by Henry Gaudet
A minor rant concerning a pet peeve of mine.
|I’ve been running into Should a lot lately. It seems like Should is everywhere these days. Should taps me on the shoulder and pulls me aside for a friendly word, reminding me that prices are too high, wages too low, that smokers and drinkers and speeders are bad people, that family and friends don’t call often enough while telemarketers call too often, that I live on a diet of too much cholesterol and too little romance, and that the whole world is going to hell in a hand basket.
I can’t say that I care very much for Should. Should’s a hottie, no doubt about it, but breathy whispers and coy little pouts aside, Should is a petulant little bitch, determined to make each and every one of us miserable. Should pretends to be the idealist, all lofty goals and best intentions. Should says that you deserve better. Should tells you not to settle, not to accept. Should tells you that it can all be yours, if you want it badly enough.
Should is a liar. Should is all saccharine smiles and empty promises. Should masquerades as Could.
Now Could? Could I can get behind. Could is an architect, a visionary. Could doesn’t wallow in disappointment and spite. Could revels in possibility. Could is cheering for you. Could wants you to succeed. Could wants a better tomorrow, a chance for each of us to become more than we are right now.
Should is the evil twin.
Should doesn’t want to see you happy. Should thrives on discontent. Should whispers to you from the shadows, spotlighting blemishes and manufacturing worries. Should offers no solutions, only new problems. Should is a fine chisel, chipping away at achievement and satisfaction, imperfection by tiny imperfection until only rubble remains. Should is Death By A Thousand Cuts. So, no. No, I don’t have much time for Should.
I’ll never be able to cut Should out of my life, not completely. Should is far too determined, and yes, far too seductive, for that. Should is patient and knows how to choose a moment. Should will continue to whine to me about how unfair life is, about haves and have-nots, about perceived injustice and comeuppance denied, about fictional bygone days when the world was a simpler, better place. But these days, I tend to glaze over and let that voice turn to white noise, nodding along vacantly while I fantasize about Should’s twin sister and what Could be.