A Measured Life

So what do you think it means to live 'a measured life'?  I've heard this said about people I know....not know well, mind you....but acquaintances. It sounds stingy to me. The image I get is one of a Scrooge-like person, barely opening a change purse to pinch out a few coins. If life were a bank account, they'd have millions saved but offer little in return. I see a scale where their heart should be. And what, exactly is the measure?  Is it a cup? A teaspoon? A tablespoon? A bushel?  Is love and compassion ladled out in measured doses? When I'm laid out in that box, the last thing I want people to say about me is that I lived a measured life.  I want them to say that I overflowed with love. That laughter with me was like a waterfall. That the dinners I cooked filled the belly and the soul. That my friends and family never felt hemmed in with me, or limited by boundaries of time or distance.  Now that I think about it, I don't usually "measure" anything. When I cook, I add a little bit of this and a lot of that. When I put a picture on the wall, I don't measure the exact distance from corner to corner to make sure the artwork is centered just so.  I don't balance my checkbook. I've never been a big fan of math. Maybe because it's measured. One right answer. Show your work. Equations. Story problems (yikes!).  Not much room for imagination or coloring outside the lines there.  My life is messy. Different segments of my life spill over into others. Sometimes I let my emotions get the better of me. I cry at Hallmark commercials. I yelp at the movies when something unexpected happens. I am not great at time management (there's that measurement thing again!). Let's put it this way: If I were a Star Trek character, I definitely wouldn't be Mr. Spock. So when I hear a description of someone's life as being measured, it makes me want to run over and muss their hair, yank their tie until it's askew, untie their shoe laces, or tickle them until they squeal.  If you're standing in line at the grocery store some day, looking all serious and counting out your pennies from your little change purse, don't be surprised if a short, middle-aged Italian woman reaches over and flicks your nose. It's just me trying to measure up.