My doctor lowered my medication dosages last week, which makes me go...

via Pixabay, CC0

...weeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Except without the thrills and giggles and woo-hoo! part of it.

Despite the unpleasant withdrawal effects, being on the bipolar/anxiety roller coaster again is a good thing. I wasn't getting deep sleep because the dosages were too high, and like most people, I really like sleep. I was also having a hard time focusing, especially while driving. (Yikes.)

Also, being on the roller coaster reminds me that a happy-clappy drug placebo does not equal sanctity. Being in a good mood does not a saint make. Choosing God and his love does.

Because I write on spiritual topics, the "guru" temptation is always close at hand. I don't want to be a guru. I want to write from my weakness and share how God is transforming that into strength. Being on the roller coaster reminds me that I haven't yet "arrived."

(And even now, as I type, I think, "Sheesh, Rhonda, by writing that, you're just proving to the world that you really are a guru because you know that you need to know that you haven't yet arrived.")

(And that parenthetical proves that I am a guru by recognizing that I recognize that I'm guruish for knowing that I don't know.)

(Etc., etc., ad nauseum, and so on.)

I'm still on drugs, so my moods are still manageable, but I'm having moods again, and that requires some adjustment. I get to practice securing my own mask before assisting other passengers.

Yay.

St. Dominic, via WikiCommons, CC0.

One distinctive trait among Dominicans is their laughter. At the time of their founding 800 years ago, laughter was viewed with pious suspicion, per St. Benedict’s prohibition against laughter in his Rule.

But St. Dominic was known for always being cheerful and affable, and many of the early Dominicans, in particular Bl. Jordan of Saxony, were known for their playfulness and good-humored jokes. St. Thomas Aquinas goes so far as to say that:

“A man who is without mirth, not only is lacking in playful speech, but is also burdensome to others, since he is deaf to the moderate mirth of others. Consequently they are vicious, and are said to be boorish or rude, as the Philosopher [Aristotle] states” (ST II II, q.168 a.4).

That’s not to say the early Dominicans engaged in raucous or belittling behavior. When Dominic laughed, “he did so with the true delight of the Holy Spirit."

Cover image courtesy WikiCommons, CC0. Copyright belongs to publisher and cover artist.

The ability to make a joke without hurting others or oneself is a gift and a virtue. And while our culture has mostly lost sight of the value of this gift, I am happy to see that one person, at least, hasn't. From Suzanne Collins' Mockingjay (Hunger Games Trilogy, Book 3):

The tube's cover's simple to unlatch. A wide ladder with rubber treads on the steps allows for a swift, easy descent into the bowels of the city [the Capitol]. We gather at the foot of the ladder, waiting for our eyes to adjust to the dim strips of lights, breathing in the mixture of chemicals, mildew, and sewage.

Pollux, pale and sweaty, reaches out and latches on to Castor's wrist. Like he might fall over if there isn't someone to steady him.

"My brother worked down here after he became an Avox," says Castor. Of course. Who else would they get to maintain these dank, evil-smelling passages mined with pods? "Took five years before we were able to buy his way up to the ground level. Didn't see the sun once."

Under better conditions, on a day with fewer horrors and more rest, someone would surely know what to say. Instead we all stand there for a long time trying to formulate a response.

Finally, Peeta turns to Pollux. "Well, then you just became our most valuable asset." Castor laughs and Pollux manages a smile.

We're halfway down the first tunnel when I realize what was so remarkable about the exchange. Peeta sounded like his old self, the one who could always think of the right thing to say when nobody else could. Ironic, encouraging, a little funny, but not at anyone's expense. I glance back at him as he trudges along under his guards, Gale and Jackson, his eyes fixed on the ground, his shoulders hunched forward. So dispirited. But for a moment, he was really here. (Ch. 21)

Peeta's comment proves the inverse of St. Thomas' description above: the humorless man is a burden to others, but Peeta's playful joke lightens the burden that Pollux and Castor are feeling and makes it possible for the entire group to escape into the sewers.

But also clear throughout the book series is that Peeta rarely makes a joke at another's expense, as Katniss says. The few times he does (I'm thinking of teasing Katniss after Johanna's antics in the elevator) only makes him the object of Katniss' resentment. Peeta is good at heart and making fun of others isn't his modus operandi.

So Suzanne Collins gets it. I'm glad.

We live in a 1906 craftsman-style home within walking distance of work, the library, the farmers market and our thriving downtown. The neighbors on our block are awesome; we even have block parties. Our house has four bedrooms and beautiful wood trim and features throughout. The space is laid out well and lives bigger than its 1,700 square feet of living space. I can clean it top to bottom in a few hours on Saturday morning.

Sounds great, right?

But our house has its old house problems: chipped and peeling 1970s kitchen cupboards, a dilapidated downstairs bathroom, a non-functional garage, ugly fir trees that drop pitch and needles all over our car, the fence, the basement . . .

Did I mention we got a great deal on this house?

We bought this fixer-upper house at the bottom of the market and have already had some work done on it. The market here is hot and we'd make a pretty penny if we sold the house. We might even be able to buy a better house, one with less needed repairs and a bit more space for spreading out (and maybe an office!).

Maybe we could get a house with a VIEW! Get my nature-loving, space-loving, vista-loving self into the country and out of town!

More. Bigger. Better. These desires are so hard to resist.

Our house is fine. It's a lovely home. We're incredibly blessed in having it. Our family can grow and we'd still have room. So why this restlessness?

I find the battle to be satisfied to be a forever battle. I'm a doer, a go-getter, and am always looking to the next thing. I like changing stuff up. I like technological gadgetry and wish I could have and afford the newest iPhone. I like thinking through systems and work flows. I'm always redoing my websites. I'm always tempted to take on more projects than I can handle.

Stuff does not make me happy. Doing, doing, doing does not make me happy. I know this. So why the continued temptation?

I know I'm not alone. Wanting more, bigger, and better is a human problem and a particularly American one. It explains our national debt, our runaway credit culture, our exploitation of the underprivileged, the expansion the state and its bully pulpit and crony capitalism, our suburban sprawl, and our lack of self-control in many areas of life other than the material.

This is one reason I'm grateful my husband and I took the Dave Ramsey course a few years ago - it's given us tools for taking care of our family while fighting the urge to buy more crap.

The desire for more, bigger, better can't be answered by crap. More, bigger, better is something only found in God. Seeking it in anything else only leads to the disintegration of self and society.

Small is beautiful. It's hard fighting the consumerist tide, but it's worth it.