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Ahhh. I love a good old comfy paradigm, don't you? The way it just slips right over your shoulders, warming the cockles of your heart, sending waves of familiarity and validation up to your brain. It's like a big ol' mug of hot chocolate with a scoop of mint chocolate chip ice cream floating around in it. Ohhhh yeah. I love me my comfy paradigms.
On the other hand, I hate it when they shift. At least initially. It's like someone taking that lovely cuppa cocoa, throwing an ice cube into it, and dribbling it all down the front of my new white all-purpose tee shirt. Hate it when people do that. And do that people do. That's why I have a closet full of unwearable stained white shirts. I go in there sometimes and remember with fondness the days that I thought everything was a clean shirt and warm cocoa that never left its cup.
So. I have some bones to pick with a few of the cocoa-dribbling-white-shirt-ruining-paradigm-shifters in my life. Yeah, I'm talking to you, guy who I had decided was a tad inflexible. Instructor who I thought I could never please. Person who would never work with me. Why'd you go and pull the marshmallows out of my imbibement by offering to help me out of a difficult situation in such a way that would never benefit you, only me? Now my cocoa doesn't tickle my tongue. But then, it's not so overly sweet anymore either, so maybe that's a good thing.
And how about you, person I was pretty sure hated me, but then turned around and invited me to participate in a program you'd put together, doing nothing but appreciating my meager efforts all along the way? What did I ever do to deserve your kindness? You splattered cocoa on my shirt. Never mind that you volunteered to launder it but ended up replacing it in the end. Sheesh.
And finally (oh yeah, you knew it would come to this) you several of you in fact who I was quite sure were just in it for the money. How could you think of giving me great deals, or even not charging me at all, once you learned about my financial situation? Huh? What about you? I was doing fine with my warm little paradigm and my clean shirt and my hot drink and my safe cocoon of judgment um, er, I mean, clarity. Yeah. That's what it is. Clarity.
*cough*
Okay, I give.
I'm switching to lemonade.
And I'm seriously looking into plaid. Or paisley. Something that won't show the dribbles.
Alison Moore Smith is a 61-year-old entrepreneur who graduated from BYU in 1987. She has been (very happily) married to Samuel M. Smith for 40 years. They are parents of six incredible children and grandparents to two astounding grandsons. She is the author of The 7 Success Habits of Homeschoolers.
So, I’m reading this and trying to figure out who each person is! :devil:
I think I understand this but, to be honest, it’s kind of like reading Shakespeare. :shamed: I think you’re trying to hide the real meaning with metaphors. Or similes. What are they called? Am I right?
What I get is that there have been times when you think you know someone and have judged them to be a certain way and then later they do something that doesn’t fit what you decided of them. Am I close?
Bing! Bing! Bing! And the winner of the “What The Heck Did She Mean By That?” award goes to . . . Partone! Yes, that is exactly what I meant, but you said it more clearly than did I. Sorry for the obscure writing. Chalk it up to Low-Blood-Sugar-Fast-Sunday. On the other hand, I don’t necessarily want people to figure out who I’m talking about (Alison). I do find that, shockingly, when I discover goodness in others it is goodness that has always been there, not something that just popped up when I noticed it. I think most people have good hearts, have done good, and want goodness. It’s a matter of me staying open minded enough to see it. Same thing applies to situations too.
And now methinks that ere I write again I shall, perforce, learn — as the dew distilleth upon the tender blades – the usage of moderne English.
Hah! So, you WERE talking about me. I knew it.
Alison, I think Janiel’s silence is your answer. I just want to know which one you are!
Oh, Alison, I’m always talking about you, babes!
Okay, not really. You don’t know any of the people I was writing about. Although we could sort of apply the second one to you, if we take out the part about me thinking you hated me, because I didn’t. (Of course now that I’ve posted a few things on here, maybe . . . 🙂 But I did think it was awfully kind of you to give me a writing outlet, and I shall always be grateful, because it came at a time when I needed it. Thanks, friend.
Sorry for the boring answer, Partone. 🙂
Janiel, I’m pretty sure everyone is always talking about me. What else could they talk about? 🙂
LOL Janiel. It’s OK. I guess I need to get our more when my big excitement is possible scandal at Mormon Momma!