My Old Pal Maybe

I am undisciplined.  I am a procrastinator. I am an over-thinker. These are the qualities that often trap me inside my own head.  These are the three things about me that make the words "I can't" creep into my vocabulary with increasing regularity. They are all true of me.  I do lack discipline.  I have a story rattling around in my head that I started writing months ago.  Bits and pieces of it sit here and there on my computer but I do not make myself sit down and finish the tale.  Instead I put it off for another day.  I tell myself, "I'll work on it when it's raining and I can't get out of the house."  But then we have two weekends' worth rain and I tell myself, "I'll save it for a day when I can take the computer outside and work in the sunshine."

As I procrastinate and refuse to force myself to sit down at this computer, I am thinking.  My brain never shuts up, even when I want it to.  It is constantly examining every little shard of my life, past, present and future.  I scrutinize myself.  I put other people under that same microscope.  Eventually I think myself into a slump.  I start to believe the flawed logic of unkind words that have been flung at me far too many times.  I sometimes find that I have absorbed those words too deeply, so deeply that they have indeed become a part of who I am.  I start to believe there are no more people in the world who are good, honest or kind.  I talk myself into feeling hopeless.

Maybe I am lazy.  Maybe I am unintelligent.  Maybe I'm insignificant, inferior.  Maybe.

That is where I was a few weeks ago.  I was in that "maybe" place, where nothing was absolute and everything was for certain; and certainly,  nothing was good.  Those were the things my mind settled on, and there my mind stayed for a spell.  Maybe trapped me on my couch for a couple of Saturdays in a row.  Maybe is not good company  Maybe whispers old words into my ears and tells me I'm not good enough, because if I were, my life would be different.  Maybe says I've only gotten what I deserved.  Maybe never speaks to me about what good might exist in the world for me and inside of me.

Fortunately there is definitely more in my world than Maybe.

Maybe's talk of my shortcomings got drowned out for a while, by the kind words of loving friends who reminded me that I am more than my imperfections.  I am more than a procrastinator, more than a mom who is always running late, more than even my own thoughts will let me believe at times.

Then one day I sat across the table from my friend, an 82 year old Korean War veteran, a father who raised two daughters on his own, a former salesman for American Tobacco who never smoked a day in his life. He is a widower who took care of his second wife through dementia and health woes that would have sent a lesser man running.  His love left this world in January of this year and I met him in February when I started my new job.  We ate our chicken in relative quiet, only interrupting the silence with a word here and there.  Then in one sincere moment, this man, this sweet, treasured friend shattered Maybe all to bits.  I took a sip of tea and looked up at him to grin when I noticed the slightest glisten of tears filling his eyes.  Before I could say a word he spoke.  "I'm really glad I met you." He said.  "I needed a friend, and you have helped me so much.  It's nice to know someone cares about me."

Maybe?  Definitely, I care.  I am definitely more than that girl who was torn apart by words.  I am more than the woman who walked away from the people who tried to tear her to shreds by ripping at her spirit with their talk of how inadequate she was.  I am so certainly worthy of more than the kind of treatment I received from them.

I am kind.  I am understanding. I am accepting.  These are the things I try so hard to be that I sometimes become careless with myself.  These are the things about me that keep Maybe floating around in my head.  Maybe will never let me be, because I wanted so badly to believe the best of you.  I wanted to give kindness and feel the joy of giving it, expecting nothing in return.  I wanted to understand your motives, your fears, your insecurities.  I wanted it all to make sense so I thought, "Maybe I should give it some more time."  And then I thought, "Maybe I'm crazy." And finally, "Maybe I should leave."

Definitely.  I had to go.  I'm glad I did.  It was definitely the right thing to do, to save myself from the savagery that is you.

Maybe still fills my head with doubts.  It still eats at me sometimes, using your words.  It tells me all that is wrong with me, it tells me nothing is right.  Maybe sent me to see my therapist one day, just to ask her, "What disorder do I have?"

When she looked at me in disbelief and replied, "I don't think you are disordered at all." I thought she was full of crap.  I told her so.

"You," She said, "are a wonderful person."  She could see in my eyes that I didn't believe her.  How could I be wonderful if I am all the things you said I was?

"But what about this?" I asked as I, with my own words painted the picture for her, of my life.  I laid out my mistakes and misgivings, my faults and fears as if I were setting a table for a feast.  I fully expected her to dine upon my spirit the way you always did.  But instead, she smiled and shook her head at me as if to say, "no, you've got it all wrong."

A few seconds of silence fell heavily upon us in that tiny room as I fought back tears and she searched for something to say that would send my Maybe packing.

"In the short time I have known you, you have experienced more adversity than any other client I have ever had.  You have overcome it all, and you are still overcoming.  If you were 'disordered' you wouldn't even have the insight to wonder whether something was 'wrong' with you.  You'd just assume everyone else was to blame.  You are strong," she said.  "You are a good person."

I let the tears, just two of them, loose, and felt them run down my cheeks, drip off my chin.

"I am broken." I said.

"And you are strong enough to rebuild." She answered.

"Maybe." I said.  "Maybe I am."

I'm so profoundly grateful for all the Definitelys in my life.  Those people who are Definitely there for me. The ones I know I can depend on to lift me up when I am fallen.  I would be lost without them. They are the weights that keep me balanced, the life-force that gives me strength, the truth that gives me power.  They make me MORE of what I want to be, and care less about who I am not.  I'm so glad there is an opposite of Maybe, and that it is all of the people in my world who love me into my own transformation.

I will survive this bout of Maybe, because Definitely, I am blessed with the fullness of  Grace and Understanding that only a loving God could provide for me.  He sends it wrapped in packages of all different sizes and shapes, different colors and shades.  He sends his grace most definitely in these small moments, when someone sees some good in me and takes the time to show me I am more than my Maybes would ever have me believe.