Food for thought.

I am supposed to be picking up Thad from his babysitter's house right now, but my mind is racing with a bunch of random thoughts that I need to get down on paper. Well, not really paper...but who's counting?

Anyways.

In my ethics class this afternoon, we had a guest speaker. She works for the Michigan Bar Association and she deals with lawyers who need a lot of mental help...because, let's face it, lawyers - in general - need a lot of mental help. So, her 2 hour slide show presentation turned into what seemed like a 2-hour therapy session for my peers. It was incredible...and amusing at the same time.

I listened to people talk about how they needed to take a semester off, but they were afraid of being perceived as a failure.

I listened to people talk about their great struggles with procrastination.

I listened to people talk about their fear of failing, and all of this pressure that is riding on them to succeed when they graduate.

I listened to people discuss the need to begin studying in Week 8 for exams that don't even occur until Week 15.

And then it dawned on me.

I don't struggle with any of this shit. My biggest question of the day is whether or not I reach for a banana at breakfast, or I go for some cereal. Should Thad wear his blue shirt, or his red shirt? Should I shower this morning, or in the evening? Do I have time to hit the gas station, or do I just pray that I make it to my destination on time?

Seriously.

My stress level - while elevated at times - is probably nowhere near where it should be, in comparison to the people I am surrounded with.

So am I just that good at handling pressure? Do I realize that in the end, everything will work out just fine, so I am more capable of succeeding in certain aspects where others are not?

Or am I a totally lame douche bag who just stumbles through life, without seeing the immediacy or the importance of it all?

Honestly.

I don't understand all of this "pressure" that people around me are constantly feeling. Everyone is so worked up about the stupidest shit, and I don't know why.

When I try to think back to before my diagnosis, I wonder if I was slightly more urgent in my day-to-day activities, but I don't think I was. So it's not like I can even blame a life-threatening disease on my care-free attitude.

The small shit just really doesn't matter.

Sometimes it does.

But for the most part, it really doesn't.

Am I crazy? Or am I right?

Or am I neither?

(Or both?)