“Doesn’t life ever get tired of being sucky? Of throwing curves or changeups every time you step into the box? Is anything ever what it seems? Is anyone ever who they seem to be?”
He sighed. Normally ideas and creative notions did a kind of auto-sort after awhile, arranging themselves into a general sense of order.
Not this morning.
He’d swung his chair around, desk at his back, and was gazing out a window. His eyes were at half-staff, slightly unfocused as he allowed his subconscious to keep tabs on the traffic on the street below without giving any of it much thought.
He noticed the white Yellow Cab, a utilitarian Ford Crown Vic cleverly disguised as a Dodge minivan. He gently huffed air out his nostrils. Nothing is what it seems any more, let alone what it ought to be.
Granger was lost in his woolgathering. It surprised him, then, when a voice from the vicinity of the door answered him.
“Rarely.”
Swinging around, he saw Susan Raven Wing standing quietly just inside his office.
“Say again?”
“Rarely is anyone ever who they seem to be.”
He half-smiled, eyebrows raised. “Mm.” Getting up, he crossed to the coffee pot and refilled his cup. Turning, he gestured with it. At Susan’s nod, he poured her a steaming cup and carried it to her.
She nodded her thanks. “Mmm. That’s good.”
“You’ve given the matter some thought. Mind sharing those thoughts?”
She sat, holding the cup in both hands. Her features were still, quiet, as she nodded slightly as if in time to music only she heard.
“We all carry a mental gallery around with us, an idealized collection of photographs and captions of everyone we think we know. We don’t. We think we do. But we don’t. Every one of us is more complex than the rest of us can possibly know.
“If I were to ask you, ‘Who are you?’, what would you say? How would you define yourself?
“There are things you’d list that embarrass you. If you’re going to be honest, though, they have to be included. The only way to change something about yourself, to let God have that thing and heal you from its effects is to name it. Own it.
“You can’t let go of something you won’t admit and identify.”
“Whoa. Stop. Say that again.”
“You can’t let go of something you won’t admit and identify.”
Granger: “The truth will set you free, huh?”
“Well, yeah. But you may be saying that through clenched teeth. If you’re unwilling to change, all the truth does is make you mad. Maturity in any area of your life begins when you look at necessary changes and have the guts to begin making them.”
Granger: “Well, using that criteria, few of us are doing a lot of growing.”
“Mm. You know ‘homeostasis’, right?”
He nodded.
“The way things are. Comfortable. Reassuring. Recognizable. Familiar. Nonthreatening. It’s like a big rubber band wrapped around all those things. Anything – anybody – that is different puts tension on the rubber band.
“The more things and persons are different than we’re used to or expect, the more tension – just like a rubber band that’s stretched more and more.
“Either I give and move in the direction that lessens the tension–back to ‘the way it’s always been’– or I try to force events and people more the way I want or need them to be. Eventually something or someone has to give.
“Homeostasis can be good or bad but it always is. Can’t ignore it. Truth only sets you free if you want to escape from where you’ve been. Pretending sure doesn’t do it.”
Granger sat, cup now empty, absorbing what he just heard.
We leave the two friends visiting as we take up this week’s challenge, 2nd Cupper:
Reread that last couple of statements. Apply them to where you are right now. Resist the delicious temptation to make them fit others. I know. It’s just like a triple-fudge brownie, isn’t it? Resist wanting to become officious and make ‘we’ statements. Even the truth does no good if all I ever do with it is tell everyone else what ‘we’ ought to be doing about it. Mark it down: whenever you hear ‘we’ a lot, talking is all that’s going to happen.
Ready?
Truth only sets you free if you want to escape from where you’ve been. Pretending sure doesn’t do it.
Loving you,
Dan
© June 2013