Ridiculous

The Monkeyboy informed me awhile back that he had learned a naughty word and that I was not allowed to say it. The problem, of course, was I/we couldn't get him to tell us what it was that was so naughty ("Noo...I can't tell you! It's a secret." was always the dramatic reply). It was finally an obscure Bowling for Soup song that clued us in: the offensive word was "ridiculous." After a long talk and some extra reassurance from his daycare lady, we were able to convince him that there was nothing particularly wrong with "ridiculous."

I was thinking about that word tonight...and how it's very apt for me. I feel ridiculous a lot of the time...no, more than that...I am ridiculous a lot of the time!

I am ridiculously hopeful.
I am ridiculously patient.
(I am also, in fairness, ridiculously impatient!)
I am ridiculously tolerant.
I am ridiculously forgiving.
I am ridiculously optimistic.
I am ridiculously playful.
I am ridiculously trusting.

It's ridiculous that I've come as far as I have. It's ridiculous how far I still have to go. It's ridiculous that as deeply as I am affected by life and the world that I have stayed the urge to become jaded and too terrified to move. It's ridiculous that I manage affection for those who have hurt me...and ridiculous how deeply I appreciate those who have not.

I smile. Every day. And that is ridiculous, too.

And undoubtedly, somewhere out there is someone (or two or three) who, in the most literal translation of the word, has found reason to ridicule me for these very traits. So be it. The risk of being ridiculous is the risk of being, occasionally, a punchline. I can accept that.

After all, there's nothing particularly wrong with ridiculous.