How Have You Forgotten To Love Yourself?
Horror movies taught me how to choose
A killer’s after me, closing in on me from the only exit in my house. Faster than me. I’m running, holding my side; the stitch in it aches. Shoot, why didn’t I do more cardio? I sound like a ventilator through a megaphone.
I stop in my living room and crouch behind the couch across from the dining table. The table’s full — a knife, gun, machete, grenade, and a banana.
I’ve never touched a grenade in my life. How’d that get there?
A crash comes from the kitchen. My heartbeat’s banging in my head as I hold my breath. Listen to the metallic sling sound of my biggest knife being yanked from its stainless steel holder. The killer’s armed.
Hesitant, light footsteps from three rooms over. The killer’s wonderin’ where I am.
It’s now or never.
Go.
I run to the table. Pause a minute, my hand hovering over the knife, gun, machete, grenade — then grab the banana.
Back behind the couch. I make a retching noise. The banana’s smell is gonna make me throw up, but at least the killer won’t be hungry while they stab, shoot, or blow me up.
How have you forgotten to love yourself?
This is what we do during our lives. Grab bananas when there’s better options.
- Fear when there’s courage
- Sitting when there’s walking
- Pizza when there’s apples
- Smoking when there’s breathing
- Doubting when there’s boldness
- Going little when we can go big
The killer’s closer. Soft breaths. They must do tons of cardio. Like my friend. He’s in the bathroom. I scan the living room, then slightly open the door to the small room under the stairs. Crawl back behind the couch.
Okay, okay. Breathe.
Here’s what I’m thinking about:
I don’t need GPS
I don’t need to see the whole map to move forward with confidence. Just like I can’t see the Universe or count snowflakes in a storm, I can never see the entire map. There’s no such thing as certainty.
I only need the first step. More steps will appear as I move forward.
People love these two things
My friend crawls into the living room. Silent. He hides behind the couch with me. In his front pocket is an L-shaped… something. A gun. Yes. He was a good choice.
Collaboration is the key. I’m strong alone but stronger with others.
I motion to his pocket. Make gun fingers, and mouth pew sounds.
The killer walks into the living room. I glance at them and watch as they stuff the weapons in their tight, black jacket. My friend empties his pocket.
Two bananas.
Well, he’s got one trait of a good collaborator: ambition.
We peek out from behind the couch. The killer’s holding a knife and a gun. They look back and forth from the small room, its slightly open door, and the couch. Narrow their eyes.
Then, move toward us.
Forget bananas.
Pick your tribe carefully.
Choose the guns, knives, machetes, and grenades. Eliminate your life killers. You know where they sleep.
The power is yours; it always has been.
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