Leaving The Failure Parade

I realize this whole post is just whining with a cute dress on - so feel free to ignore it.  Really, I just want to get on with what needs doing without all this internal kvetching. Writing helps, it would seem.  I feel better already;  almost like I can go and conquer the school schedule and the laundry AND the peaches in my life right now.


I probably love to conquer more than I should.

I don't do laundry - I conquer it.  I don't teach a lesson - the lesson in conquered. I don't make dinner - dinner prep is conquered.  In fact, I don't even eat dinner -eating is conquered - as quickly and politely as possible.

This love of conquering is a double-edged sword, and also happens to be the main reason I don't consume alcohol. I'm sure you'll agree that,  while interesting, that is hardly the point of this post.

Sometimes, when the conquering isn't going well, I unintentionally throw myself a Failure Parade.

Have you ever gone to a Failure Parade?

I seem to attend one every time I start something new, and this September is prime-time for parades.  September is always busy, and I always chafe a little at getting back into a more rigorous routine (of conquering), but the din of the parade is wearing me down this week!

It's not depressing me, it just makes me feel, I don't know - grade-nine-angsty.   You know exactly what I mean, don't you?

I feed the failure parade when I listen to those voices that tell me I'm not enough, that what I know I'm supposed to do, can't be done.  It's a different kind of crazy-making than say, dealing with a schedule that is over-booked, or a life situation that is unavoidably stressful - although the parade often makes an entrance there too. 

The problem is me.  I feed the parade.  Heck, sometimes I buy cotton candy and join the hecklers.  I remind them of every screw up I've ever made in the past and encourage them to throw insults, cause after all, I probably deserve it.  I give credence to circumstances that shouldn't define me and allow the one or two voices of those who don't matter carry more weight than the many, many people who are screaming "You can do it - don't give up!" at the party on the other side of the street.

 Girlfriend has had enough.  I know what I am supposed to do right now.  I know it's gonna be hard sometimes.  But I know I can do this, and I can do it well, and I can do it with joy.

I'm going to listen to the voice of Truth.   The voice of God.  The Voice that said I was worth dying for.  The One who gives me the strength to do what I do well - not just to survive life, but to grow, to thrive and in the best sense of the word - to conquer.

If I spend more time listening to the voice of the One who knows me best the parade fails to materialize.  When I actually count the myriad of friends and family who do such a great job of  cheering me on when I do well, and lovingly holding me to account when I miss the mark, in contrast with the very small number attending this Debbie Downer of an event, then I think the Failure Parade won't matter so much anymore.

The people on the other side of the street are at a way better party than me.  It's time I bought popcorn and crossed the street.