Countdowns

Thursday November 22, 2012

Countdowns. People like to count down to an event, planning, getting excited. Why? I've done it, and I don't remember why, what motivated me other than needing something to do. It becomes ritualistic, and a creative outlet, but what purpose does it serve?

It makes some people happy. It hurts no one. It aids in planning for the event.

I like the anticipation, the thrill, the electric current that courses through my body at the thought of the event. The numbers mean a steady progression of time, orderly lined up in front of me, plenty of it, room to let things by, time to get things done, items prepared, plans made.

Then the countdown reads Zero. No time left, time has run out, and now the real work begins. I envy those that prepare, have notes and lists, I also despise them, for not having the brain power to think on the fly. I secretly congratulate myself as each item, each chore is knocked off my imaginary list, the one in my head, only to be replaced by the stomach sinking feeling as each item off the list leaves room for 10 more items.

Do I ask anyone to help? That would let them know I am failing; that there is a chink in my armour. That would be unpleasant.

But isn't it pleasant when one can share? laughing at ourselves together, without fear of recrimination, of snide remarks, of having your foibles and flaws brought up at an awkward time desinged to make you look ridiculous. Designed to make the accuser look better?

Yes, it is pleasant to share like behaviors, flaws and fears with friends. The knowledge that your secrets are safe, your hidden fears remain hidden, and the shared laughter when you cross that invisible line into the land of strange obsessions, and know you will be brought back safely, after a good giggle. Knowing that your companions are not sinking into that strange land, drawing you in, then leaving you there to drown, alone.

And knowing that although you publically despise countdowns, you have someone with whom you can share the numbers.