Monday

It's another Monday, another day of feeling distracted and preoccupied and unable to concentrate. When I was in the fourth grade, I woke up with a headache every Monday morning (and thus began my love affair with migraines...but I'll save that for another post). I hated Mondays. Mostly because I was involved in community theatre; we'd have 3 performances a weekend for 6-8 weeks, and I absolutely loved being at the theatre. I loved being on stage and backstage and putting on costumes and being with fascinating people in the dressing rooms and hearing grown-up (sometimes quite risque) conversations. I would plummet into depression after each Sunday matinee performance, knowing the weekend was about to be swallowed up and I'd have to survive 5 long torturous days before I'd return to the theatre. Five days of school with all its pressures to perform in a different way, five days of insecurity about not being one of the pretty ones or the popular ones or the rich ones; sure, I was one of the smart ones, but I lived in terror that I wasn't the smartest, and that was what mattered in my mind: the superlative.

The Monday migraines have fortunately not persisted. The insecurities have twisted themselves into new costumes, they've grown new layers and convinced themselves they are more complicated than they used to be. But really, are they any different? Isn't it still about being good enough (the best), about people approving of (loving) me, about proving my (great) worth? The performing never ends.

There's a verse or two in scripture about "dying to self" -- I am keenly aware that I am very much living for myself, although I like to fool myself into thinking I am not; I am front-and-center, I am the star of the show. I'd like for someone to kick me off the stage, but perhaps it's my responsiblity to bow out gracefully or to let someone else have the solo.

I'm ending this post before the theatre metaphor gets any more out of hand. It's Monday, I can't be expected to demonstrate coherence so early in the week.