This week I am sorting out my library shelves, which is necessary because I am a book junkie. At yard sales I usually hit the book table first and more often than not come away with arm-fuls of fifty cent treasures. Also, I have just discovered Amazon.
So I set my back to the task of weeding out the okay books from the books I absolutely love. This brings us to the formidable "should." One really should have Dostoevsky in their library. Shouldn't they? Confession - I can't stand most Russian literature - too dark for me. And shouldn't a well rounded library include Pilgrim's Progress? Another confession, I will never read that book again. It was a good book, it's just not Wodehouse. That's all I'm saying.
But I have not one inch to spare on those shelves, so out came all (or at least most) of the "shoulds." There is only room for what brings me joy. For the record, Othello does not bring me joy. Even the Bard got axed in this sort-out.
The "shoulds" in my life are like the wilted flowers that good gardeners pull out of their flower beds. I would like to get more specific with that analogy, but I can't because I don't grow flowers yet. That feat will come after all offspring are potty trained. Anyway, a "should" has the general shape and appearance of a flower, but all the life and joy and color have been sucked out of it.
The things in my life that I should have or should do, look like things that will brighten my life just like a flower, but in the end they drain my life and joy and color. Now I am quite grateful for some of my "shoulds". I like the way they tug me into action. The problem is when I start accumulating other people's "shoulds." And in this age, one can accumulate a whole pile of 'em faster than you can say google, or pinterest or neighbor-with-a-perpetually-imaculate-home.
I would like to live like I sort, holding on to a few of my own peculiar "shoulds", and tossing the rest in battered cardboard box bound for the thrift store. Perhaps someone else will have a use for them.
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