Just because it is unpleasant does not mean it is honorable. If you have underpants that make you sad every time they come up in the rotation – “Oh. You again.” – you are under no obligation to those underpants.
You did not enter into a covenant with those underpants. In the unlikely event you did, I will help you research how to get out of it. I’m sure there is a way. If a man named Andre 3000 can release an all-flute album after helming Outkast, you can choose a future with no room for suboptimal underpants.
There are enough overwhelms that you will have to eat. Your boss will reassign you to the North Dakota office in February. Your cat will require subcutaneous fluids. A multinational corporation will discontinue the cereal that gentled your mornings. Your favorite musician will lose his taste for songs called “Hey Ya!” and take up the flute. You will have to do things you thought you could never do. You will do them.
You will play enough cards to be dealt a diagnosis. It may be marquee or manageable. The latter may be more overwhelming. You may need to jab or deprive yourself while everyone else is relieved that you are treatable. They will move on. You will be overwhelmed without permission. You will not find your name on the guest lists of either The Ill or The Well, and you will stare at your shoes in the hallway. The guy vacuuming the carpet will say “excuse me” and keep moving. You will keep moving. You will go to the cafeteria and eat the pointy leaves, or you will get scurvy.
You will not get scurvy. You will watch yourself on the big screen. Your own hand will crush pills into glitter. You will apply them to your life with Mod Podge. You will stand at the center of ferocious things, all of them swinging maces and cats o’ nine tails. You will metabolize them into your routine. “It is eleven o’clock. This is when I dispatch the ninjas.” You will scramble old overwhelms for lunch and find that they are high in protein.
You do not have to douse them in hot sauce.
Just because it is difficult does not mean it is your assignment. Someone needs to run for Coroner. But your body belongs at your laptop, where you write words to raise the dead. Someone needs to lead the youth group. But your Sundays are phosphorescent forests where you gather light for the week. Someone needs to swing hammers. But you have spindly arms and secret construction projects of your own. Everyone needs to tell the downtrodden that unconditional love is the axis. No one can twirl all the batons. You also have a right to watch West Wing reruns and eat Fig Newtons.
Many difficult things can be left undone with minimal risk of triggering Armageddon. No one needs to make your aunt understand that single persons of a certain age are whole integers. No one is obligated to consume blushing larvae, even if they star in your in-laws’ shrimp salad. No one is forbidden from declaring Mr. Holland’s Opus to be the zenith of American cinema. No notary has sealed a contract committing you to karaoke night, sensible footwear, or the worship of Taylor Swift. In the unlikely event that they did, I will help you research how to get out of it.
Obligatory overwhelms will come. You do not need to find them play dates. You do not need to clean your plate. Leave lint in the hallway. Grab people off both guest lists and lead them to the park. Pipe a tune if necessary. Pipe fondant on lemon cakes. Acquire excellent underpants.