You know exactly what I’m talking about – those niggling little tummy whispers that tell us something is awry. Something isn’t right. SOMETHING IS WRONG, STOP IGNORING ME PLEASE. At least, that’s the progression of my gut shouting at me – let’s call her, Frannie for the hell of it. I’m not certain it’s the same spastic, overwhelming experience for you as well but either way, Frannie is there for a reason.
Now I’m not saying she’s always right, but seldom is she fully incorrect. Frannie is a primal thing, a physical, instinctual tell to and from our bodies that quietly hints towards a thing, or things, with which we do not want. In essence, she’s a “watch out, your heart might be poised on the brink of destruction,” kind of human, natural response. But what triggers her? Can she be controlled or fully learned so that we might avoid the pitfalls that follow? Can we actively choose to go with our gut blindly, and if so, use this as an excuse if we are ever horribly wrong?
On that same note, are these stomach no-no’s ever really, truly, completely wrong?
Example: If you’re sat by a window in a coffee house that sits on a busy city street and something in you says, “we don’t wanna sit here. Maybe we should move?” And so you stand, move towards the back of the cafe, find your happy with a novel and a latte and that’s that. But what if (and I know this is way dramatic) a car slams into through the front window where you you vacated only moments before? Your gut feeling will have its praises sung for the rest of your living life, that’s what. But on the opposite side of that same situation, you moved and nothing happened. The worst thing in that scenario is you had to stand and walk. grumble
So by all accounts, there’s a win-win, at least in such a hypothetical. But where does faith and Frannie merge? Could they be one and the same for devout religious folk, or wholly separate concepts? I feel like that’s a slightly bigger topic than anything I want to hit on today, so for now, I’ll stick to the topic on hand.
For me, the warning bells bang slowly at first, a “this could go one of two ways,” kind of signal, but once the thing goes *that *way, Frannie is roaring in no time. I can’t settle, eat, sleep, or relax until I figure out the root cause and nip it in the bud. There is no ignoring the alarm once it reaches full throttle for the anxious types like myself; if I try to put it off, pretend it’s not there, act as though I’m a-ok, it’ll blow up in my face. That’s just how situations play out for me. So, I go with Frannie when she comes to town and up til now, I’ve not been so far off base as to have made a complete fool of myself. Thanks, Frannie? 😉