Deep Thoughts

Like most people, I do some of my best thinking in the bathroom. Maybe it's because it's the only place I have unlimited peace and quiet, or maybe it's just because there's nothing better to do. But it's always while I'm in the shower or taking care of business that I have the deepest thoughts and most compelling ideas.

So the other night, I was in the bathroom getting ready for bed and found myself thinking about possible blogging topics. Things with work and classes have kept me burning the midnight oil, but nothing I've seen in the past few weeks has stood out as blogworthy. But as I stood there in the bathroom, I realized that it's been nearly an entire year since my church kicked me out on my ass and started this weird shunning process I didn't know existed outside Amish communities. It's a long story, but they doubted my ability to serve in the church, made excuses about why I couldn't serve and basically treated me like some kind of leper. It all goes back to theological and political differences between the current minister and me. There's more, but that's really all you need to know.

Standing there in the bathroom, I ran through the same mental scenario I've gone through since everything went down last October. It's really this great fantasy I have where I say all the things I wanted to when everything happened. I stand in the middle of the street, outside the church, demanding that my voice be heard. I approach the minister in the grocery store and loudly accuse him of being an egotistical sexist pig with antiquated ideas about the role of women in American society. I quote Calvin and Jesus and Mark and even Kipling ("The female of the species is more deadly than the male"). I give him the ol' verbal one-two with a Bill of Rights to the upper ego and some Very Important Biblical Women to the gut. I make a lot of noise and insist he listen to the anger he helped cause, the pain he has made me endure, the hurt that just will not go away.

But like most every other event in my life, when I'm outside the bathroom, I choose the non-confrontational route. I left the church quietly, but with my head held high. I pretend that the silence and blank stares from relatives who watched me grow up don't hurt. I just move on. My form of retaliation is waving like a maniac at the minister's wife (who, by the way, once called my brother-in-law an asshole because of me) just to make her acknowledge my existence. I smile at the evil minister, somehow proving that I'm the bigger person.

I don't know why I choose this route, but I don't think I'm alone. How many people actually admit when they're angry? How many people defend themselves in the face of injustice? No one. OK, maybe a few people. But those folks are viewed as dissenters or troublemakers or wackos. The fact is that to maintain a normal appearance in life, we have to keep our mouths shut. I can see where this makes sense for the most part, but occasionally all this anger or hurt or pain backs up and it becomes what we think about during our commutes or while we're in the bathroom. Because somewhere out there, the person who hurt us isn't thinking about what they did to make us suffer or feel like our world has been ripped apart or have panic attacks that convince us we're losing our minds. They've moved on with their lives, their pride and feelings intact.

So what do you do when it all backs up, when you're left alone and the other person doesn't think anything of the pain they've caused? Do you make a scene? Do you forget about it? Do you find a good therapist with one of those Nerf bats that allows you to hit everything in sight?

I don't really have any answers and I'm not even sure I have a point. I guess, instead, I have a question: Has this ever happened to you or am I just losing my mind?

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to find a bathroom. I have some thinking to do.