This Path Looks Safe, I Think

Do you ever talk to yourself; I mean really get into a fantastic Q & A, alone? Where do you do it most? Is it in the shower? Is it at work? Maybe it's at school? Perhaps you're a lunatic and it’s in a dark alley or a deserted field, that's ok, things have to get resolved, right? Do you do it while driving? That's my favorite. Maybe you've got a penchant for straight jackets so talking to yourself on a busy subway gets you going.

What a gift it is, to be able to free think, verbalize and hash things out, all on your own; to preside over a beautiful summation and its rebuttal, having never left your own head. Of course every positive in life has to have a negative to balance things out, right? That's not my law, I believe it belongs to Ishkabibble Van Dudenhoffer, or was it Shnootikus Blitzstein?

Anyway, so what is the balancing downside to tinkering with self cross examination? Well, one issue is, ‘over thinking’. I'll admit I’m way guilty of this one. You can give me potential plans for a Friday night and I can conjure up some serious full on night destroying ass-umption.

Take for instance a simple night out for me and the wife. Seriously, its funny how I can painfully pick out clothes to wear, wonder what they’re going to have to eat at the party, complain a bit about the directions, hate the company when we get there, not like any of the food or drink, probably get a stomach ache, certainly hate the music, listen to boring stories, feel guilty for wanting to leave early, start an argument on the way home, suffer through a bowl of cereal to thwart off empty stomach nausea, and then go to sleep in the hopes of not throwing up. All of this done before my wife has even finished telling me where we are going. Over thinking? I’d call it a classic case.

Now what's even scarier than over thinking is what I have found riding on its coat tails, that is, ‘over analyzing’. This monster gives finality to the former, making it twice as dangerous. I'm not guilty of this one too, am I? Well let’s just see.

If I was lucky enough to get a comment about this latest babble I'd probably picture you in my mind, imagine the face you were making while typing your criticisms, decrypt your choice of word structure, take into consideration our latest communication with one another (if any), check the current weather conditions in the Gaza strip, gather up all the thousand leggers in a four block radius, and finally, I’d conceptualize about why I had what I had for dinner that evening.

Then, and only then, could I formulate a less than stellar synopsis of the remarks contributed thereby drawing up the conclusion that you probably didn't think too much of my overly wordy self deprecating autobiographical composition. Nobody is perfect! So I analyze a little, its good for the soul.

Now as if the first two character flaws weren’t enough, there is another. I can't tell you the countless good times missed over the years to this third and most horrid characteristic. This one should probably be listed first though; I'm quite certain over thinking and over analyzing are the bastard children of this debilitating trait. I’m talking about ‘fear’.

Seriously though, what are we afraid of? Is it embarrassment? Is it pain? Might it be failure? Perhaps it's a small group of clergy who lock dance. I don’t know, maybe you are afraid of any and all of the clothing from the 80's. I know to this day I drop to the ground at the site of a knee length Champion sweatshirt and over sized socks.

What about Olympic curling? How about a Deli clerk with six hundred piercings from the neck up? Here's a frightful thought- being chased by six Haitian prostitutes with live chickens. That'll get you every time. Not to mention the large woman with a hair net, visible thong, and a 5 o'clock shadow who is piecing together your Taco Bell order with no gloves on and a scorching case of the ass itches.

Now For me, I’m usually afraid of embarrassment caused by failure. I get it honestly from both parents. My mother is extremely vain and I suffered many a grocery store woopens for embarrassing her. It’s funny though how her wreckin' my backside in public was never as embarrassing as me acting like a normal five year old that desperately needed a Zagnut bar to get through the rigors of the long day ahead. Shoot, I used to receive the leather strap every time dear ole mom couldn't get her ultra teased, hair sprayed, locks to behave properly.

Now there’s dad, he’s a different story. His insecurities are a little trickier and can go pretty deep. So at the risk of ending up on a couch, with a grocery store list of medication needed to function in my daily life, I’ll pass on the lengthy dissertation and simply tell you that he’s not from this planet.

Thinking back, growing up in my house really didn’t do much for my confidence. Therefore it kept me from taking part in activities that should have been allowed to aid in the shaping of the man-child who types before you this day.

Now don’t get me wrong, I love my parents dearly and I would never blame them for my short comings. I will say this though, they set me on a path that’s been more like a dirt road than a freshly paved thoroughfare; somewhat cobblestone-ish, if I’m being totally honest.

I understand that we all have our choices to make on the paths that lead us through life. It just so happens that my path has OVER THINKING, OVER ANALYZING and FEAR; a few stepping stones that may or may not have been laid by the devil himself; or perhaps his servants. (Tongue firmly placed against cheek)