There are mornings in Farmerville, Louisiana, when I wake up yearning for Awful Annie's in my hometown of Auburn, California. For years, Awful Annie's was my "Third Place"--the name sociologists use to describe a community gathering place away from the responsibilities of either home or office. I'd regularly enjoy breakfast or lunch at Annie's, 'neath the shadow of the iconic train trestle and the historic county courthouse that stand watch over Old Town. There I would enjoy a meal while visiting with "Annie" herself, owner Jai Baker, and her staff including Jen, Amy, Liz, Adam, others, and a host of friends and neighbors passing through. And when I think of Awful Annie's, I think about their Big Yummy Mess. The Big Yummy Mess is a sizzling fusion of grilled potatoes and vegetables and impossibly thick bacon, covered with melted cheese and slices of avocado. Oh, and topped with a fried egg upon request. It's curious, upon reflection, how averse we are to anything that might be described as either "awful" or a "mess." In reality, however, life itself--more often than not--is messy. Awfully messy. Life mingled with death; greeting with parting; peace with conflict; prosperity with adversity; confidence with uncertainty; love with loneliness; quiet with chaos. The mythical narrative we long to live into is a life that is carefree. The actual storyline is more complicated, but is far more interesting and satisfying: life is rich and textured and layered and, well, messy. The challenge is to reframe our expectations and, "Don't resist the mess." And, if you ever do find yourself in Auburn, California, seek out Awful Annie's. Find out just how satisfying a mess can be. How interesting would you find a two-hour movie about a couple of people eating breakfast together? Get creative. What might you add, who might you add, to the scene and its characters to make the movie more compelling? Might you describe your additions as "messy"? Is it possible we've become accustomed to complaining about the messiness--living, longing, only for the handful of random moments that are trouble-free? How satisfying is that? Which of these two perspectives makes greater sense: to live on a quest for happiness--an emotive response to the random resonant circumstance; or, to live with the ability to rejoice--that is, to celebrate--life in all circumstances? Here's a curious question, how have such modern conveniences as thermostats and credit cards and televisions conditioned us to avoid the messiness of life?
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