What Hill Will You Die On?
I love the idiom – what hill will you die on? For those new to this term (hey, I don’t know your life!), it means something you have strong convictions and will stand by your point of view.
So, my new favorite blogging platform has had some killer content recently and posed this question today. One blogger, Jen Lancaster – an author whom I adore – has one of the most indignant hill belief (though what other kind of hill would there be) and insists on the sock – shoe – sock – shoe application process. Frankly, that sounds like THE MOST inefficient process ever. Sock-sock-shoe-shoe is the only way to go unless you like to waste time.
But it got me wondering about the hill I’d die on. Well, as you would expect, I have a few.
- We are not a croc family. We will not own them. Not now. Not ever. I don’t care how comfortable they claim to be. They are hideous. Recently, my brother bought a pair to wear to work (he’s a cardiologist). Like the kind with the holes in them!! I was like “Eww!! You’re going to get people’s blood and guts all over you!!” He claims it’s cleaner because he can sanitize them vs. his sneakers which will absorb the bodily fluid – fair point – but still hideous. I offered to buy him girlie charms for them to liven them up 😏 Then my mom shared an article from the Today Show where an alleged podiatrist tried to say they are actually good for your feet. Umm, no arch support and don’t crowd your toes was the entire argument. NOPE!! I will die on THIS hill!
- Irregardless is not a word. You’ll never convince me otherwise.
- It’s just “anyway” not “anyways.”
- Toilet paper points over the top, you monster.
- Chocolate must always be involved to be considered dessert.
- Fruit is not dessert (but can be a garnish).
- You have to put ketchup on hotdogs.
- No double spacing after periods, but the Oxford comma stays.
What about you? Tell me about the hill or hills you’d die on!
(So, my web designer says I needed to include a bio, though I find this task silly because, if you’re here, you know me.)
I’m a writer. It’s what I do. It’s a cathartic mechanism when I need release from my anxiety. I’ve had blogs in the past; I’ve taken them down, but I never stopped writing. I simply can’t. My notes app is forever long as it’s filled with pages and pages of different topics. Sometimes I just write a few sentences. Sometimes I write paragraphs.
Recently, I've been writing long essays. My friends and others I hold dear have coaxed me into sharing my work again.
So that's what I'm doing, you wicked, pushy people. LOL
I have no desire to see my writing be anything more than an opportunity to share what I love doing most. I have no interest in this blog reaching the masses.
I thought it would be fun to call it My Spicy Disaster because that's often how I feel. A complete mess of epic proportion. So join me, if you'd like, and let's pretend we're not sitting amongst the chaos crying, but laughing instead.
Or maybe we do cry sometimes, but then wipe our tears and remember one person’s disaster is another person’s … well, who the hell knows …