Pollyanna-Me

Sometimes you're the windshield; sometimes you're the bug. I guess this is my season of insectitude, 'cause every time I think I'm hitting my stride again, I get smacked with a high-impact piece of plate glass. (Figuratively speaking, that is.)

Maybe that's the way we get past things, we humans. We experience setbacks, which we may choose to shoulder against or simply wallow in for a while. Soon enough, we step forward, and so we move; we stop short. We regain momentum. We lose all sense of progress. And, somehow, we inch ahead enough to one day recognize ourselves in fresh surroundings.

Today, I wrote in an email, "I just want to expect things possible." So true, and so sad! That's what I want, even though, as readers of the Gospel of Luke well know, "Nothing is impossible with God."

Since when did my faith boil down to expecting things possible? How very lame is that?!

I almost hate myself when I'm not Pollyanna. Because, as some can attest, I AM that girl. Almost every new person I meet comments on my cheerful voice, my sunny nature, my high energy, my cute name. (Wince.) I used to honestly wonder what they were talking about. I'm not that cheerful. I'm quite sarcastic. And I have melancholy thoughts, thankyouverymuch. But, it seems, even when I try to tone it down, I'm just a loud lot of positive energy to take in. (Part Texan; part poodle.) Seriously, my whole teen and adult life, I have gotten this feedback. Such that I have come to understand, I will now and always be playing the role of real-life Pollyanna for friends and strangers alike. I don't mean it to be acting; I'm simply inclined or conditioned or condemed to be this way.

Even on my lowest days, at least one caller will listen to me answer the phone, pause before saying hello, and tell me they thought I was a recording. It seems my voice is so "bright" and "perky." They really can't believe I answer every call like that. You know what? It almost physically hurts, every time someone new says, "well, aren't you cheerful." It feels like they're judging. Like Pollyanna is some kind of freak. And she is me! Here I am, an overly-cheerful FREAK among normal people.

The sad thing is, I don't even want to be Pollyanna all the time. I don't possess a bundle of enthusiasm for life right now. But every time I cease and desist with the sunniness, I only feel worse. Like I'm TRYING to to suffer instead of trying to heal. So pie-eyed optimist it is. She is me, and I am she. And I almost hate myself when I'm not Pollyanna. Because I don't know who else to be.