Insecurity plagues me sometimes, particularly when I wonder what people think of me. Do they really like me? Or are they just being nice? Do they really think I’m a good writer, or are they just trying to encourage me? Does he think I’m attractive or fat? The list goes on and on, especially on days that I’m down. I often people watch while sitting in coffee shops and ponder what people think of me, both the people that pass me by and the people that really know me.
So, if given the chance to read minds for a day, I would seriously contemplate the pros and cons of doing so. I could discover what people really think of me, both those who think well of me and those who don’t. Would the confirmation of my friends’ love really be worth any potential bad feeling I stumbled upon? Perhaps. Perhaps not. Though I do already know people who genuinely don’t care for me, so perhaps finding out that more people could feel that way wouldn’t hurt as much as the betrayal I felt when I discovered that some people close to me genuinely don’t care for me. Ok, let’s be real. It would still hurt to find out that anyone doesn’t like me, and I have no reason to distrust what my close friends say to me. So perhaps reading minds for a day to discover what people think of me would end badly.
I could use the power for good though. I could learn what my friends really like and surprise them with gifts or excursions or whatnot. I could learn what they are intimidated by or afraid of and encourage them. Somehow, I don’t think this justifies reading minds for a day. I could just ask them these things and be open about my own likes and fears. Then we would all know.
So I suppose that I would not read minds for a day if given the choice. The risks outweigh any potential benefits. This is one time that I would rather not be sorry than safe.
According to the wisdom of the ages, it is “better to be safe than sorry”. I grew up hearing this old adage, and in general, I do think it is better to be safe that sorry, at least in most circumstances. Why cause problems or pain if it can be avoided? No one like to be hurt or frustrated.
However, I think there are times that it could be better to be sorry than safe. Well, only if the sorry means taking a risk that could end in sorry rather than safe. One such example is love. I have found that it is much, much better to be potentially sorry than safe when it comes to love and commitment. If I wasn’t willing to be hurt and sorry, then my relationship and friendships could never be deep and vulnerable and real. I wouldn’t stick around when the relationships were difficult and then I would be all alone. Being willing to be sorry (though it is quite hard and risky) has led me to be open and real with my friends and husband, which has led to deeper, meaningful relationships (and some heartache from failed relationships and friendships). I know that my close friends and husband will stand by me regardless of what happens in life. If you aren’t willing to risk it all (by which I mean every aspect of life or at least being hurt) for love, when are you willing to risk it all?
Embarking on adventures, particularly of the global variety, is another example of a time that it may be better to be sorry than safe. Being safe means being comfortable and not being willing to risk trying new things. I would much rather have adventures than do the same thing with my life every single day. I want to travel the world, though so far my traveling outside of the U.S. has been limited to countries whose names begin with ‘C’ and end in ‘a’ (Canada and China). I want to try food from around the world. On my adventures, I have discovered so many new foods that I love, and some that I just don’t like and find rather repulsive. Anyway, living an adventurous life doesn’t lead to many “what if?”s other than “what if I had stayed home?”.
Having a magic tree is not something I have ever seriously thought about. I’ve joked about having a money tree, but that’s about it. However, if I was to possess a magic tree, I think it would grow in the center of a secret, walled garden, much like the garden in The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett. It would be beautiful and bring the garden to life.
There would be a bench under my magic tree where I could sit and read in its shade. I would spend a lot of time around my magic tree, after all, it’s magic. Spending time near my magic tree would be, in a word, magical. Being in its presence would be enchanting and refreshing. All the cares of the world would pass me (and anyone who was with me) by when I was in my secret garden with the magic tree.
My magic tree would grow beautiful, big blossoms like a tulip tree, only bigger and more breathtakingly beautiful. These blossoms would be full of love so everyone who was given one would feel very loved and special. Love is what my magic tree would grow. Love that people could receive by touching the blossoms. I would share the love and beautiful blossoms by the bouquet to everyone who was willing to receive them.
Though I was born in Lansing, MI, I actually grew up in Lake Orion, MI since my parents moved there when I was about 3 months old. Lake Orion, MI was a great place to grow up because it is “where living is like a vacation!”. (That comment was both sincere and sarcastic simultaneously.)
Lake Orion, MI is one of the northern suburbs of Detroit, near Auburn Hills, Pontiac, and Rochester Hills. It now boasts of Great Lakes Crossing, a large mall of I-74 (exit 84B to be exact), but this mall didn’t exist until I was in my teens or so. When I was young, it was small. I don’t even think there was a grocery store in Lake Orion. I think we had to drive to Rochester Hills to go grocery shopping… I could be mistaken though. Anyway, it was small and quaint. My favorite place was one of the county parks a couple miles from my house. I would go hiking and practice my photography skills with my dad.
I lived in a small neighborhood and was friends with several girls. We would ride our bikes and play all the time. It was fun. I remember one fall when so many leaves fell in the backyard that we made a huge, long pile of leaves and played for hours.
Sadly, I moved away from Lake Orion when I was 12. The rest of my memories, along with my formative teenage years, were from our house in Rochester Hills, MI. But Lake Orion is where I grew up.
Vini, vidi, vinci. It’s Latin for “I came, I saw, I conquered.” That was my motto for my freshman year of college. I tried to be involved in everything. The Honors Program. Like three different music clubs and societies. 18 credit hours of class. Making lots of new friends. Figuring out life away from home. My first relationship. I was a tad bit ridiculous, especially since this schedule let me get an average of 4 hours of sleep per night for the entire year.
My schedule reached a critical point during fall semester when a bunch of projects and papers were due. I woke up on a Sunday and went to bed in the early hours of Thursday. I was awake for 88 hours straight. Lots of caffeine and sheer will power was involved. I was insane, I’ll admit that readily now. But I did it. And I survived to tell about it four years later. Take my advice though, don’t try it.
Good blogs, great books, fresh black coffee, lattes, writing, long conversations with friends, laughing, cardigans, black v-neck tees, sweet flats, traveling, learning new languages, baking, trying new recipes (especially from Espresso and Cream), taking pictures, experimenting with my camera, etc. … the list goes on and on. I love all of these things!
But what I can’t say no (or at least I haven’t been able to say no to yet), is a cranberry orange scone. I know, I know… scones aren’t the healthiest pastry on the planet. But I just can’t say no. I love them! It’s ridiculous, but true. I love cranberry orange scones. I blame Starbucks for this since I first got introduced to them at Starbucks. Oh well… such is life. I suppose there are worse things to not be able to say no to.
Discovering my hidden talent often scares people. They absolutely would never assume that I would even associate with anything related to my hidden talent, so it shocks them to find out…
…that I am actually a near-perfect shot with a rifle.
Yup. I am. Apparently it runs in my family. I discovered my talent while at summer camp during the summers between 5th grade and 8th grade. I love shooting. However, I don’t get to shoot much at all. Like never actually. I haven’t shot in years. Somehow I imagine I would still be as good though… only actually shooting at some point will tell, I suppose. But there you have it. My hidden talent is that I am a near-perfect shot with a rifle.