Overkill

Men at Work were really popular when I was in sixth grade. My dance class did a dance to "Land Down Under," and we all loved "Who Can it Be Now." But my favorite Men at Work song was "Overkill." One night, it even made me cry.

That was the year I first noticed that I had a severe anxiety problem. The year I developed an ulcer. The year I started keeping a notebook on the nightstand to try to quiet the thoughts that raced and kept me awake at night (those of you who know me as a "list person" now know where that stems from--making a list is sometimes the only way to quiet my brain and get some sleep). It made for some award-winning poetry, but it also made for a painful adolescence (don't get me wrong--my social life in junior high and high school was almost idyllic, in a John Hughes sort of way--just the right mix of heart and humor and silliness and melodrama--it's just that there was a lot of worry, a bunch of rattly old skeletons in the closet needing attention).

So anyway, when I finally listened closely to the lyrics of "Overkill" one night (undoubtedly on KRQ), I felt what the singer felt and it became somewhat of an anthem for me. And you can imagine the joy (and twinge of pain) I felt when Colin Hay appeared on an episode of Scrubs singing said song. It was an episode about being totally overwhelmed as an intern, and I thought it was perfect. Here, you watch it see if you feel the same way:




So I was just thinking about all this stuff, and I want to articulate it better later, but I was just thinking about how everyone has their own "stuff"--their own anxieties, weaknesses, mental illnesses, addictions--even the people who always seem like they have it together. And how crazy is it that we (whose problems are obvious) always look at them (whose problems are hidden) and think it would be nice to trade loads.

I have noticed a subtle shift in my thinking over the past year (again, something I will elaborate on later), in that I have recognized that (a) everybody's got a row to hoe, so to speak, a load to bear, a trial to endure, whatever; and (b) MY load is tailor made for me. I mean, it's hard sometimes and all that, but I have learned from trying to fulfill my baptismal covenants, by trying to bear one anothers' burdens. I have learned that my load is just right. A seemingly lighter load wouldn't make me "perfect, even as [my] Father in Heaven is perfect," and a heavier one would crush me. So in many ways I have been able to put my blinders on and deal with what's on my plate, and do it a little more graciously. And at the same time, I have been able to reach outside myself a little more because I have finally recognized that all of us, even the ones who seem like they don't, need to share our load once in a while.