I break things quite frequently in the kitchen. Sometimes I even break stuff on purpose, because nothing says “commitment” like walking barefoot on a tile floor when it’s covered in microscopic shards of broken glass. I also spill things, also quite frequently. My motivations are several, but usually the reasons amount to nothing so much as the intense pleasure second degree burns give my skin. Sometimes, for kicks, I even spill on stuff. So why does it bother me so much?I think, like most things in life, it comes down to an issue of control. I can generally atone for my own actions. I’m a quite shame-filled individual. I deal in shame much as Van Gogh expressed himself in painting and earlessness. I feel my face turning pink, and whatever my mistake, egregious or not; is shown to everyone around me. If flagellation were acceptable, I’m sure I’d spend loads of time absolving my guilt in painful, bloody penance. Maybe it’s the mild startings of an Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder.
The occurrences in our homes, we seem to believe, should not spill beyond the scope of our control. Of course, stuff never plays out that way. I can’t avoid the occasional spill, or snagging a nice sweater on a loose nail. I can’t possibly stop Alex or Daniel from committing the error of snapping their eyeglasses in half within 30 seconds of walking out of the optometrist’s office. I can’t keep Judi from dropping a glass on the kitchen floor. Occasionally a person’s got to let go of things they can’t control; nobody needs a stomach perforation. I don’t for a second think this short essay is any help. Just reminding myself. And if you folks decide to dump their pint of potato soup between the couch cushions? Good on ya! Stuff happens. Let it go. Let it go.
“All the gnomes on the left say TWO FEET TALL!!!” “All the gnomes on the right say POINTY RED HATS!!!”–Alex and Daniel, quoting from, I believe, their video game.