I often say I feel out of whack. I think what I mean is I feel off kilter, like something is awry or broken. What a funny way to say that tho. Out of whack. Like you’re out of a big inflatable bat. Like your last nut job weirdo disappeared, and now you’re left with a big hole where the crazy used to be. Or A listless clown, A silent film, A stunted batman. Out of Whack. I am sort of all of those things. Out of Punch, out of Zip, Force, Pow, and Splat.


I don’t wonder why I keep losing weight and gaining it back? I don’t wonder why I can overcome something one day, think I’m cured, turn my head and have it sneak back up on me.  I don’t wonder because I know My daily life is a whack-a-mole carnival arcade game. 


If you have never seen a Whack-A-mole, it’s a completely enticing activity in which you try and smack down these little moles that pop up, and just when you bop one in the head, another pops up in an unexpected place. You get points for bopping out as many as you can before the game ends. Strangely I love that game. 


And yet I sometimes begrudge the endless moles of bills and broken things in real life. I can fix my washer and get new tires, clean my house and work proficiently, but not on the same day that I go to the gym and eat healthy or on the same day I drive, or leave the house , or get out of bed.  I can’t get it all together at the same time. Healthy and successful and in love all at once. Nope, Whack-A-Mole…I get one thing fixed and another breaks in its place. Frustrating the daylights out of me..UNTIL Last night… 


While rubbing the aching shoulder that I can barely move ” I feel out of whack” I said to myself while thinking at the same time ” Man I am just getting over surgery and now I have got to figure this new pain out ” I’m exhausted from the Whack-A-Mole of fixing myself. 


I know you are thinking it too! How succinct and beautiful it is. The Eureka moment when I realized I am out of whack, from over whacking.  I have been playing Whack-A-Mole my whole adult life, I am really good at it, strong and unsurprised. But tired as all get out. Arms hanging to the side


Yes I’m out of whack. I can’t lift that mallet one more time. 

So here I am, resting. All my moles that I had beat down. Have popped back up. All the bridges crossed have been met with immobility, all the vegan meals prepared have been replaced by junkfood, weight lost in constant struggle is now regained and mocking tight clothes…… All my little problems or issues or obstacles or decorations, whatever I call them all my moles are back.  All at once, because I am out of whack.  

I could embrace them like Cindy Crawford. I could celebrate my moles! And in a way I do, I don’t hate them anymore, but I certainly don’t want to base my career on them. I just look at them curiously, little suckers.  I try not to hate them, or myself or anyone. 


A while back I talked with woman who is kinda “well to do”, I shared that I spend my life putting out fires. Basically slapping down whatever mole pops up… And she was so shocked and dismayed… “People don’t live like that !” she cried in disgust… It was the first time I had the thought…”What the heck? How do other people live?” I kind of thought everyone just had their own problems and their own mallets and here we were, side by side banging down our own shit. I thought the only difference was the hideous or benign type of moles in our yard, the individual unique sometimes terrible problems that we all have. That is what I thought life was like.


But now I think maybe we are all playing different games in the same carnival and that explains a lot!, Maybe some people are feeding money to a slot machine waiting for the big payout.  Or they are stuck on a carousel going around and around. Maybe they are a claw game, trying to grab what they want, holding on for sweet seconds till it drops from grasp. Maybe they are dunk tanks of downtroddeness and feel like people are taking aim at them trying to knock them down. We all know someone who thinks the world is out to get them. Of course they do, if that is the game they are playing. Imagining life this way makes our different strategies and experiences almost make sense. 


I’m not a ring toss, I’m not a game of luck or slight of hand. I’m not trying to find the ball under the walnut. No that’s not me… I think on this go round I’m just front of this whack-a-mole trying to make a nice life. I wouldn’t trade my station. Maybe someday I will win, or move on and be something else but for now I’ll just anticipate the next unexpected situation.


I have Drawn The Conclusion : That I will pick up the mallet again, like I always do and I will start whacking moles again, like I have before, even when I thought I could do no more. I will whack-a-mole with new strength. Because the antidote for feeling out of whack, is knowing you have endless supplies of whack inside you.