Kleptomania

At what point did the American psyche become so ravaged and propelled by fear?

I'm a secretary at my church. My duties are many and vary from day to day, all at the fingertips of a boss whose pace of life would render any weaker vessel helpless, moaning, and eternally scarred sucking one's thumb in the corner of a dark room.

I have a desk and an office that I actually need and use--for the first time in my life. I have a phone that people call me on and ask questions. I have a comfy office chair that rolls around, and I can put my feet up against my desk and launch myself in aforementioned chair across the room.

So let me tell you a story.

Once upon a time, there was a little child named Emily. She was ravishingly attractive and talented and wise. But there was a deep and dark evil swelling over the verdant fields of EmilyLand. Without warning, little Emily would be overtaken by this evil and have the urge to throw all her books, dirty clothes, money, remnants of meals, electronic gadgets, and other essential items on the floor of her bedroom, and really any other horizontal surface she encountered. The bathroom was left ravaged. The kitchen groaned under the weight of spills and dirty dishes. The living room gasped for air between the piles of schoolbooks. Despite the suffering of these rooms and other horizontal surfaces, Emily's reign of terror beat on without restraint. Noble citizens of the land contended for cleanliness, but as the child grew toward adulthood, her neurosis prevailed and merely became more crafty. Little Emily assumed all would be well....until she got a job! BAH BUM BAH!!!!

The bold pile of everything I need to do that day on my desk looks like a deeply disturbed kleptomaniac lives under the copy machine.

So what does this have to do with the American psyche?

Well....

Yesterday afternoon, I was beginning to have a pretty stressful day. I didn't have much time left before I had to take off and go to a four and a half hour long class, and I still had alot to do. So I'm attempting to tackle one of these tasks when I notice the desk. It was the final blow to my state of mind.

I reflected miserably for a few moments on how unfit I was for the job, simply because I was so disorganized. I talked to my mom/the clerk, and she shared how insecure she was in the fact that she hadn't worked for years and she felt like the billows were close to crashing over her.

So many people live in fear--the fear of rejection, the fear of failure, the fear of missing their destiny. How often have you wondered whether the course you were taking was really the one that would lead you to happiness? Whether the people you love have ulterior motives? I remember wondering if I was going to end up a discontent middle-aged housewife trying to figure out if what she has is the American dream and suspecting that it surely is (and isn't all it's cracked up to be).

Would you be the person you are today if you didn't base your motives on fear? What would happen if you never made another decision out of insecurity?

Thus are my reflections.