Sharla Dawn Gorder

Here’s a little sneak peek into my upcoming book, My Vices Collide, a Celebration of Being a Little Messed Up.  This is the intro to the book.  Ever since I wrote it, I’ve been busy fine-tuning some of those vices, eradicating others, and replacing some of the boring ones with brand new peccadillos.  The book will fill you in on all of that.  Here’s the preview:

My vices collide—right there in the middle of my day when I’m suddenly forced to stop drinking coffee so that I can start drinking wine.  Or when I’m in the middle of lecturing one of the boys when Ted walks in from work, and I’m compelled to start nagging him.  Or maybe it’s simply time to turn off Big Bang Theory reruns so that I can take a nap.  It’s exhausting keeping up with all my vices.  You’d think I’d be better at it by now.  I’ve had a lot of practice.

But I’m a little messed up, you see.  Not hopelessly ruined, mind you.  Just a little bit broken and a wee bit bemused.  I’ve spent a lot of emotion and energy apologizing for that, or otherwise trying to compensate, disguise or deny my numerous peccadillos.

I once had a friend who apologized for a plant.  She noticed the solitary dead leaf on her ficus as we sipped wine on her sofa.  She plucked the offending foliage, simultaneously apologizing to me, for what I’m not quite sure—or maybe she was apologizing to the plant.  It wasn’t clear.  Either way, I decided to forgive her.  I think the plant did too.

And then, in a flash of divine inspiration, I decided to just go ahead and forgive myself too.  Why not?  And while I was at it, why not have a little fun with it.

We are all, every one of us, what I call “messy mortals.”  And while there are clearly times when vices must be acknowledged, eradicated and atoned for, the vast majority of the things I beat myself up about, could just as easily be celebrated as berated.

So, the plant has a brown leaf.  It has 4,000 pretty green ones too.  So, I can pinch way more than an inch.  I can also swim out to the second sandbar and back without my water wings.  Maybe my house will never grace the cover of Metropolitan Home, but neither will it be featured on an upcoming episode of Hoarders on TLC.

Yes, I locked my keys in my car again; I set the Thanksgiving turkey on fire; I wore my pants inside out all day; I ran over my iPad—twice; I threw up in my own purse.

I have also raised happy boys, relished precious relationships and enjoyed grand adventures all over the globe.  I’ve shown up for work on time, learned to play the piano, and helped care for my aging parents.  I’ve cherished hundreds of friends, read thousands of books, traveled millions of miles.

Oh, but it’s so much more fun to write about that one time I accidentally threw up in my purse.  I am, I confess, among the messiest of mortals, as everyone in that Chevy Suburban would attest.  And I have lived to tell the tale.

You are holding it in your hands.