"Make up" or "make-up" is a phrasal verb that is as versatile as its users’ intelligence or intention. In meaning, it ranges from combination to forgiveness, as a single word, perhaps the most used in fashion and performing arts. My attachment to it is close. “You must make up your mind,” my children say impatiently, when I dawdle between choices, even if it is something trivial as choosing between strawberry or chocolate ice cream. “O she can never make up her mind. Just thinks too much. Shouldn’t think too much,” my friends rave and rant the minute my face acquires a cloudy frown.
"Make up" brings to mind several contradictory things all at once. To forgive, to, combine, to alter one’s appearance, and to arrive at a decision. The last phrase relates to the mind and includes finality. It is about this last usage that I want to talk about.
Though we make up our minds about things almost by habit, at times it is after excruciating anxiety. For example, you may be a good driver without making an error for years. There may come a time when you are about to start when a red light turns green and out from the left darts an erratic driver to block you dead. In a split second you make up your mind to jam your brakes; you freeze, you sweat, you curse and you thank God.
Personally, I have found making up my mind is never easy. Like what I went through this summer morning when I sat down in a comfortable chair on the patio with a cup of coffee and a magazine. I folded down the page to the short story that I wanted to read. I just happened to look up. The birdfeeder caught my attention and then the birds that were flitting to and fro as they flocked to peck at their morning breakfast on time, which meant all at once. There were the cardinals, the goldfinches, the chickadees, the warblers and the sparrows. This led to some small fights, some dislodges, some rudeness, some timidity. More birds came down to form a waiting line on the railing above. The scene got more interesting by the minute not just for the birds but also for me as I watched closely. Soon I realised, time had passed as long as it would have taken me to read the short story.
What had happened to "making up my mind" to sit and read the story? Had I just made-up mind, without knowing it, to watch the birds? Or, instead of me making up my mind, had the mind made me up for another act, for a change? Wandering mind, maybe, but I will keep it for another time.