They say clichés are corny, predictable, and overused, but what if I told you clichés saved my life?
I've been collecting clichés for 15 years, sitting in uncomfortable chairs in church basements with "people who normally would not mix." See, even that's a cliché, but unless you are a friend of Bill W., it will fly high above your head.
In my writing, I often use a cliché as filler to capture an idea in a first draft. Then later, I go back and replace it with more original and specific language. My teacher tells me, you can do better, or I've heard this before when I write things like "heart racing," "end of the world," or "Suddenly, things that happen to other people were now happening to me."
In July of 2019, my 17-month-old son was diagnosed with brain cancer, and by November, he was gone. After my husband and I held his cooling body and said our final goodbyes, and it was time to leave, I pulled out my collection of simple phrases like, "One day at a time," “easy does it,” and "wisdom to know the difference" and repeated them in my head like a metronome. What if the only thing that kept us safe on that drive was because "God was doing for us that which we could not do for ourselves."
What if when I felt like I might not survive the death of my son, that the pain might be too great, I remembered that "feelings are not facts" and "this too shall pass," even if I don't really believe it just yet, what if I could "fake it until I make it?"
What if my pocket full of clichés were the mattress I fell on after falling off a cliff, crashing through a brick wall, and then a glass window?
I'm still just as bruised and broken, but because of my clichés, the alcoholism that is normally doing push-ups in the parking lot waiting for me to slip is nowhere to be found. Scared off by words like, “When Life hands you lemons..." You know the rest.