In the game of life, I've missed a load of metaphorical free throws. Brick shots all over the place. Wikipedia even defines me as a "bricklayer". How lame am I for wikipedia-ing "brick shot"? I wanted to make sure I've been pronouncing it correctly all these years. It could've been break shot or brig shot. I have poor hearing. And I wanted this post to portray accuracy.
But one area where I hit the money every time is creativity. I know what it's like to be weird. I won spelling bees, played in the marching band, had knobby knees (where your knees are the fattest part of your leg). I even had this metal rod contraption that sat ON TOP of my braces... it seriously made me look like a bulldog. All this suffering has given me ample material with which to work. During all my times of questioning meaning in life, we often need to pitstop at the eerie gas stations on the road of life. Oftentimes, we discover more than just a sale on slim jims. Below are some thoughts I have collected during those sleep-wake moments when right brain rules...
1. What if the blinking hand at the crosswalk has been gravely misunderstood? What if, instead of telling us to halt from entering traffic, it was just trying to get five up top? What rejection it must feel!
2. If I was a petri dish, I would get really squirmy about questions related to meaning in life. People would always be scraping things on me. And ultimately, my purpose is to allow nasty fungi and opportunistic bacteria to breed on me.
3. Why are we ok with calling that which spins above our heads fan "blades"? Is no one else concerned with conspiracy?
But one area where I hit the money every time is creativity. I know what it's like to be weird. I won spelling bees, played in the marching band, had knobby knees (where your knees are the fattest part of your leg). I even had this metal rod contraption that sat ON TOP of my braces... it seriously made me look like a bulldog. All this suffering has given me ample material with which to work. During all my times of questioning meaning in life, we often need to pitstop at the eerie gas stations on the road of life. Oftentimes, we discover more than just a sale on slim jims. Below are some thoughts I have collected during those sleep-wake moments when right brain rules...
1. What if the blinking hand at the crosswalk has been gravely misunderstood? What if, instead of telling us to halt from entering traffic, it was just trying to get five up top? What rejection it must feel!
2. If I was a petri dish, I would get really squirmy about questions related to meaning in life. People would always be scraping things on me. And ultimately, my purpose is to allow nasty fungi and opportunistic bacteria to breed on me.
3. Why are we ok with calling that which spins above our heads fan "blades"? Is no one else concerned with conspiracy?
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