Living Outside The Lines: Keeping It Between The Lines
Yes, yes, yes, I am fully aware of the irony here; the dichotomy between the featured column name of “Living Outside the Lines” and the title of today’s column, “Keeping it Between the Lines.” Bear with me, please. I promise to deliver a neatly wrapped package straight from the interior gray matter, also known as my brain. Whether or not you will agree with my logic remains to be seen.
While I still fully believe that life as a whole should be lived outside of the lines, nevertheless, there are some lines, in which keeping between is rather important. You know, like the lines for parking spaces, the lines in a bowling lane and well, though I digress slightly here, the wrapping paper cutting lines.
What is it about the lines of a parking space that I just cannot seem to maneuver my car between? The struggle is real, y’all. I have no problem pulling into an empty parking space nestled between two parked cars; it’s those vastly empty ones, with no cars for miles that I cannot seem to navigate.
Generally, I arrive at work by 7 a.m. The company parking lot is large, comparable to the area used by the San Marcos Target. Most employees arrive around 8 a.m., so finding a space isn’t the issue. Being a creature of habit and an exercise fanatic, every day I park in the same space, at the back of the lot farthest from the door. And every day, I fail to keep my vehicle between the lines.
Most days I don’t even realize how poor my parking skills are until I walk out in the afternoon, and wonder if perhaps my morning protein shake is responsible for my inability to aim? Or maybe it’s oxygen deprivation from the five-mile run earlier that morning? Most likely the issue is the non-reflective paint used to stripe the lines. Yeah, that’s it; the paint is fully to blame.
Now that we have solved the parking issue, let’s move on to bowling lanes. I am not ashamed to admit, I totally suck at bowling! No matter how hard I try, my eyes and hands have a failure to communicate that quite frequently results in a gutter ball. I promise, I am aiming between the lines, right down the middle, but those balls cannot be controlled! I see other people managing just fine, but I pick the same darn rebellious ball, every. single. time.
Being a fairly competitive person, my inability to aim a bowling ball is troublesome, particularly at the annual Corporate Finance Bowling Event. It is bad enough to air my dirty secrets amongst family and friends, but my co-workers, entire chain of command, chief financial officer and a vice president??? That is one dump truck full of humiliation!!
It gets better. There are awards; top three highest scoring teams, top individual scorer and bowler with the most room for improvement. Guess who brought home the improvement trophy three years ago? Yep. Me. Bet you didn’t know that prayer and bowling went hand in hand? They do. Every year I pray that someone scores lower than me. Perhaps that is a selfish prayer. Well, at least I’m keeping it real.
Wrapping paper. How hard is it for a 49-year-old woman to cut a straight line? Trust me, very. The white side of almost any type of wrapping paper has little-dotted lines guiding the bearer of scissors on their journey. Following those lines almost always results in a neatly cut edge. If there were a trophy for crooked paper cutting, I would be reigning champion.
Remember in the bowling scenario I shared how my eyes and hands do not communicate well with each other? Forget the lack of communication, they just flat out do not get along. The eyes see the clearly defined path, but the hands want to do their own thing. It’s no wonder an art teacher once told my mother she was wasting her money sending me to art classes because I possessed no talent. Yeah, I might still be a slightly bitter over that, but it would seem the teacher was being truthful.
Parking lines, bowling lane lines and wrapping paper lines, it seems I am forever doomed to live outside of these lines as well. I guess it should come as no surprise that the lines I’m supposed to stay within also elude me. But hey, if I were any type of normal, what fun would that be? And, whatever would I write about???
Until Next Time,
“Warrior Princess”
