My Brain is Wrong

I know that I post a lot of ‘motivational’ things on my Facebook wall. I know that sometimes it can be a bit annoying. While it may seem that I am sometimes preachy or filled with rhetoric, I’ve come to realize that the only person I’m preaching to is myself. You see, my brain tells me things. My brain tells me that life is hard, that people are hard, that the world is hard. My brain assigns labels to things telling me this is good and that is bad. It assigns labels to people, pigeonholing them in convenient little boxes. My brain tells me that in the end we all die, so there is no point. My brain teaches me about fear–fear that looms like a wave, waiting for the right time to ebb into high-tide. My brain tells me that I came into this world alone, that I will leave it alone and that I will live it alone. My brain spews the lessons that it has learned in life, telling me that decisions were mistakes, that relationships were make-believe and that dreams are just imaginary forms of escape. My brain sits in the corner like the pious, judgmental church lady condemning everyone including herself, purse-lipped, wrinkled and filled with disdain.
But, my heart, well, yeah that’s a different story. You see, my heart, it never learned any of those lessons that my brain dwells on. My heart believes in fairy tales. It believes in laughing until you cry. It believes in love without condition or labels. It tells me that I can fly in ways my brain cannot see. It whispers quietly while the brain sleeps telling me that not only can I, but that I must love and allow myself to be loved. It tells me that dreams are a beautiful thing. My heart is a bare-footed little girl with crooked pigtails and scabby knees. Her gapped-tooth grin is almost as crooked as her pigtails and freckles dot her rosy cheeks. She jumps in mud-puddles and blows the little fairy-brooms from dandelions. She kisses kittens on the nose and chases lightening bugs in the twilight hours. She believes in first kisses and laughter. She believes in dreaming and of being dreamed. When a decision does not have the expected outcome, she kind of thinks, “Well, huh, that was cool.” She has faith in life, in people and in herself. She also thinks my brain is a big ol’ bully. So she sneaks around and posts motivational stuff, to remind my brain that it is wrong and maybe to remind a few other bully brains out there of the same.

How did you get to be so funny???

I get asked that question a lot.  Sometimes in general conversation people will just stop, look at me and ask, “How did you get to be so funny?”  At first, I would just be confused, but the more I was asked the question, the more I began to ask myself the same question.  HOW did I get to be so ‘funny’?  Am I really even that funny?  I’ve always considered that question to be a compliment.

At first I assumed that I inherited my sense of humor from my family.  When we get together, we are the funniest people I know, each one trying to outdo the next.  Always pushing the limits and nowhere NEAR politically correct.  Damn, I love them.  However, certain changes in life have given me the opportunity to reflect and learn more about myself these past few years and have learned a lot about myself.

I have been the odd kid right out of the chute, probably even came out sideways.  I was always that kid that people would look at and wonder, ‘what in the hell are they doing/thinking?’  Life events occurred early on that caused me to be even more withdrawn and less socially adept.  I did well through elementary school, but was blessed to attend a very small, rural,  close-knit school.  Junior High school was a completely different story and my oddity made me a target for those who needed one.  Kids can be very creative in their forms of ridicule and exclusion.  So many days I would wake up and play sick, usually very unsuccessfully.  The busride to school was often similar to a death-march in that I knew as soon as I walked in the door the torment would begin.  Tiny jabs throughout the day when a teacher was turned away was typical, but the bathroom was ground zero. 

I remember watching movies such as Goonies and Stand by Me and completely relating to the protagonists.  I cried when I watched Carrie for the first time because I cheered for her acceptance and my heart was crushed when it was all taken away.

What I’ve realized, however, was that I learned to laugh at myself before those other people could.  I became very good at self-deprecating humor, actually too good.  I also have gotten quite good at using humor in completely inappropriate situations.  I would make jabs at myself before anyone else could. 

Frankly, I’m thinking about creating a club titled, ‘the league of funny fat chicks’.  I get tickled at the gym when seeing a fat chick working with a trainer because we really are funny.  I don’t know about them but by the time I became willing to go to a trainer, if I hadn’t laughed, I would have cried.  Actually, I did a few times.

I guess what I’m really trying to say is this:  to all those people, the plastics, the perfect people, those who derive the joy from making other people feel less-than, ‘Thank You!’.  Sincerely, thank you, so very much.  Out of all the gifts I have been given in life, humor is one of my favorites, and while your intent was to make me feel less-than, you were unsuccessful.  It may have taken a lot of years and a lot of pain, but today I can say, thank you and truly mean it.