You[sing.]’re Crazy.
He, she, or it (especially she) is Crazy.
We’re Crazy.
You[pl.]’re Crazy.
They’re Crazy.
Gauntlets helpfully brought this up again recently, but I think we can scarcely revisit the topic too often—if for no other reason, than because the creeping creatures of darkness skitter and scatter when we spotlight them.
There are so many things we could say about Crazy. Here’s one important corollary (or perhaps antecedent) to the universal conjugation of Crazy: The Grass Is Not Greener. Still. Really. I’ve had a few recent peeks into “normal” (i.e., two-income, Done after limited number of babies, outwardly sane-looking households) and I say again with confidence, The Grass Is Not Greener.
Why is this so hard to get? While I’m thinking wistfully about how clean her house must be, without barbaric mud-footed hordes tromping through all day on their various (but invariably messy) projects, she’s thinking wistfully about how clean my house must be, since I’m there all day to clean it (*cough*). Meanwhile, no one’s house is clean! For real! Unless they’re expecting company! And maybe not even then!
Or: I’m peeling potatoes or kneading dough and thinking that a break from the kitchen might be nice; she’s buying DiGiorno and wishing she had time to cook from scratch. I’m thinking how I might like my kids more if I saw them a bit less; she’s wishing that between her schedule and theirs, she got to see hers a bit more.
This is true: We all make meaningful choices. This too is true: We are none of us as free as we like to think—nor is the woman on the other side of the fence as free as we like to think she is (“freedom” to leave the house and commute to work does not of itself true freedom comprise, despite what we housebound fence-hangers may feel in our darker moments).
Comparison isn’t simply the death of contentment—it’s also a very slick step on the Crazy overlook. We spiral downward to Crazy when we play the comparison game, foolishly pretending that we’re making a valid assessment. Apples to apples, people—and as it turns out, life’s fruitbasket is so diverse that bucket balances and bar graphs are useless here.
Routes to Crazy abound (as even a brief review of posts on this blog will attest). So, I remind my foolish self, if you must go to Crazy from time to time, at least take an honest route, and get back as soon as you can. Don’t let bad math trick you into a needless dark detour—and if you catch yourself going down that road, pull a quick U-turn and burn some serious rubber out of there.
Make tracks, before you're needlessly mired in the Slough of Despond.
11 comments:
"Don’t let bad math trick you into a needless dark detour."
Well said. This message can't be repeated enough, in as many different forms as possible.
"since I'm there all day to clean it." BLAHHHH! Ha ha ha ha!! But seriously, I know a mom of 4 who vacuumed every day, the living room lenghtwise and widthwise. But her husband was home in the evenings, so. . . you know.
Yes.
Yes.
Yes.
and Yes.
Sincerely, The Wannabe-CSPPer currently marking time as the Woman on the Other Side of the Fence.
--He, she, or it (especially she) is Crazy.
Misogynist.
But you know it's true. :D
Emommy, yes--since I prefer to be efficient about my Crazy mileage, I must repeat this to myself frequently.
Shrew, according to whatever formula purveyed by vacuum salesmen, based on the number of people/pet in this household, I should be vacuuming twice a day or so. Riiiiiiggghhht.
MooreMama, nothing is as simple as it seems, is it? Hope your day comes soon!
It's in sight, Reb. Mary... It's a teeny tiny little dot on the horizon, but it's there. :)
Hopefully, around the oldest's 5th birthday, if not sooner.
I will say that I make much more efficiant use of my time when I know that there are only 3 1/2 - 4 hours between getting home and (my) bedtime than I was on maternity leave, when I thought I had all the time in the world.
But then, I'm doing really well if I vacuum 2x/month...
I've found that taking a break from the kitchen breaks the kitchen. Blah.
I always need a good reminder to leave the grass on the other side of the fence alone. But here's my question: what can a person say to her single friends approaching 30 when they bemoan their circumstances and admire your grass and lawn to the point where you'd really like to set the record straight? (Yes, that sentence did slaughter English grammar but good. Sorry.) I have two of these and just talked to one yesterday. The kicker is, this one's main issue is commitment (you know, is he the right guy?) Good grief.
Elizabeth, I hear you. I think it's best to view such convos as flattering rather than frustrating: Really? My life looks that great to someone looking over the fence? Wow! :D.
Seriously, since there's no convincing fence-hangers (speaking as an intermittent one...), I've found that the most productive thing to do is to focus on how right they are--i.e., to try to regain a better perspective, through their (admittedly incomplete, yet still useful) perception of how the lines for me have fallen in pleasant places, indeed. (It's either that or make myself Crazy by envying their "freedom," so I try to go with the former :P. Then too, freedom from the many daily cares of wifery/motherhood also means freedom from its joys--the other side of the coin, of which such friends are more keenly aware.)
...foolishly pretending that we’re making a valid assessment...
Yes, I think the problem with comparing is that we can never see the whole of what a person carries in his or her life - physically, spiritually, relationally, vocationally. We only see the one angle of their many sided life that seems to us most enviable at a certain time or place, but only God knows the hidden crosses each of us has borne, is bearing, and has yet to bear. Best leave things with God (Even though I sin often in doing that!).
Someone said once that if we all threw our hardships into one big pile, as soon as we got a glimpse of everyone else's, we would immediately snatch ours up again and go thankfully on our way.
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