Sarah, Short and Sweet

At the end of our first grade year, my teacher, Mrs. Finch, held a ceremony of some sort where she recognized all of us kids for something or other. Parents were invited. Lots of cameras and clapping. The details are fuzzy - I was only 6 after all - but I won the "award" for being the most compassionate child in the class. Apparently other kids would cry or get hurt and I would be the first to come running to check on their well-being. A regular Mother Teresa.

Or, maybe all the other kids in my class were just jerks and I looked angelic in comparison. I'll take it.

Either way, I wish I still had that certificate. Proof that I am the paragon of compassion. The embodiment of all things good and lovely. I would hang it on the wall in the office, next to my college diplomas. Of course, that's assuming I ever bother to hang my diplomas. I should get on that. Or have Henry get on that. Or Little Henry. He's probably the best with a hammer.

There's a picture somewhere of this event. I look pretty much the same as I do now, just mini. Pocket-sized perfection. Long, blond hair, awkward gait, shoulders hunched as I nervously walked to the front of the room. If I ever find this picture I'll post it. So you can be awed by cuteness and marvel at the fact that I haven't significantly changed since 1990. You're welcome.

So anyway, my point is that though at times I may seem to you to be belligerent, unreasonable or overly sarcastic, you're wrong.

Mrs. Finch knows the truth. I'm nice! I won a niceness AWARD for goodness sakes. They don't just give those things away ya know.






P.S. Mom, you were there. If my recollection of this award is incorrect, don't bother correcting me. I'm sticking to this story.

Fun with Tortillas

The other night, I unintentionally rolled out a tortilla that seriously resembles a bison. So cute! And delicious, as it turns out.

Jumping In

I crossed my arms over my chest, protecting my frantically beating heart, and gingerly peered over the edge at the water below. Quickly, I stepped back. Holy crap! Nuh uh. Nothing doing.

I took a deep breath, uncrossed my arms and, again, took a small, scared step forward. Once again I peeked over the edge. Once again I rejected what I saw, furiously shaking my head. Yes, I desperately wanted to be able to hang out at the pool sans adult supervision. And sure, I’d completed the other requirements to receive my pass. I swam the length of the pool. I treaded water. I did the dead man’s float. But this? This was not happening.

In the background I could hear the ever-encouraging words of my ridiculously patient mom – and just about everyone else unfortunate enough to witness this little scene.

“Come on, Sarah, you can do this. It’s not that far. Just breathe. Just JUMP!”

I sighed. I looked again, hoping the water level had miraculously risen five feet. Nope. Still an ungodly distance away from my perch. Fear won and I turned around and made my way back to safety. Was I embarrassed? Sure. But at least I was without a broken neck. Screw embarrassment.

Those who know me won’t be surprised by this story. It’s a well known fact that I’ve spent much of my life hesitant to approach the unfamiliar. Scared of all things new. Easily stressed by unforeseen bumps in the road. Overwhelmed by tiny details. My family loves to recall the days when I wouldn’t even go ask for a packet of ketchup in McDonald’s. The waitress brought me the wrong order? No worries, I’ve always wanted to try whatever the heck this dish is. Trip to the mall at Christmastime? Forget about it – large crowds induced panic attacks. Besides, Christmas is too commercialized. Shouldn’t we be spending our time praying for the needy - at home, alone, away from crowds?

I’ve since grown up quite a bit and I would say that I’ve come quite far from that pathetic girl on the diving board (my mom would never use the word pathetic, but let’s be honest people, that is a sad, sad story). I’ve matured, attended college, lived abroad, and generally become much less annoying about trying new things. And yes, I finally took the plunge and earned my pass to summertime freedom. Looking back, I wish that I’d jumped a little bit sooner. But, what’s done is done so I’ll choose to laugh at the memories of yesterday and try not to miss out on so much today.

That’s not to say that there aren’t times when I have to consciously force myself to breathe before overreacting. I have to remind myself that, like so many times before, odds are that I will enjoy whatever it is I’m about to do. There have been very few instances where I’ve pushed myself - or have been emphatically “encouraged” - to do something that I ended up really disliking or regretting. Large crowds still sometimes send me into the initial stages of panic. I still become unreasonably overwhelmed when I feel I’m being unnecessarily rushed. But nowadays I find it easier to calm myself, refocus and keep moving forward.

Now, I know that no one has actually asked me for advice, but too bad. I feel like dispensing some. Ready? This is deep. You’ll never guess what I’m about to say…

Just freaking JUMP! Odds are you’ll enjoy whatever’s waiting for you beyond the point of fear. Odds are you’ll wish you had done it sooner. Odds are the jumping will become easier and easier from here on out.

Unless, of course, we’re talking about a literal skyscraper or facing off with a ninja, in which case perhaps you should back off the diving board friend.