Think of Your Life as a Commercial (or, the Secret to Enjoying Your Existence)
I don’t know about you, but I am definitely suffering from P.O.D.: Post-Olympics Depression. Until Monday night, life was just so sparkly! There was always something to look forward to at the end of the day, besides a glass of wine and a warm bed. Drama! Excitement! Surprise! Divas, heroes; courage, pain. Bode! Lindsey! Apolo! And those really cute guys who won silver in the Nordic Combined!!!
And now…everything has gone gray. If it weren’t for the impending birth of Jim and Pam’s baby on The Office, I just might not be able to get out of bed in the morning.
Except I had a thought. One of the most wonderfully manipulative things that happened during the Olympics was that P&G ad featuring the song from Carousel. It made me cry every single time I saw it. I think my family even became embarrassed for me, because that ad would come on and it’s like you pushed the button marked TEARS on the back of my head. And what is the commercial? Just a bunch of ordinary moms doing ordinary things (well, except for the mom changing a tire by the side of the road, while singing to her children—this I definitely could not do).
So I have decided, in an effort to bring meaning and sparkle back to my life, to think about moments of my day as scenes in a P&G commercial. For example, this morning when Baby (who is now in a Big Boy Bed) woke up, I crawled into his room and peeked over his bed rail and said “Boo!” Hello, P&G? That moment could totally be in my commercial. Tonight, when I’m putting dinner on the table, instead of snapping at my children because I’ve asked them five times to pour the milk and they’ve suddenly gone deaf, I’m going to break into song and they’ll start singing along. Cue “You’ll Never Walk Alone!” And when I’m tucking everybody in bed, instead of wincing as I invariably step on a Lego, I’m going to smile and remember that this Lego-on-bare-feet thing is just a phase, and a short one, at that.
Through this process, life will get better again. I may even shed the occasional tear.