I’ve been dwelling on something. Something so ridiculous that the second I start thinking about it I immediately get annoyed at myself for even thinking about it again, letting it bother me. It’s like listening to a record. The songs change, but none of them sound very good. In fact it’s terrible music, but I just keep on singing along, and not in a fun, “I love bad pop music” way. The record comes to an end and the needle automatically returns to its cradle and I just start that bad boy back up again. It’s super annoying. I’m annoying myself. I’m the broken record cliche.
When my parents were here we got to talking one day about Hank. “He’s your security,” my dad said after I professed my love for his royal grossness. “What do you mean?” “Sarah, when you were little and we would go to the mall, you would grip my hand so tight. You’ve always been a little fearful.” (Uh, you think? Hello. Cougar insanity.)
But in all seriousness, he is right, about the security thing. And Hank does deliver.
Yes, he has one heck of a bark, which he uses to scare the daylights out of most delivery people. It’s more than that though.
If you look up the definition of security in the dictionary a couple of meanings come up:
1. Freedom from danger or risk; safety
2. Freedom from care, anxiety, or doubt; well-founded confidence
3. Freedom from financial worries
4. Precaution against crime
In this case, it’s the second one.
Just being around Hank it’s easy to relax. (For me, he’s not everyone’s cup of tea.) He helps me see life in a very simplified way. A way that I can appreciate for its truth.
Are you fed? Are you loved? Did you have some kind of adventure today?
Well, then. That’s all there really is.
And that other stuff? The stuff I’m dwelling on. Forget it. Not that it isn’t important, it’s just not worth it.
So I’m taking that record I’ve been playing on repeat and chucking it like a frisbee into the abyss of our killer view, which just happens to look out over the rainbow super highway. I can recognize a message when I see one.
I’m sure the songs from that bad record will pop into my head from time to time, but I’m not going to let it become a soundtrack.
I’m fed. I’m loved. Adventuring daily.