Tag Archives: Death Star

Episode XXII: Fight or Flight

Episode XXII

Fight or Flight

 Today’s Words of Wisdom:

 “You never know how strong you are until being strong is the only choice you have.”

-Unknown

 The Foda’s Take: TRUTH.

 Hi there, friends! How’ve you been? I’ve been rummaging along myself, thanks.

Okay. I lied. I’ve actually been in a bit of a rut. A really ridiculously reprehensible rut. (Tee-hee. I totally have a thing for alliterations.) But before you cluck your tongue and start feeling all sorry for me, here’s some things you really ought to know.

First of all, to quote Han Solo: “I trusted them to fix it! It’s not my fault!” Granted, here he’s talking about a broken hyperdrive, and I’m talking about my health…. but same general idea, no? Yeah, I’ve done it all. Changed my diet, seen the expert, paid the crazy amount of money for the herbs and tinctures and pills, had the PICC, followed all the advice down to the letter. I even drank activated clay and charcoal for God’s sake! (So. Gross. Or to quote Princess Leia: “I’d rather kiss a Wookie.”) And yet.. I’m still in a rut. Hence: “It’s not my fault!”

So I’ve been doing a little.. okay, okay, a lot of moping the past few days. After all, it’s very frustrating to devote every waking moment of my life to getting well and not see more results. I’m sure you can understand, sweet doll-face reader that you are. (You too, boys. Unless being called a doll-face offends your sensibilities. In that case, please accept stone-cold fox as an adequate substitution.)

Anyway, I’ve decided there’s only one way to view this rut that will make it even remotely palatable to my SciFi saturated brain. Picture this:

I have just come out of hyperspace. My hyperdrive is broken, and I can’t fix it. And to add insult to serious injury, I am now firmly stuck in the Death Star’s tractor beam. (Just go with me here, this is going to be a massive mouthful of a metaphor. <— Oops, I did it again!) Sigh. Totally singing Britney Spears now. Focus, Foda, focus!

Okay. Now it is very clear to me that I have two choices here. I am stuck in a tractor beam that is too strong, and my ship is too small. My first option is to hit a whole bunch of lever-y thing-ys and try and bust my way free, likely frying my ship in the process and getting sucked in anyway. Or, I can let the tractor beam take me in, steal whatever armor I can find, and fight my way out from the inside. Scientists call this decision Fight or Flight.

Now, brilliant readers that you are, you know I’m not really talking about a ship and a tractor beam and all that. But the metaphor stands. I’m in a rut- and until I’m well, it’s likely going to always feel like the Death Star is sucking me in while I struggle to get out. So instead of wearing myself out and blowing my precious little energy trying to get away… I think I’ll stay and fight. Even if that means I spend some time laying low, all sneaky-like, elbow-crawling my way through the belly of the Death Star….. (I’m taking this analogy a bit too far, aren’t I?)

The point is: when you choose to fight over flight, it may not always look like what you expect it to. Allowing the tractor beam to suck you in may seem like giving up. But sometimes, you have to know which battles are better to lose so you have enough fight in you left to be able to win the war.

I’m not going to win every battle. Lately I’ve been losing the battle with wrangling those good ‘ol happy feelings to where I’d like them to be. But that’s okay.. because that’s real life.  And this week, I’m just plain old tired of trying to get out of my rut. So I’m trying something super crazy.

I AM EMBRACING MY RUT.

I’m done spending so much mental and emotional energy trying to deny where I am right now. I’m done dancing the foxtrot with the tractor beam. I’m letting it take me in. But what it doesn’t know.. what it can’t know… is that once I’m in, I will lay low. I will get stronger. And one day, when the time is right, I will SMASH my way out of that Death Star.

Or at least close the door behind me REALLY tight.

Yours Truly,

The Foda

P.S. Wasn’t this just the most sensationally sinful soliloquy of cinematic similes you’ve ever seen? Ha! Nailed it.