My blog post today is a very easy one to post; my husband was kind enough to pretty much do the post for me. See, he and I recently shared an interesting moment, and he provided me with a fantastic analogy. He’s always so good with analogies. I couldn’t remember exactly what was said, or how it all went down, and I asked him to share the story with me. So, here you are, compliments of my husband:
(In Kevin’s words, pretending to be me):
“I’m too tired to put laundry away,” I told my husband as I lied down on the bed. There was a stack of unfolded laundry that I had washed earlier in the day. Having to do multiple loads, clean, and take care of a sick baby had left me exhausted, as it usually does. My husband was dutifully folding his clothing, as he replied “If I don’t do this now, it’ll sit all week.”
We were having a discussion about a pretty serious topic that I won’t get into right now, and as he picked up a pair of his plaid pajama pants, he abruptly changed subjects, as he likes to do.
“In the second Matrix movie,” he began, “Neo makes it to the Architect who informs him that the Matrix runs without issues because all of the people in it have a subconscious choice to be there. As the chosen one, Neo has to actually make the choice for all of humanity. This happens every so often, because if someone isn’t chosen to actually make the choice, the whole system breaks down. Neo has to choose for everyone to stay in the Matrix.” I stare at him blankly, and allow him to finish – I THINK he’ll arrive at a point eventually. He picks up the pajama pants and puts them into my pile of laundry. “The same goes for these pajama pants. They’re mine, but you’re the only one who wears them. You wear them because you like to borrow my clothing, and unless they’re still technically mine, you won’t want to wear them.” I continue to look at him, considering that his point is valid. “Therefore, like Neo, I have to make a choice. The pants need to be sorted in my pile, to keep them technically mine, and I need to make a choice to put them into your pile, to keep them my pants, but to allow you to wear them exclusively.” I smile and think about how right he is. “So essentially,” he finishes, “my pants are Keanu Reeves.”