There’s a Monster at the End of this Post*

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I feel like I blog a lot about stress. Or more accurately, more than I should because I don’t want to be seen as a whiner.

Let me clarify here that I’m not talking about real stress like being responsible for keeping a baby alive or having a mortgage. Just the fact that I have time to blog at all should testify to the non-seriousness of my stress.

I’m talking about about the stress that comes from dealing with my own flaws and the flaws of those I love. The situational, inescapable windmills turn giants** of day-to-day life.

I have a friend who, when she gets heated up, likes to run. Something about the endorphins and knowing that her already beautiful self will now look even better in a bikini gives her a release and a high that she swears to. I tried this once. I was going through a situation that I can only call a reverse Princess and the Frog, where I had kissed a charming prince and then he turned him into a frog. I set off on the nearby running trail but within minutes I was walking, red-faced, making mental notes to ask my doctor about adult onset, exercise-induced asthma. (And by ‘ask my doctor’ I mean ‘search WebMD’)
                                                     
Exercising, with all its benefits, did nothing to quell my ever-rawing nerves.

There was also a point in college that I tried out this thing called ‘retail-therapy’ that sounds soooo much cuter than it is. I had a friend who tutored me in the world of designer fashion and called $300 purses ‘investments’. While I thought I was watching my worries disappear with the swipe of some plastic, they were really just multiplying. It took years to crawl out of months’ worth of debt (which I’ve finished, thankyouverymuch). The only reason I’m not more ashamed  is because this was 2006 and most of America was doing the exact same thing.

If feels like stress is non-transferable. 30 Rock quote: Jack: “The head of the stress ball division hanged himself…”

Last night I found myself browsing Craigslist ads for apartments in a city I may or may not be moving to. In the middle of comparing the cost of a furnished apartment to the cost of moving, and looking at my tiny budget for this imaginary situation, it suddenly occurred to me: maybe I bring some of this stress on myself. Maybe the stress is just a symptom of something bigger: my resistance to truly trust God or, as a blog I recently read put it “give the apple back to God” referring to Adam & Eve.

God has taken care of me very well so far in life, so why do I always become convinced that this is the time God will fail me? Let Jesus take the wheel? Carrie Underwood, I wish it were that easy.

*If you get the literary reference in this title, let’s be best friends.

**If you get this literary reference, NERD ALERT!

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