By Wednesday I was ready to rage quit the week.
You guys know Rage Quitting, right? Usually it's in a video game context, when you get your virtual behind handed to you so badly that you log-off in a fit of childish pique. It's the modern day equivalent of "taking my ball and going home," and I think we've all been there at some time or another.
For some of us, though, rage quitting isn't just a video game thing. For some of us - the ones who tend to bottle things up, who judge ourselves too harshly, and who want so very badly to just get it all done - and NOW, if you please - for us, resisting the urge to rage quit can be a daily battle.
I'm not talking about suicide or self-harm or pulling a Thelma & Louise, though I know those temptations can be very real. No, I'm talking about the subtler surrenders. The days we just give up. The weeks we spend drifting through work and watching too much Netflix, because it's just easier that way. The projects abandoned on the dining room table, the e-mails left unanswered, the dinner dates canceled, the box of Oreos inhaled for breakfast. (WHAT.)
Some days it's Ok if all you do is breathe.
But some other days, it's not Ok.
Some other days, we have to remember just what it is we're fighting for. What we keep trying for. And most importantly, what we're living for.
I have a mercurial temperament, and failure - no matter how trivial, or even imagined! - hits me hard. Too hard. I let setbacks get the better of me, and much to John's frustration, more often than not I respond by Rage Quitting. This I follow up with a truly epic Rage-Sulking and Rage-Getting-Depressed. Usually it takes a good 5 or 6 hours of Rage-Watching-Netflix to regain some perspective.
This week John and I've put a lot of time and effort into a new project, and just when I thought we were at the finish line, we hit a bunch of setbacks. Suddenly nothing was working, and something I thought would be oh-so-easy became complicated and frustrating and - obviously - this was all happening because the universe wanted to personally spite me.
Now here I am, five hours of Sherlock later, realizing that I waste so much time regretting wasting time. I let myself be overwhelmed by the mountain instead of focusing on my feet, and I worry more about everyone's expectations than the experience I'm gaining from my "failures" right here, right now.
I also worry too much about telling you guys this sort of thing, even though every time I've taken a chance and opened up - every single time - this community has shown me nothing but support and inclusion.
There's a quote from C.S. Lewis that goes something like this:
Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another, "What, you, too? I thought I was the only one."
Whenever I see that quote I think of you guys here at Epbot. See, it turns out that everything I thought isolated me - my passions, my panic, my geeky loves and my stubborn weaknesses - actually brings a lot of us closer together, because some of you even now are saying, "Me, too!"
And that makes me want to keep playing.
How 'bout you?
