Stress, I haz it. I stress about money, I stress about the food that I eat. I stress about men. I stress about…oh, fuck way too many things.
You know what I don’t stress about? Asking questions. Mostly because I don’t ask enough of them. I do stress about what asking a question will make me look like, though. I’m just a big stress ball–and not the kind you can squeeze to relieve the stress, either!
“Silly Olga, why are you asking such a dumb question?”
“Er, well…I was just wondering.”
Funny how our minds trick us into thinking that we’re going to look like fools if we allow ourselves the opportunity to ask a question. When we’re children and we’ve masted the basic art of talking we ask multitudes of questions. It starts with “why”, progresses through “how come” and moves into more sophisticated territory. Somewhere along there, though, we begin to lose that natural innate urge to ask each question that pops into our brains.
I’m trying to get it back, not because I want to pester people like a five year old again (I think my parents had enough the first go around) but because I have a lot to learn yet in life and I don’t want to miss the opportunities.
Tagged: inside my own headspace