High strung. Spaz. Antsy. I’ve been called all those things.
Cool. Calm. Collected. I’ve never been called any of those things. I’ve got too much to do to be cool, calm, and collected.
If we were to spend any amount of time together, you’d probably, at some point within the first five minutes of spending time with me, be taken with the urge to tell me to “take it easy”. You’d be in good company – I’ve heard “take it easy” nine thousand times from nine thousand different people.
Collapsing from exhaustion is the only good excuse I see for taking it easy. I believe in going hard until you can go no more (see collapsing from exhaustion). I work a full-time job. I work a part-time job. I have goals. I have dreams. Life is short. I work out twice a day. I get up early. I go to bed late. I get very little sleep. I believe in chronic worry. I believe in chronic fatigue. I believe in making it happen. I do not believe in taking it easy. Where my Type A sisters at?
I’m not sure when I first heard about Dudeism, but it didn’t do anything for me. A religion inspired by The Big Lebowski? Devotion to taking it easy? Puh-lease. But then everywhere I went, there was Dudeism.
There was Dudeism on the Huffington Post. There was Dudeism on Nightline. Dudeism was everywhere I was, trying to get me to take it easy. Was it a sign? Was it The Dude himself telling me that I was headed for disaster if I didn’t relent and take it easy?
Well…I did end up in the Emergency Room not too long ago with chest pains – I thought I was having a heart attack. And I have been very tired lately, slogging through workouts, if I even show up to my workouts. Most days lately I oscillate between short caffeinated spurts of energy and long stretches of tired anxiety. Maybe taking it easy might be a good idea. And so I gave myself over to Dudeism. But only for 117 minutes.
I never sleep in on Sunday mornings, but since I devoted a recent Sunday morning to taking it easy with Dudeism, I slept in until 10:00. I woke up, put on my leopard print bathrobe, poured myself a White Russian in my favorite Chicago glass and got right back in bed. I didn’t brush my hair. I didn’t brush my teeth. I spent the next 117 minutes watching The Big Lebowski and just taking it easy. Please note: I don’t make a habit of drinking White Russians before noon on Sundays, but let’s just call this investigative journalism.
I had to get over my guilt at first – I had so many other things I should have been doing – productive Sunday things like laundry, house cleaning, teeth whitening. But I drank my first White Russian and watched The Dude at the grocery store in his bathrobe writing a check for sixty-nine cents and I laughed and laughed and started to feel less guilty. I watched The Dude’s rug getting peed on and I laughed and laughed. I watched The Dude bowling with his buddies and driving around and I laughed. I drank another White Russian and watched The Dude unravel the mystery of Bunny Lebowski’s disappearance. (Yes, that is Tara Reid as Bunny Lebowski).
I’d never watched The Big Lebowski start to finish. I’d seen parts of it here, I’d seen parts of it there, but I thought it was a bro movie and I’d pretty much dismissed ever watching it. I certainly never thought I’d spend a Sunday morning in bed watching it by myself. But a couple of Sundays ago I watched The Big Lebowski start to finish and realized that it’s not just a bro movie, it’s a way of life. And it happens to be the perfect movie to watch if you happen to be a chick that needs to be reminded that it’s okay sometimes to take it easy.
It felt so good being reminded that it’s okay sometimes to just take it easy that I might be due for another reminder soon. Thanks, Dudeism!
[Original post at Madaline’s blog here.]