I don’t really like going to church. I was a super-dickhead when I was growing up and I am waiting for the day that one of my old youth leaders decides to take karma into his own hands. I have nightmares about a seventy-five-year-old man in a bowtie giving me a throat punch┬ájust before scissor kicking me to the floor as he places me in a bow-and-arrow chokehold until I blackout in the lobby of the sanctuary. I really don’t think it is that far-fetched of a concern- I could be a little bastard when I was growing up.

Yesterday, I didn’t really have that concern. My wife was playing flute during the service so it wasn’t about me. As we sat in the parking lot waiting for the right time for her to enter the sanctuary, I asked her if she was nervous. She casually shrugged her shoulders and said, “No, not really. This is all really fun for me.”


That is awesome.

Amanda acknowledged that there is a degree of nervousness that flows through her when it comes time to play but the whole obligation is more about having fun and feeling good than it is anything else. I was in amazement at how excited she was before playing.

She was excited with joy, not anxiety. She was energized with glee, not stress or concern.

I love adrenaline, I always have. I think that I have a tendency to allow my adrenaline to stay more towards the category of anxiety as opposed to fun.

I need to have more fun.

Less anxiety. More fun.

Peace, Love, and all things Beef related,