Metaphors and Band-Aids

i've been thinking...i know, you're saying to yourself, oh lord, who's she angry with now? but to surprise you, i'm not angry; i'm happy. there are thousands of levels of happy and i may not be at the top, but i'm surfacing, hanging on with both hands, while my feet are swinging back and forth looking for that ledge so i can catapult myself to the next level. now, with that revelation out there, i had another thought the other day. don't laugh...my mind races with thoughts every hour, just not all of them are plausible.

i read something someone wrote about regrets the other day and it got me thinking about the things i regret. i'm not putting any out there for everyone to read about, b/c that will wind up being one of my regrets. i'm just going to say that i regret being hotheaded and jumping to conclusions. i don't regret giving my all. i regret not being the most patient person in the world. but you all know, i don't have patience to last the day. i regret there isn't a life sized eraser...a mind wipe...a large, bright, pink eraser that you can whip out and erase your mistakes, like we could back in grammar school. at this point, my life would be a large piece of paper, with lines, doodles, and errors, erased, with eraser dust coating my desk.

but just like there isn't one of these, there isn't a life sized Band-Aid to mend broken hearts, skinned egos, and minor scrapes and burns. imagine if there was? people would be walking around with these obscene Band-Aids, over their chests, their foreheads, their lips, their hands...whatever they used to offend, whatever was bloodied by another's words or actions. now imagine how it feels when you pull the normal Band-Aid off your injured appendage? no matter how quickly and "pain free" your mom tells you she is going to remove it, it is never quick, it is never painless. she can do it slowly, but still every second that seems an eternity, you feel the tug and pain as a hair is being ripped out along with the adhesive. i'm just saying, no matter how large or minor the injury, no matter how unbelievably large or small the Band-Aid, recovery hurts.

but you live. you may scar, but you live. you get the chance to do it all over again. you get to make the same decisions if you aren't strong enough, or you take the path that is overcome with weeds, shadows, and doom. the outcome remains the same. you're alive with numerous chances. society doesn't play the same game as baseball; you don't receive three strikes and you're out. you get to pick up that bat and swing away...until you hit a ground ruled double, or a grand slam, to get yourself and everyone that matters to you, back home...

to start all over again. and sometimes, just sometimes, it is "déjà vu all over again." but it doesn't have to be. you've grown, you've experienced, you've suffered, you've survived. you may strike out once in awhile, but just like baseball, there are always more innings, more games...more chances.