Hello, I Take Things too Seriously.
While decking the halls and making merry this past weekend, my sister and my roommate (Johanna and Rachel, just so I can start referring to them by name for all of you unfamiliar with my life) decided to replace the traditional Christmas tunes with Christmas movies. A bold move, it’s true, but we were feeling saucy and nonconformist.
So we put in “The Holiday.”
A movie all of us have seen so many times that we could probably quote along with 80% of the dialogue, if not 85-90% on a good day.
It was about fifteen minutes into the movie that I realized that I tend to take things way too seriously. That I get actually offended when characters are hurtful to each other. For this example, I think it’s because I see so much of myself in the character of Iris, so when that bastard Jasper Bloom breaks her heart repeatedly, I feel it a personal attack on myself. I know what she’s going through, I’ve been that doormat. I want to pound on my chest and shout out something like, “That’s right, sister-friend! Tell him!” And I do. But Iris is not a real person and the story not a real situation, thus the movie continues on as if it didn’t hear me.
This is only one example of how seriously I take life sometimes — to the point where I think I start becoming no fun. And I am fun, I swear…I am bucket loads of it. Sometimes I think too much and this tends to transform me into a nagging killjoy with pursed lips, a tight bun and a ruler in my hand (ok, maybe not the bun and the ruler).
At times, it is for things that matter deeply to me, like social injustice (in which case, I don’t care if it comes off slightly weird or anti-fun…awareness of things like that are more important to me). At other times, it’s silly things like movies and books where I take the slights against “me-like” characters very personally and get too involved in fictional settings (that’s when I need to set down the book and go take a walk, to remind myself that I live in my own, real world, not 19th century England or wherever else my sense of injury and injustice has transported me).
However, to finish my initial story, our frustrations with the ups and downs of “The Holiday” were assuaged, when at the end (surprise, surprise) they all ended up dancing and hugging each other. And then Rachel and I proceeded to speak in British accents for the next two days.
Case and point for all of this: I will try to not make this blog a giant pool of my social and theological concerns that gets so intense that your head will explode. I will try to make it an accurate picture of who I am and how my story is being written, which must remain slightly ridiculous and light-hearted at times.
Remind of that, will you?