I believe in signs and symbols. What about you? Me, I see an omen saying “60 miles per hour,” and my foot draws closer to the floorboard. I smell bacon and Pavlovian spittle rolls down my chin. It’s mystic.
In that same way, within days of the new year, my fingers drum to the beat of the obligatory New Year blog. And my fingers are most obliging--at least that’s what I’m told. Yeah, I talk to myself a lot. I whisper all kinds of cool nothings in my own ear.
This year’s New Year blog made me proud. It showered comic confetti while the Rob noisemaker tooted his own horn. It was spectacular I tell you! It was a countdown to all that’s new.
I mean that’s what we’re all asking for right? To step into something new and walk away from what’s old. To wake up naked and clean, all past impressions washed away. Just short of magic, that never happens, but you can learn to live with what’s left. That’s what I said last year. Yeah, it was a real uplifting chorus. I saw the sign and it predicted, “Yawn.”
Still, my fingers cast the same type and spell, and this year’s New Year’s blog was ready to go. Then I saw something new. I shredded the old blog and started the new. Maybe I should explain.
Those of you who know me, know that I walk a weird balance of private and public. MyEx knows, and I think Grunge Pixie has seen me sway on this too. She’s new to the language of Rob and Rob blogging though and what she chooses to do with what she interprets, well, that’s up to her. I can’t tell her what to do, I’m still trying to understand Pixish. Pixese? Whatever. I’m still sucking at foreign languages.
And that should be my first sign.
See, the pixie and I have run into a wall, a language barrier. You know how when you lie on your back, looking at the clouds, and the person next to you says, “I see an elephant,” and you punch them in the arm really hard? We all do this, right, because it’s not an elephant. It’s a scary monster diving from the sky. Well Grunge Pixie sees the elephant and she punches me back.
This might be an ugly fight, but I withdraw first with my war cry, “not in the face!” and scrunch into the fetal ball of imperviosity. Yeah it’s a word. Look it up.
Later, when I un-tuck, and lie on my back, the pixie and I look at the same sky. We’re seeing the same cloud, but we see it differently. What we can agree on is that it’s blocking the clear sky. It’s what keeps us from stepping into the new. It’s a sign. That’s right because if you know me, you also know I’m melodramatic. Then again, if you know me that well, you’re too close. Please step behind the yellow snow line.
What’s it mean? It means somebody peed, but that’s not what I’m asking about. I’m asking about the sign. That means that we’re both human. And yeah, I know, that’s about as helpful as last year’s New Year blog: it doesn’t move the obstacle, and it certainly doesn’t help us see it as the same thing. That’ll take a hypnotist or a new pair of glasses. We can’t afford either. So, she still sees her elephant, and I still see my big-mouthed gnashing monster ready to eat me whole.
So whats the big cool Rob advice? I don’t know. This is new, and yet it’s like déjà vu. I’ve been here before, and every time I come, the sign say “impending doom” and I believe in signs. They’re always right.
Here’s the question though: Do I believe in them because they’re right, or are they right because I believe in them?
Signs. They’re a part of language. Just ask anybody who knows ASL. Yeah sorry, cheap joke. I’ll try to sacrifice those to the New Year resolution gods. Still, the joke proves my point, and that’s really all that’s important, because if I can validate my perspective, that’s all that’s important.
Validation is a sign. So is the friend who called me at midnight to discuss a book she bought.
“It’s called The Five Love Languages.”
“That’s great, do you want to hear about my monster or not.”
“I’ve not seen your monster, as you and most men call it, but that’s ok, no. I’m sure it’s impressive though.”
“Not that monster, my problematic one. ”
“Sounds like the same monster to me.”
“Fine, whatever, tell me about your book.”
So my friend, Miss Cleo did. It’s mostly hooey. It’s a book about all of us speaking different languages. We see offerings of love differently. It’s sort of a Cain and Abel meets the tower of babble view: all are languages to reach God, but only one language pleases one God. In the book though, we’re all the god somebody’s trying to appease, and not all offerings are well received. Some may offer their first-born when a mere rose will suffice. We need to speak the same love language.
Supposedly, the languages are: quality time, receiving gifts, acts of service, words of affirmation, and physical touch. If you believe the lexicon, we all have a primary and a secondary tongue. The secondary tongue probably works great if you’re into physical touch—or I’m just guessing. Like I said Hoo—
Elephants and monsters…
Whatever. I’m not even saying that’s the cumulonimbus chasm between North Pixie and South Rob, but it does explain concepts of interpretation. Mix that with the personal communication learned from previous conquistadors, and it’s amazing we talk at all.
I believe in signs. And signs always require timing. New Year, Miss Cleo, Monsters, and pixies, even bridge trolls. These are all signs, but I’m not sure I like the sanitarium they point to.
“Sure you see signs, Rob, just try on this jacket. Straps and Buckles are all the rage now…”
So in 2009 Rob is trying something new. I’m learning to show love in foreign languages. I’ve already looked up the site and bought the book. There’s also a book there on the five languages of apology. Yeah…no. Not yet: baby steps. I’m still a novice. If Rob buys a book on apology, then that’s a sign of Armageddon. I don’t think 2009 is ready for that. But buying a book on love, I think I’m ready for that. I’ve learned what I love, maybe it’s time to learn what somebody else loves too.
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