Surprised by Surprise
This morning I woke up and, through bleary eyes caked with who knows what kind of gunk, I gazed in the mirror and screamed in horror. My morning appearance usually inspires fear, but today something even worse than my typical AM Afro and pillow-creased face was staring back at me. For there, right on my previously baby-bottom smooth chin, a mutant hair had taken root over night. Even without my contacts and through the gunk in my eyes, I could clearly discern that it was roughly the size of Texas and well on it's way to becoming the Eighth Wonder of the World.
These are the kinds of surprises that seem to jump out from the bushes and scare me as I walk along the pathways of life. Though most people associate surprises with pleasure, mine always seem to border more on shockers: the collect-your-things-and-leave-immediately-we've-eliminated-your-job-as-of-today layoff, the boyfriend who has a new girlfriend even though we're only "on a break." (I'm not stealing from "Friends;" this really happened), the crawly bug that slinks out of a crease in the shower curtain right as I'm stepping into the tub, the fact that Red Sox outfielder Johnny Damon has better hair than I do, the mutant beard threatening to take over my face.
But lately, things have been changing, crawling inch-by-inch in the direction of the pleasant connotation of "surprise." Obviously the hair thing just happened, but I feel as though the trend--that life has been waiting in the shadows waiting to scare the crap out of me at any minute--might be swinging in the opposite direction. Small things, really, have made me stop and take notice lately. And really appreciate the world around me.
In some small part, the change lies within me. Perhaps because I'm out on my own now, trying to trudge along through life, I appreciate the little things that change a day from totally unbearable to somewhat tolerable. Or even, in extreme cases, happy. On an afternoon walk, I'll notice the pansies outside my dream house (in a much better neighborhood than the ghetto I call home) and I'll actually think more about how beautiful flowers and careful gardening make a house than how jealous I am of homeowners worldwide. An unexpected, come-from-behind victory in the 11th inning of a game against one of the better teams in baseball will make me smile for hours. Seeing the tears of relief and happiness in my mother's eyes as I pick her up at the airport remind me that I'm loved and that, for the most part, I have a wonderful family.
The positive surprises also come from within. Yet another side effect of having my own place, I believe, is that I marvel at the things I've learned to accomplish alone (or with telephone help from someone who knows what they're doing.) I've battled my fear and driven 720 miles to see my best friend, fighting off the panic that crept in at the edges of my mind for more miles than I'm comfortable admitting. I've learned how to live on much less money than I was used to. I can be thrifty and cut corners. I can wield a hammer, argue with my landlord. I can almost take care of myself.
People have also been surprising me. Generally they scare the hell out of me, yelling at each other, fighting in grocery stores, screaming on cell phones and cutting me off in traffic. Lately, though, the people around me have gone a long way to renewing my faith in humanity. Sure, the people down the street talking about their crack-whore sister aren't a fantastic lot, but the woman I know from work who lives in my neighborhood and invited me over for dinner more than compensated for them. A virtual stranger at a party who noticed me sitting alone and talked to me at length about books and work assured me that good people do still exist. It's just a matter of finding them.
Nothing, though, surprised me more than the acquaintance who dropped by my place on a errand last week and stayed for five hours, pouring out his soul about a heart that was devastated by love gone bad. As I sat across from him, my heart breaking as he told his tale, I couldn't help thinking that he in himself was a surprise. I've known him for at least 13 years--probably more--but we've never really talked before. He was just kind of there, the somewhat dorky, incredibly shy son of a family friend. He never hung out with the kids or talked much about anything, choosing instead to remain silent with the adults. Yet years later, removed from the buffers our families serve as in social situations, he turned out to be one of the nicest people I've met in a long time. I was surprised at my own prejudice, felt ashamed for announcing something like "there goes the neighborhood" when I discovered he was moving close to where I live. And now I find that he's one of the few people in the neighborhood I actually want to know. After he left, I lay awake for a long time, wondering that in one short evening he had gone from acquaintance to friend. And that surprised me. In a good way.
Who knows what will happen tomorrow? But this I do know: something will surprise me. I just hope it's something like a pleasant phone call or waking up with Johnny Damon's hair (or Johnny Damon, for that matter). I'm too young for all this beard stuff.
These are the kinds of surprises that seem to jump out from the bushes and scare me as I walk along the pathways of life. Though most people associate surprises with pleasure, mine always seem to border more on shockers: the collect-your-things-and-leave-immediately-we've-eliminated-your-job-as-of-today layoff, the boyfriend who has a new girlfriend even though we're only "on a break." (I'm not stealing from "Friends;" this really happened), the crawly bug that slinks out of a crease in the shower curtain right as I'm stepping into the tub, the fact that Red Sox outfielder Johnny Damon has better hair than I do, the mutant beard threatening to take over my face.
But lately, things have been changing, crawling inch-by-inch in the direction of the pleasant connotation of "surprise." Obviously the hair thing just happened, but I feel as though the trend--that life has been waiting in the shadows waiting to scare the crap out of me at any minute--might be swinging in the opposite direction. Small things, really, have made me stop and take notice lately. And really appreciate the world around me.
In some small part, the change lies within me. Perhaps because I'm out on my own now, trying to trudge along through life, I appreciate the little things that change a day from totally unbearable to somewhat tolerable. Or even, in extreme cases, happy. On an afternoon walk, I'll notice the pansies outside my dream house (in a much better neighborhood than the ghetto I call home) and I'll actually think more about how beautiful flowers and careful gardening make a house than how jealous I am of homeowners worldwide. An unexpected, come-from-behind victory in the 11th inning of a game against one of the better teams in baseball will make me smile for hours. Seeing the tears of relief and happiness in my mother's eyes as I pick her up at the airport remind me that I'm loved and that, for the most part, I have a wonderful family.
The positive surprises also come from within. Yet another side effect of having my own place, I believe, is that I marvel at the things I've learned to accomplish alone (or with telephone help from someone who knows what they're doing.) I've battled my fear and driven 720 miles to see my best friend, fighting off the panic that crept in at the edges of my mind for more miles than I'm comfortable admitting. I've learned how to live on much less money than I was used to. I can be thrifty and cut corners. I can wield a hammer, argue with my landlord. I can almost take care of myself.
People have also been surprising me. Generally they scare the hell out of me, yelling at each other, fighting in grocery stores, screaming on cell phones and cutting me off in traffic. Lately, though, the people around me have gone a long way to renewing my faith in humanity. Sure, the people down the street talking about their crack-whore sister aren't a fantastic lot, but the woman I know from work who lives in my neighborhood and invited me over for dinner more than compensated for them. A virtual stranger at a party who noticed me sitting alone and talked to me at length about books and work assured me that good people do still exist. It's just a matter of finding them.
Nothing, though, surprised me more than the acquaintance who dropped by my place on a errand last week and stayed for five hours, pouring out his soul about a heart that was devastated by love gone bad. As I sat across from him, my heart breaking as he told his tale, I couldn't help thinking that he in himself was a surprise. I've known him for at least 13 years--probably more--but we've never really talked before. He was just kind of there, the somewhat dorky, incredibly shy son of a family friend. He never hung out with the kids or talked much about anything, choosing instead to remain silent with the adults. Yet years later, removed from the buffers our families serve as in social situations, he turned out to be one of the nicest people I've met in a long time. I was surprised at my own prejudice, felt ashamed for announcing something like "there goes the neighborhood" when I discovered he was moving close to where I live. And now I find that he's one of the few people in the neighborhood I actually want to know. After he left, I lay awake for a long time, wondering that in one short evening he had gone from acquaintance to friend. And that surprised me. In a good way.
Who knows what will happen tomorrow? But this I do know: something will surprise me. I just hope it's something like a pleasant phone call or waking up with Johnny Damon's hair (or Johnny Damon, for that matter). I'm too young for all this beard stuff.
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