Laugh Or Cry

In this country, you can pay an upwards of $10,000 and buy yourself a shiny little license plate with just four numbers on it. Yes, you heard me right. Four sharply cut numbers can be yours and with it the protection to bully every other car in the region, park where you want, bypass speeding tickets and attempt to flatten little blonde American girls and get away with it. It’s hard to dodge the rich young men in white Toyota Land Cruisers while driving a miniature rental, but you try to if you see those four charachters creeping up in your rear-view. Wait, no. Let me rephrase that. You have to dodge them or they will flash their lights at you and try to wreck your car. And your day. And your life. And any positive vibes you may have had up until that point.

So what do you do? Laugh or cry? Usually I want to tap my breaks for a little round of revenge, cry about the handcuffs on my wrists then laugh about it once I’m a granny and the burn has subsided.

There’s no winner in this cultural rubiks cube.

Wrong.

There can be a winner and it can be you. Every game has someone come out on top. Sometimes there are two. My goal is to always be one of them. Even if it’s just in my head.

So if he comes up behind me flashing his lights, honking and going five thousand miles over the speed limit? I turn up Adele and throw a concert for my little mirror audience. Then I calmly move over. Because his actions do not determine my reaction. I choose to not let him make me mad (er, furious and ruthless and criminal).

This mentality carries over in every part of my life (it doesn’t just curb my road rage).

You think my workout clothes are too revealing? That my apartment is too expensive? That I’m too young? Great! Want me to bake you banana bread? Or do you prefer house parties?

Thriving in the Middle Eastern desert demands surviving under critique, criticism and cultural collision. It so easily wears you down so I prop myself up with a heavy dose of scripture, tunes and chats with friends about the ironies of life. Then I throw on a game face that even fools Leah Harding.

I try to meet negativity with optimism and hope. Throwing in humor makes it a game.

I can get irritated at the waiter for calling me ‘ma’am sir’ or adopt that phrase and rename a friend.

Saying ‘hello’ to a stranger who responds with the look of a devil can shut me up or drive me to greet everyone, searching for that one normal response in return.

I have learned in these last six months that I am the ultimate ruler of my emotions, which ultimately shape my perspective of reality. If I let my knee-jerk emotions rule me, I am caving in to a pitiful life filled with a foundation easily cracked by the lightest breeze (or speeding villain). I have learned that my mind is strong and my will to create is undeniable. If indeed every force has an equal and opposite reaction, then my choice is split 50-50. Newton tells me that I can choose hate or love. Irritation or peace. Laughter or tears.

With a choice comes freedom, thanksgiving and clarity to know how to change.

It would be unfair to omit the fact that I have also cried more in these six months than ever before. It took tears to see the beauty in being raw and to help me address the reality behind my fears of being judged. It then took perspective to realize I will always be a victim if I play the game with shame and self-doubt. I now try to live in thanksgiving for this newly found perspective.

It starts with a ‘pick yourself up by your bootstraps’ kind of thought and then eases into a childlike wonder of the world. The child in me loves the game boards that I find myself standing at the edge of every single day. I can choose to play with wonder or play like a victim. Do I laugh or should I cry?

That four digit dude shares oxygen in this bubble with me. I see him and respect him because he is a God-made human. But I will not let his warped degradation of me shape my perception of my surroundings or my ability to love him through a power greater than words can explain. The gift of grace frees me from reacting to his actions. I am free to see things differently and to play with love.

Spoiled Toyota man can wreck your day and shift your focus or he can remind you to laugh at how utterly ridiculous it is that low counting digits on the back of a speeding bullet somehow makes someone think they are better than you.

The game can be tricky. It usually is. We are each confronted with a thousand versions of our own speeding Land Cruisers every hour and we each have a decision staring us down. Though some would call it self-deception, I call it inception. You have a chance to choose your reaction. That may be the most important decision of your day.

So the question remains: Laugh or cry?

Try both and tell me which one feels like winning.