This past Saturday night will go down in my memory as the scariest night of my life. It's not a huge deal, but basically I was driving back to Milledgeville in this monster storm on 441. If you've ever been down 411, you would know that there are no gas stations, no stores, no nothing but farms for the entire length of it. Now I was doing this drive sans cell phone as it was. Add a tornado warning, pitch dark, and varying levels of utter downpour...and you've got my drive home. I was pretty sure I was going to die. A little irrational maybe, but try telling that to someone who is scanning the horizon between flashes of lighting for signs of a tornado.
It's funny how people react to these kind of situations. I turned the radio off because the storm watch announcements every couple minutes were just making it worse, turned on the Jars of Clay CD Redemption Songs, and prayed. And prayed, and prayed, and prayed, and prayed... Sound about right? I mean, my friend Jordan who is an atheist told me this story once. Her family witnessed an accident on the highway and were the ones to pull over and call 911. She said that she put her hands on an injured person and prayed for their protection. It didn't change her convictions about the existence of God of course, but I don't think her response or mine was all that uncommon. I think we have this gut level reaction to cry out to the heavens in times of trouble. We're hard wired. I like how our filters go off in those moments too. What you pray for can give you a good sense of what's really important to you. Of course I prayed that I would live; I think that's pretty obvious. But I was surprised to hear why I wanted to live. I prayed that I wouldn't die on this stretch of highway because it would be a long time before me parents found me if I did, and I didn't want them to worry. I didn't want to break my mother's heart.
I never want to break my mother's heart. My mom found out recently that I had a blog and she wanted to read it. I told her she couldn't. She didn't understand why. She didn't understand that it was because I thought her reading it would change her high opinion of me. Would somehow give me the added pressure of making sure I was writing something that would make her happy. But maybe that's not fair. Maybe I'm giving her love conditions that don't exist, but I don't think that just goes for her.
The thing I fear most is disappointing people. It puts a lot of extra stress on my relationships because I'm constantly holding myself to higher standards than I'm holding other people to. I like to seem well-read, well-listened, intelligent, insightful, charming, and on top of all that I strive to be genuinely good person. I'm constantly failing because who on Earth can do all that all the time? But there is no way I'm alone in this. I'm sure pretty much everyone wants to be a good and interesting person. So maybe we all just want our mothers be proud of us.
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