sidebar to Friendship
“Each has the virtue of a sacrament,” she writes. Each of these loves is something to be respected, honoured, and understood both symbolically and concretely. On each page of this essay, I found myself underlining profound, challenging, and thought-provoking words. There's so much to consider that I've gone back several times, mulling it over and wondering how my life would look if I truly believed even half of these things...

Here are a few …