“Also, I do cuss a little.”
“Also, I do cuss a little.”
Katie and I regularly send each other memes and Tik Tok videos. This one, in particular, has made its way into our everyday lives.
Anytime one of us begins a sentence with “also,” the other is quick to throw this quip out there.
Both of my grandmothers have told me I should curse less. They find it unbecoming and have said that it detracts from the story I’m trying to share. My first reaction is generally “F%ck that,” but the older I get and the more stories I tell, I’m starting to believe that there may be a better way to convey my thoughts.
Unintentionally dropping an F-bomb in front of your little league baseball team will have you rethinking your entire life.
When I’m playing golf, I often resort to using the same shot and swing repeatedly, preferring the comfort of knowing where my ball will land and that I’ll make solid contact. It’s the safe play. Living within your comfort zone is cozy and warm, rarely presenting the chance of failure.
But it prevents growth. It doesn’t allow for creativity. It doesn’t give you the opportunity of reaching the highest level of success. It keeps you stagnant.
Having a “go-to” shot is predictable, but what happens when that shot won’t work? What do you do when you need to hit a draw but can only hit a fade? What if there is a tree branch directly in your line and you don’t know how to keep the ball low?
Stepping out of your comfort zone may be the only way to progress. If you aren’t prepared though, things can go horribly wrong and leave you in a worse place than before.
That’s why practice is so important. Trying these new things may give you the tools you need to get out of a precarious situation. Sure you may look dumb the first few times you try something new, but over time they become second nature. Then you’ll look smart.
Choosing to write this without obscene expressions may not feel natural to me, but it does force me to expand my vocabulary and increases my ability to express the cogitations happening within the abyss on my encephalon.
Come on, I know you’re impressed by my sesquipedalian lexiphanicism.
Don’t worry, I googled it too.