Teeter totter or Swings

Growing up, I was usually a bit larger than most girls in my class. I've always tended toward the heavy side, though I wasn't obscenely overweight. But when we'd play on the playground, I preferred the swings or merry-go-round to the teeter totter. My friends - lighter than me - would have an easier time being up than I would. And my legs got tired of having to push really hard to get myself off the ground, the unbalanced system leaving me falling more than rising.

It wasn't that I never had fun. Holly and Mandy and Missy were all, at times, lovely to me. And I can remember giggling and making faces as we took turns going up then down. Once I caught a rhythm, it was rather delightful. But I more often felt bulky, wishing I was more slender and girly.

I didn't have the same problem on the swings. It didn't matter if anyone else played or not - I could hold to the thick, metal chains and pump my legs and drift up toward the sky, then swoop backward toward the huge, green field that sat behind our one-story school. On the swings, I could daydream and smile, enjoying the moments where I lifted off the seat at the peak of arc, then feeling myself pushed into the rubber as I rushed back toward ground covered with tiny gravel pieces, worn smooth over the years from tiny tennis shoes.

I didn't feel heavy or embarrassed on the swings. Everything was smooth and wonderful - if I wanted to work hard, I could go high. There's something magical - a feeling that leaves me feeling powerfully nostalgic - about stretching my feet toward the sky, watching the blue expanse dotted with fluffy clouds beyond the footwear tied with lopsided bows. Other days, I'd brush the ground with my toes, pushing ever so slightly as I rested and thought and waited until the bell rang, demanding we form neat lines at the back door so we could return to our classrooms.

I don't know why it makes me feel good to be better than others. I vaguely put it with the pile of my various character flaws. I've spent a lot of time feeling inferior, so when the chance to feel a bit better comes along, I do revel in it. I do not, however, like to make others feel badly. I'm disappointed that I so eagerly participate in an environment which is so brutal on some people's feelings. (I also, by the way, hate that I feel badly about being "sensitive" when all I really want is a respect I feel is due each person.)

This weekend has been spent doing some work. But rather than watching someone across from me - trying to see how hard she's pushing off the ground, how much fun she's having as we teeter and totter along, if she laughs harder or looks prettier or seems smarter - I've been swinging on my own. It's not the healthiest, honestly. I came in from the kitchen last night - I have a Windows laptop set up on my table - and crowed that I was "so good at my job! So, so, so good at my job!" because I successfully uninstalled the old, installed the new software, and processed some data with beautiful results. I'd been putting it off for weeks, was relatively sure I couldn't do it, and was thrilled with my success. It was that glorious feeling where my bottom left the swing as my legs stretched out as far as they could go while I leaned back and grinned at how much fun swinging could be.

Moments later, I realized that most of the day's work had failed miserably. The software glitched on my laptop or I set something up wrong and I didn't have the data I needed. I instead had garbage. I'm growing increasingly frustrated as I continue to try to figure out why I have garbage or how to fix this unidentified problem. "Not good at my job." I reported this morning as I struggled out of a headache that's still nagging me under the protective cover of Excedrin. Friend looked up sympathetically as I noted, "I don't feel good. I slept too long so my muscles are sore. I didn't go to church, so I'll probably go straight to Hell. I can't make my software work, and I should know how. So now instead of asking it 'why can't you read my files?' like I did last weekend, I'll be asking 'why can't you do step 2 of my analysis?' and it won't answer so I'll have to ask for help because I can't figure it out. Not good at my job."

When there's triumph or defeat inherent in the process of research or love or life, I'm not sure why I feel the need to look outside to decide how I'm doing. Even when I know the teeter totter isn't my playground equipment of choice, I get on sometimes. Perhaps I'll try to go toward the swings - and recall that the down is inevitably followed by an up at some point - more often. Either that or find a way to leave the playground altogether. But that's a whole different post.

Now I really want to go swing (like on a playground, not in terms of professional mood).