Six Degrees of Seperation
I’m off the wagon, in a manner of speaking.
Isn’t it funny how we can use an expression and associate the correct meaning, but never query its origin, how it came about. As a future Jeopardy hopeful, I like knowing that Pebbles Flintstone was born on February 22, 10,000 B.C. or that Barbie’s (yes the doll) full name is Barbara Millicent Roberts, and she has parents. Who’d thunk it?
So naturally I had to research the expression “off the wagon” and this is what I found: “The origins of this phrase lie in the 1800s, with the temperance movement. During this era, many people felt that alcohol was an extremely harmful substance, and they abstained from alcohol while encouraging others to do the same. The term references the water wagons which were once drawn by horses to water down dirt roads so that they did not become dusty. Members of the temperance movement said that they would sooner drink from a water wagon than touch a drop of alcohol, so when someone failed to keep a temperance pledge, people would say that he or she had fallen from the wagon.” Thank you WiseGeek.
Might I add that while being off the wagon generally refers to a person’s attempt to give up alcohol, it can allude to any number of vices. My vice? Well that’s not important, just know that I relish the monotonous hum of familiarity and don’t fancy change. If I’m on the wagon, I’m on the wagon and will ride until the journey is over. It seems uncharacteristic of me to hop on and off the wagon for the sheer thrill of it – why rock the buggy – but it happened.
Personally, I think I was pushed.
Last week, not only was I on the wagon, but I was steering that bad boy with both hands. So impressed was I, that my eyes admired my arm muscles as they kept the pace with my mental determination, daring not to be the weakest link along the dirt road of triumph.
It was then that overconfidence nudged me on the shoulder, convinced me to run alongside the wagon and do my business, assuring me I’d be able to hop back on, unscathed. So I did, several times. One slip up turned into two, two turned into four and four turned into six. Six degrees of separation between me and the wagon. Is that so bad? Admitting to being off the wagon seems like a letdown, even if for most of the ride, I was straddling the darn thing.
My situation reminded me of an article I read in Psychology Today and the ability to eliminate relationship irritants lies within each of us, it all depends on how we interpret the problem. That is to say, if your mate snores, you choose its meaning: It can be an annoying sound for which they must be smothered or you can interpret the snoring as a well-being. Your partner is safe and at home.
In other words, deny the problem, give it a new name until you can live with it or it goes away. The article also went on to say that “small problems coalesce into a vast, submerged force when they take on a different meaning in your mind—when you add them up as evidence of a character flaw or moral defect.”
I buy it.
So technically, I’m not off the wagon but positioned by a mere six degrees of separation, and still holding on. That’s my story and I’m standing next to it.
In: Food for Thought · Tagged with: Expressions, Interpretation, Vices
