I'll have the salmon and.. My heart on the rocks, please.

How is it, that we've lost the beauty of a problem?

According to our friends in the dictionary, a problem is simply any question or matter involving difficulty. The diction laureates also state that "difficulty" is nothing more than a trouble or struggle, and that to "struggle" is merely to resolutely contend with a task.

So, how is it that we, as human creatures orbiting about on this rock, have convinced ourselves that problems are something to avoid? How is it that a "problem" is now served piping hot with a generous helping of stress pilaf and sauteed heartache on the side?

When did we lose touch with all the brilliance that is forged whilst contending with struggle?

Was it all those years we spent in school doing peremptory problems on homework and tests, is that how we lost the distinction between arbitrary problems and real life problems which then caused us to lump them both into the same connotation? Is that why we feel they should be avoided all together?

We have become so mired in searching for a bother-free existence in an attempt to be "realistic" as we approach life that we have successfully evaded anything real. We are chasing a folly. There will always be "problems" but that's... fine. That's totally fine. It's not only fine, it's beautiful.

Smile. Problems mean you're alive.

Outside of proving that you still have energy pulsing through your flesh, keeping you upright in your stride from day to day, there is also a permeating excellence inherit in solving a problem.

Think of the resilience of the human spirit that is gilded during adversity.  Be enamored with the idea that we are capable of the tasks at hand. When is the last time you took a moment to revel in the wonder of your own mind? Yes, there may be a problem in front of you, but with that problem you are able to open a cerebral tool box that no other species on earth is capable of. Have you ever made a toast to your deductive reasoning? Or taken your instincts out to lunch for a job well done?

Friends, there is so much joy to be found in solving a "problem."

You know those days when you think...

"My boyfriend never listens. He completely drives me up the wall. I mean, I love him but he makes me crazy!"

Why not take a moment to step back and say: "How fortunate am I? How is it that I am lucky enough to have someone so fused into my life that their very essence can affect me so greatly? What an interesting challenge that poses for me. In a world where so many soldier on unaccompanied, how is it that I have someone that I care for enough to evoke such a cacophonous response within me?

Or those moments when you're verging on a meltdown and think:

"I'm dying at work. I'm doing things that aren't even IN my job description! And for what? There is no direct benefit for this in me. What am I doing here?"

Before you go leaping off the cliff, wait a tick and take a look. You're employed. Something so many in this country pursue. Not only are you employed but you are privileged enough to have a set of tasks that challenge you, that encourage you to utilize your skills, encounter new ones to master along the way, and prove your worth in the scheme of things. Take a moment with your coffee and say "Wow, what providence it is that someone trusts me enough to go above what the job posting said, what a fantastic opportunity to show my superiors what I'm capable of.  The paycheck I receive to stay progressive in my chain of goals doesn't hurt either."

Or those times, tumbling through school when you said:

"If I have to write one more paper this week, I'm going to kill myself. I'm going to wrap my computer cord about my neck and swing from an archway in library. What was I thinking?"

Oh, the brilliant mental bloodshed of college. Again, in the melee of midterms, reports, presentations, practicum hours, and your honors thesis take a second, just a second while your pouring over your notes around 3:00am in a Denny's to say: "What a blessing it is to have the opportunity to be educated. Today, I am able to walk into a classroom and learn; something that people literally giving their life to fight for, all I had to do was take a few tests and pay my tuition. What a divine turn of events that, not only do I have the opportunity to get an education, but because of this tool box, I have the mental capacity to relish in this new knowledge and use it to better of my personal sphere.

While this is obviously piggybacking on the "glass half full" philosophy I am not trying to say that we must always be happy. That is also chasing folly. If we keep ourselves locked in a mental continuum of "I MUST BE HAPPY" we will achieve naught but the injection of unnecessary anxiety. We must give ourselves the permission to feel as we feel. Feeling feels as they come is central to the recipe for a healthy soul. The dialogue should read something like "I am as sad as I need to be, and that is fine for now. I will feel what I feel, but I will feel it in stride."  By sifting the ingredients through a "How fortunate am I?" filter, you will create a palatable result.  You will be able to digest whatever springs forth from life's oven, with little to no heartburn.


After consulting with the chef, I've changed my mind. Hold the rocks,  I'll take my heart straight up, please. It's much healthier for the palate.

Not All Who Wander Are Lost. We're just really good at pretending we know where we're going...

Whoever is responsible for the Cake Walk should punch himself in the face.

Who decided to teach kids that all they had to do was walk around and they would be rewarded, WITH CAKE.

WHO DOES THAT?

Life can't be walked through, right? It needs to be worked through. Isn't that what we were told? Isn't that what we spent all that time in school learning? Acquiring all of the knowledge and the skills necessary for surviving in this world?


Living is hard, LIFE is hard. It is in no way, shape, or form a CAKE WALK.


So, if life is hard, it takes work, and you can't just get things out of nowhere then why does the cake walk exist? All it does is provide the medium for a phrase used to describe exactly what life isn't.

Who did it? Hmm? Who's responsible? WHO. DID. THIS?

OUR PARENTS?
Was the cake walk Mom's idea? Was it the fact that there were several stay-at-home-moms who had an abundance of baked goods, obviously in direct correlation to the fact that they needed something to distract themselves from their own existence? Was it a carefully choreographed method of rationing the hoard? Or was it evidence to support the claim that there was indeed a sweet ending to slaving all day in the kitchen? To show our daughters and future ladies of America that being a housewife was a productive choice? Mom... was it you?

Or was it...

OUR TEACHERS?
Was it a lesson cleverly guised as a jovial activity away from the daunting ordinary lessons to nurture the idea that there is some tangible accolade for pursuing an education? Allowing us to bask in the sprinkled reverie of not only staying in school but being present and involved on a day when there was no school scheduled?  Was it the positive reinforcement they deemed necessary for young people to keep filling the prison style brick buildings without question, which no doubt would gently remind the state that the signing of their feeble paychecks was an essential practice?

OR... No it COULDN'T be... Was it...

OUR CHURCH?
Cake walks are notorious for popping up during festivals sponsored by the church. Could it be the palpal powers' attempt at illustrating the blessings so commonly referred to in scripture and religious testaments? "Love Jesus. Eat cake." Or was it a clever, chocolaty blanket draped over the psyches of emerging minds to mask the blatant holes in theology en masse? No need for further inquiry, Love Jesus. Eat cake. It's that simple.


So, who? WHO? Whose ulterior motives are trying to seduce the youth by means of frosted, eye-catching goodness?

Well, dear friends, it is possible that maybe, just, maybe, there is a triumvirate at work.

It is abundantly clear that parents, teachers, and the church are a construct triplicate inducing buttercream frosted exploitation.

Yet, friends, before we fully allow red velvet McCarthyism to envenom wholesome baked goodness, we must consider the prospect that this confectionary trek is not taken on the grounds that a bitter twenty something looking back on his far too recent childhood may esteem.

There is a very real chance that, perhaps, it was an endeavor to imbue in us the concept of self-worth.

In the myriad of colored circles, walking about while music plays, hopping from shape to shape, or the random drawing of names or numbers from a colorful hat, one true fact remains:

All one had to do was be present to win.

Be there. That's it.

The hue of our flesh, the geography of our birth, the fiscal worth of our family's assets, or the gender of our valentine is of absolutely no merit.

Everyone present is given a chance to have their cake and eat it too.

Literally.

And here friends, pun intended, is the icing on the cake: If one did not get his just desserts upon the first round of chance, all he need do is keep walking. Eventually he is victorious.

There are no guaranteed success rate in this game, there is no mathematical equation that will determine when one receives his cake, the only solace in this confectioner's paradise is this: Those who keep walking will be rewarded.

We will get our sweet ending, friends.    Just keep dancing to the music.