Control

I’m a control freak. I admit it. I want to know where we are going, how long we will be there and what we will be doing before I leave the house. While I don’t hate surprises, I prefer controlling the things around me.

So today, after dreading returning to the office and ending my Christmas vacation, I found myself quite calmed by the routine of work. Following days of almost frantic activity, the spreadsheets and formulas that filled my hours were very comforting. Numbers always add up the same way. They don’t break the rules. They don’t argue or get their feelings hurt. I can line them up and make the numbers tell whatever story I wish. Yes, I’m a control freak.

And that’s why I avoid new people and new situations and sometimes, known people and familiar situations. The risk of the unknown, the uncontrollable, often outweighs the attraction of social interaction. I don’t make phone calls because I begin to imagine the faces of boredom or derision on the other end of the line. I would much rather text as I find it much less intrusive. I love to go to dinner or to a movie or just to get coffee and talk with friends. And, I feel as if I’m being tortured when I’m the one extending the invitation. I’m no longer in control.

Every day is a struggle for control of the circumstances around me. I know there a balance between risk and control. But I often find myself opting for the security of riding the seesaw alone: better to stay on the ground alone rather than fly too high. I know I miss out on some excitement in life. But, I’m safe. And a little boring. You see, I’m a control freak.

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