BLANK SPACE

I welcomed in the New Year, waving a bittersweet goodbye to the outgoing annum. I wish I could say that I was sad to see the old year go, but 2015 brought with it some drastic changes. It’s also left a few loose ends of the home improvement variety.

While important to some, a home-base is a vital need to me. Like a turtle, I need a cozy shell to tuck into, and hide away in. When I first moved in, my place was basic, a solid room to hold my schtuff. Over the years it’s evolved into my beautiful sanctuary, customized to my every need.

Several themes became the basis of inspiration for my home décor. The first was an article I’d come across in a magazine. An artist in New York City made an incredible discovery when she’d helped move an old photo booth in Harlem. Behind the machine were decades of lost portraits. In homage to the history, the artist framed the pictures along with her ink art in a pattern of frames.

I’d seen the concept many times before in interior design books, a wall collage of various arrangement, but the photo booth pictures spoke to me.

A few years after moving in, and inspired by the picture wall article, I began to cover my walls with my nature photography. To add in a little New Age, I applied some Feng Shui techniques, to give my place positive Chi, a good flow of energy.

In Feng Shui, the North area (center-middle wall when you enter the room) is your Fame/Reputation gua, and is stimulated by the Fire element (triangular shapes, the color red, etc.). The North-West area (Far-left square), is the Prosperity gua, which is considered the “Fortune” place. While fortune pertains to luck (if you want to win the lottery, this is the gua you want to stoke), it also applies to gratitude—blessings you have already received.

With this in mind, the wall adornment started off simple—the picture of the day I bought my car. I love my little Toyota, I’m so lucky that it’s mine. So it falls under the heading of Prosperity, big time. Later I added a picture of the Cherry Blossoms from 2006. Then the spiral staircase in the Pagoda at Patterson Park, Baltimore. The ruins at Savage Mill. Each photo I added represented a moment in time that I’d captured—an experience that taught me something new.

Images and words are my prosperity.

My cup, and my wall overflowith. But like any house, the wear of time and a loophole in structure held a surprise for me, a problem that culminated last year. While hanging my photos, I’d noticed that the wall near the windows appeared soft—a bad sign. Following one scary episode of water spouting out of a hole, an inspection identified an external leak that was funneling water behind the drywall and causing decay.

It was both a relief and a nightmare when it was decided that the walls needed to be replaced. With 24-hours’ notice, I covered the contents of my room (everything I own) in plastic and took to the couch as the work commenced, the job slated to be completed in under two weeks.

When the men ripped out my walls, rotting beams were revealed, the damage far worse than originally anticipated. I stared, dumbstruck, as they removed more and more of the walls, the construction moving into the roof and rafters.

Two weeks turned into six as disputes ensued about how much was covered by insurance. I kept my bedding in a trash bag as I ducked in and out of my room, trying to shield my furniture and clothes from the cyclone of chemicals, mold, and drywall dust. At one point a workman on the roof slipped and put a foot through the unaffected area of my ceiling, sending a chunk of plaster down onto my computer.

I strived to keep the lights off at night, the lack of curtains making the bedlam visible to neighbors passing by outside. I felt like a zoo exhibit.   

One particularly hopeless night I sat on my plastic-tarped bed in the dark, watching the rain through the windows. I was on guard, observing the new wood beams that the workmen had installed that day. I stared straight ahead at the North area thinking of how long the damage had been behind the wall, water extinguishing the "fire" of the gua.

I clung to the belief that, for as disorienting as it is, chaos precedes change, and when the storm passes, one gets to start afresh.

It rained and rained that week, but no water seeped in, and I was exhausted from all the camping out. My family’s unwavering emotional support was my lifeline, but I’d never felt more displaced in my life. I was uprooted.

After excessive feet-dragging with the insurance company, the drywall was finally installed. The pleasure of getting to pick a new paint color came as a comfort following all the personal trauma, as did the new-found appreciation of sleeping in my own bed again.

Before the renovation I would wake up in the morning, my Prosperity wall in my line of sight, the light from the adjacent window illuminating my pictures. I never tired of looking at the images, they were an encouraging start; an exhibit of where I'd been and an illustration of where the new day might take me.

After the renovation I’d noticed how sparse the new stretch of lunar blue was, but I was content to loll in the apathy of simply having walls again, relishing the new color. July turned into August, the weeks passing. It wasn’t until September that I began to miss my pictures. One Saturday in the fall, I opened my eyes, the blank space making my heart sink.

The expanse was beautiful. Pristine and new and… empty.

I sat up and measured the section. Following the construction, I’d consulted a framing specialist who’d done work for me previously. To limit holes to the new drywall he’d suggested an art hanging system that anchored in a track near the ceiling, the same setup he used in his art gallery.

Throughout the fall I’d researched the cost and application of the system. It would be an investment, and I felt hesitant to go forward with it. But decision-making is a double-edged sword for me. As a Libra (why not touch on a little Astrology), I always gather as much information as I can before making a choice, to the extent that I paralyze myself. Sometimes there isn’t more information to be found. My polar opposite sign, Aries, likes to take action first, then see what happens. Libras hem-and-haw with the thinking that a better solution will come along—

My walls were replaced last June, and by the holidays I was still stalling. The budget for the art hanging system made it on the resolutions list for early 2016, and I was generously gifted the money for Christmas where I didn't have to wait. I'd spent more than average at the grocery store for provisions and feared that I may have dipped into the hanging system money—as if subconsciously debunking the project.

But the situation became clear this morning when I woke up. I stared at my Prosperity corner and felt hollow, the nothingness of the area upsetting me. 

It hit me then. The truth isn’t about the cost or the energy to install the hanging system—it’s about facing my fears and taking action.

I’m afraid that the wall isn’t strong. I’m afraid of personalizing a space that won’t always be mine, or will be taken away. I’m afraid of making a decision and having that choice be wrong.

That’s when I realized that inside I was still sitting on my plastic-covered bed in the dark, watching to see if the new joists were reinforced and dry.

The crazy thing about fears is when you shine a light on them, they disappear. You need to live your own truth.

Or in my case:

 - Do. What. Makes. You. Happy.

 - Nothing is yours forever, but it’s yours now. Enjoy it.

 - Wrong and right are subjective. There will be decisions that result in penalties, but make the best choice with the information given at the time. Go for it.

I’d rather live with the consequences than eclipse myself in fear.

And it was scary pulling up the Art Hanging Systems website, but liberating, too. To test out what the cost would be I filled my digital cart with all the parts I needed, the bottom-line budget a fixed amount in my head.

I went to check out and had to smile. The total plus shipping came in .19 cents under budget, even after my grocery store splurge. I took that as a good sign. 

Either way, I'm living with it.  

Who knows, it could be the worst decision I’ve ever made, but I’m willing to face the outcome, so long as it puts prosperity on the wall.

-         SNG

THE LIST

This time of year brings about a lot of traditions.

I feel as if Christmas and New Years are similar in that everyone is preparing for a new beginning. On Christmas Day we show the love and understanding we have for those closest to us in the gifts that we give. Some presents are tools for work, some are tools for play, some in jest, but they are all given in support of the recipient.

We want our loved ones to be happy and equipped to begin a New Year.

Resolutions act the same way. Just like when you set a big goal for yourself, and you break down the steps into manageable pieces, resolutions are the aspirations that you look forward to becoming reality.

As I’ve mentioned in a previous post, I’m an avid scrapbooker – it’s my nerdly joy. I derive much pleasure from taking the pictures, and creatively arranging them on the page with short stories and mementos.

Images and words have always been my passion.

I create a 12x12 book for every year, and they each begin the same way: A “Buh-Bye” page showing the previous year’s world/pop-culture events, followed by a “Resolutions” page.

Unlike the typical “lose ten pounds” on the list, I’m careful to include specific, special events. While “Pay down two credit cards” inevitably ranks, I make sure that it comes after the important stuff.

As the year progresses, I add to the “Buh-byes” and check back on my resolutions, until the 31^st of December rolls around, when the reverie begins all over again.

In the vein of my “Smile[s] of the Day”, the list comes to life at its end-of-year review. I sit cross-legged on my floor and flip through the pages, relishing all the memories: elation, joy, sadness, love, and challenge.

The rule of threes seems inherent in the results, the “Resolution Fruition” as I call it.

·        One-third came true as expected, as if made manifest by intent and will.

·        One-third fell by the wayside, due to either lack of opportunity or preparation.

·        One-third was a complete surprise, the Universe throwing in a treat that I never saw coming.

I haven’t performed the great recap yet this year, but I already know that 2015 was something else. There were moments that shook me, but in turn, helped me grow.

The woman who sat down crossed-legged last year is not the same one who will plop down next week, and that in-itself is amazing.

The holidays symbolize the passing of time in so many ways: Short-days, the patriarch of Santa Claus. The Capricorn image of Father Time is followed by the Aquarian icon of Baby New Year. Time passes slowly when bored, but goes by too fast after the sand hits the bottom of the hourglass.

Time teaches, it heals, and it tests the validity of your goals.

It’s funny how much time gives although we struggle against it.

And with a full, grateful heart, and an appreciation of life’s rhythm fresh in my mind, I will be drafting my 2016 Resolutions.

I can guarantee some interesting new items will be on the list for the New Year, and I look forward to seeing how many of them come true.

-         - SNG

TRUST AND CHALLENGE

This week I was on vacation, the last of the year. The break was welcome as I’d been experiencing a time of change, and it’s good to slow down during those periods. It helps to have the world stop while you’re internally turning on your own axis. The week was productive: I cleaned my car, cut my hair, and walked each day.

I also had the great pleasure of seeing family who came to visit, their first time to the D.C. area. As we toured the National Mall and museums, I got my quota of exercise in, and the trip gave me a renewed appreciation for all the history and education available in my geographic backyard.

My family and I explored. I expected the museums to be the typical school bus tutorial, but what I saw opened my eyes.

It started with the basic stuff.

 Quotes from NIGHT AT THE MUSEUM were thrown around.

          My cousin had thought she’d read about an Okapi in a book a long time ago, and was thrilled to see that they do exist, and not a figment of her imagination.

          What spoke to me was an exhibit on early man. One would think that our beast-like ancestors were basic in their natures. I think of the parallel to the Id of the modern psyche, that base needs would trump benevolence, and that the first version of human was crude in it's development. I was surprised when I stopped by a display that showed the remains of a Neanderthal. The skeleton was aged by the wear on the bones and teeth, showing it to be the body of an elder. Given the time and climate, survival did not favor the mature. The older you got, the less able you were to hunt or protect yourself. The shroud and placement of the body showed that he was positioned carefully, a nascent display of respect.

          The senior had been cared for in his old age and buried. All signs of community, adoration, and love.

          Proof that humans had a sense of connection to one another from the beginning.

          The concept lingered in my mind as my family and I trekked to the Museum of American History. As we walked along, we passed a family ambling down the sidewalk. I noticed their little girl, no more than two-years-old, who was new to walking. The toddler had a knit hat on, the thing pulled down and covering her eyes. Despite not being able to see, the young one took hurried steps forward, sightless but leaping forward with excitement.

I watched in owe as she showed no fear of falling down or misdirection, her parents standing close to monitor her. All the little girl had to do was reach out a hand, and guidance was available to her.

The two scenes made me think about trust and challenge.

I’ve read books that talk of a person’s spirit. When you are young, your personality is at it's strongest. You engage the big world just as you are—without fear of the bad, and devoid of the impact of other people’s opinions. It's time and experience that whittles away at our natural temperaments and forms our insecurities.

My Mom once told me a story about when I was the same age as the little girl, the boy who used to mow our grass had paid me a compliment. He’d said that "Like a cartoon character," I was “full of joy.”

At this time in my life I can’t imagine myself as ever being that way. Unencumbered. Jubilant. Free. 

           Not because I don't want to be, but because the consciousness of responsibility is there - as an adult you must be mindful of other people. And life is a process of learning, some of the lessons harder than others. 

Sometimes a piece of your personality is tested. A facet of you is muted where the rest of you takes on the extra weight, and is given a chance to build muscle. 

It’s proven that when one of your faculties is taken away, the other senses become more sensitive. If you can’t see, your hearing becomes more acute, etc. 

Right now it feels as if an emotional hat has been pulled over my eyes, and instead of playing with the disablement, instead of finding stimulus with the change, I’m feeling disorientation and alarm. I wish I could have fun with the lesson, but all I'm channeling is fear.

The secret of dealing with any impediment is to lean on your strengths and to trust those there to help you on your journey. My strengths have always been a ability to adapt and heal. And I’m tenacious.

Japanese Proverb: “Fall seven times and stand up eight.”

If I get something wrong, I’ll keep trying until I solve the problem. However some issues take many, many, many, many tries to get right.

And trust has never been my strong suit.

I've been staring down that demon a lot. In this current round, I find myself blind-folded and freaked out.

But the elder and the little girl illustrated something to me:

Life is Good and I have support.

          I post a “Smile of the Day” each day on my Twitter page. It’s my way of observing life's little joys. It proves to me daily that even though the world seems so big and intimidating, it's simple and altruistic at its core.

          Independent as I am, I don’t like asking for help, but every time I’ve reluctantly reached out a blind hand, the palm of a family member or a friend has been there, ready to hold mine.

          It's difficult for me to let someone else lead, to let go and trust. If I try, I may even be able to make it a game. I mean, why not play when you can, right? 

          Why not find joy in the challenge like the little girl?

Like the elder, you are someone’s parent, someone’s sibling, someone’s child, someone's comrade, someone's friend.

You are loved.

If you are blind and need a hand, reach out—one will be there for you. That is something I’m learning to do.

It’s called trust, and it’s a beautiful thing.

- SNG 

HAPPY ACCIDENTS

          I watch the social media feeds of my friends and colleagues, and it’s evident that humans like tradition. We get excited when pumpkin flavored lattes and seasonal beers re-release in the fall. We plan events to commemorate the milestones in our lives (birthdays, anniversaries, etc.).

          When I was young I’d get crazy excited when the 1^st October rolled around. More than the countdown to Halloween, the first week marked the arrival of my birthday, and back then, I wanted the party to last all month long.

As I got older that enthusiasm waned for practical reasons. While in school the initial exams of the semester always seem to land on the Monday following my day, where studying took precedence over festivity. Paydays would fall on off weeks, where self-presents had to be budgeted. Years passed since the last time I’d bothered to throw a party.

This year I decided that would change. I would host a small get-together, and I would dress up for it.

Similar to the Rollerblades, the creative visualization started early. For months prior, I’d dreamt of certain elements: a new perfume, ring, and an outfit to wear. Nothing had materialized yet, but I knew it would with the mental “purchase order” I’d give it. And true to form, the Universe delivered.

It’s a challenge for me to let go. By nature I’m a clingy person in extreme.

An article I read by Dr. Amy Johnson helps me understand the impulse well:

“We try to control things because of what we think will happen if we don’t… Control is also a result of being attached to a specific outcome—an outcome we’re sure is best for us, as if we always know what’s best.”

And in a quote by the late, great Wayne Dyer:

“Everything in the universe has a purpose. Indeed, the invisible intelligence that flows through everything in a purposeful fashion is also flowing through you.”

In a nutshell, you can’t make anything happen. You should take action, of course, but in the end, things will work out the way they should. It’s essentially, “The Universe wants you to be happy, but your wills and wants don’t run the world.”

“Energy follows thought,” yes. As my Mom says, "You will never have a desire that isn't meant to be fulfilled." But ultimately, “what will be, will be.” There is a bigger plan, and sometimes what you believe is right isn't the best course in the overall scheme of things.

I know it seems frivolous to apply such divine logic to birthday presents, but that is how I’ve seen this power manifest in my life….

I’d been searching for a new perfume. Throughout September I’d visited the mall to peruse the fragrance aisles at the department stores. One day I came across a scent that reminded me a lot of a cologne I’d worn in high school. A grown-up version of its teenage predecessor, it was heavy, musky and sweet like vanilla. I sprayed a tester on the back of my hand to check the body chemistry, but found it too cloying to buy. So I put the task on the back-burner, mentally asking the Universe for advice, while I moved on to other objectives.

I passed a jewelry store with a pale rose, enameled ring in the window. I noted the price and kept shopping.

Movies I’d seen on cable influenced me to the type of dress I wanted to wear—the style made up of v-neck sequins on top and gossamer layers for the skirt. The dresses were different, but sparkly, swishy, and beautiful. All the things I wanted to feel on my day.

Seeing the young, twenty-something leads, I worried about appearing silly. I acknowledge my age fully, but what if I couldn’t pull it off? That glaring, fine-line between looking stylish and looking ridiculous.

But the Universe assuaged me of that fear, too. When I got home, I got a clear road sign—a picture that kept popping up, in my face.

Martina McBride wore sparkly and swishy at 41.
I don't hold a candle to her, but never let a number get in the way.

Time passed, and I let the request percolate. There were added obstacles as Astrological events loomed, (a Venus Retrograde immediately followed by a Mercury Retrograde). Despite the delays and miscommunications, I went all out, ordering a small arrangement of flowers I could display at work.

I told the florist, “As long it has red roses and daisies, the rest is creatively yours.”
My trust was rewarded, they did a beautiful job.

One fateful day I returned to the department store and browsed the clearance racks. Fresh from the post-Homecoming circuit, I found my dream come true. Black beaded on the top, and ballerina pink, gauzy layers on the bottom – the dress was perfect. AND on sale.

It required a few small alterations—I added the ribbons—but it was everything I wanted and more.

I splurged a little when I found the rose ring at a slight discount, and I settled, ordering the perfume online the same day. A surprise came when the package arrived in the mail. Many fragrances have several adaptations: Spicier, sweeter, etc. I’d ordered the confectionary one I’d tested in the store, but the merchant sent a toned-down, different version instead. At first, I was frustrated, thinking that I had to send it back to exchange it, and what a burden that would be. After trying it out for a few days, I found that I liked the subdued variation much better.

When I shared the story on Facebook, one friend astutely commented, “I love happy accidents!”

The words stayed with me. A simple, real principle.

The weather over the weekend was bad with the threat of a coastal storm, but I felt special in the dress, decked out with the “Cinderella shoes” I’d worn last to Prom. At the prompting of my Little Niece, I twirled, spinning around until the top sparkled and the skirt swished.

I received everything I physically wanted for my birthday: New clothes, jewelry, perfume, and dinner with my best friend who is always there for me.

For all the questions in life—the wrong choices, setbacks, and storms, it’s nice to know there are still “happy accidents.”

- SNG

THE PROCESS

I have a new tradition. I go grocery shopping on Sundays and bag up the fruits and vegetables for my lunch.

          This started simply about a month ago. Upon my return from the store, I was rushing around kitchen, a pressing anxiety to sort and store overtaking me. At the apex of the full dash a thought struck me: Slow Down. Breathe. Enjoy each moment.

          After stowing the perishables, I pulled out the strainer and paused. I inhaled and held the oxygen for ten seconds before letting it gently leave again. The next hurried impulse was to put on music, to grab my MP3 and speakers or my phone— but I quelled the notion. The five steps and additional electronics wasn’t necessary.

          All I needed was the food, my hands, and some quiet.

          And that is what I do now. I pull the grapes off their stems, one-by-one. I rinse the carrots carefully, immersing myself in the feel of the water. Then I bag everything up in preparation for the week ahead.

          The repetition feels simple, natural. The quiet calms me.

          I find peace in the process.

-         SNG

         

           

BALTIMORE BOOK FESTIVAL 2015

Hi all!

Official announcement, I'm attending THE BALTIMORE BOOK FESTIVAL this year!

The Baltimore Book Festival features hundreds of appearances by local, celebrity and nationally known authors, book signings, more than 100 exhibitors and booksellers. There are book readings, cooking demos by top chefs, workshops, panel discussions, walking tours, storytellers, hands-on projects for kids, as well as live music and a delicious variety of food.


I'll be speaking on Sunday, September 27th, at the following panels:

GETTING THE HAPPILY EVER AFTER: HOW TO PLOT A ROMANCE - 12 p.m.

with fellow MRW authors: Christi Barth, Megan Erickson, Avery Flynn, Heidi Hormel, Robin Kaye, and Kimberly Kincaid.

After the workshop I will be hanging out, talking writers shop, and signing copies of THE FIRE WALKERS.

I look forward to seeing you there!

SLOW DOWN

First off, let me wish all you wonderful matriarchs a Happy Mother’s Day. That goes for mothers of human babies, fur babies, or as a sweet person said to me last week, “If you’ve ever cared for someone else’s child.”

All nurturers are included in the celebration.

I would go on about my mom but as you could tell from last week’s post, she is awesome personified. The dedication in THE FIRE WALKERS refers to her as my “guiding light and spiritual compass.” I would not be level without her in my life.

“Level” is actually a good way to describe it. Moms encourage us to roam but lovingly catch us by our shirt collar when we’re about to stray too far off the beaten path…

I believe the Universe acts like a mother in that way sometimes, too. To use my sister’s expression, “when you’ve gone too far into left field, [it] kicks you back into play.”

The way I see this manifest is as interference. You know, the delays and detours that block you when you’re trying to go full speed.

The concept reminds me of a New Age book I’d read long ago. It said that “detours” were a stop sign from the Universe. That in the moments where you're stopped the best thing to do is look around. Instead of negatively focusing on the block, look at what else is going on near you, because the Universe is trying to show you something important.

For example, say that you’re late for work when you end up behind a school bus. As humans we get so fixated on control, on getting our aims checked off in rapid, succinct order. When the goal is getting to work on time, you will sit and glare at the flashing lights of the bus, anxiety building, frustration rising, when there could be an event or symbol nearby that you’re meant to see.

 I utilized this principle once, with a cool encounter the result. I was at work on day, many moons ago; the day moving by at a molasses-in-January tempo. Feeling twitchy, I was ready for lunch if for no other reason than to go somewhere, anywhere. While assisting my last client before break, my computer began to go slow, the process so sluggish that it almost felt deliberate. In no mood to make small talk, I stared daggers at the screen until my guest spoke. Surprising me, the lady struck up a conversation. The “stop sign” belief pinged through my head and despite my edginess, I engaged, and I was glad that I did. The lady was an expert on a subject that I happened to be studying at the time, and in the few short minutes we conversed, she was able to give me valuable information about the field. I was in awe. And, as if saying, “I told ya so” my computer miraculously didn’t give me any further grief that afternoon.

I touch back to that experience when I run into interference. I strive to: stop, breathe, and look around. To be receptive even when I’m restless. Which is tough, because contrary to popular belief, I’m not always sweet and easy-going.

Here I can give a shout out to Mom as being one of the few people who can coax me out those pissy moods; usually with a hug, a compassionate ear, and a bowl of ice cream—in any order.

But when the grumpy strikes I take full responsibility for my bad attitude, and I never forget the importance of understanding. There are a lot of people in this world, all of whom are subject to sub-par days. It would be great if everyone followed the rules all the time, especially where common courtesy applies:

·        Keep to the right side of the “road” with your shopping cart

·        Don’t dominate the walking path just because you’re a group and I’m solo

·        If you or your kids affect a stranger, apologize and correct appropriately

But there is a myriad of daily niceties to which we subscribe in order to keep the peace. The good ol’ Golden Rule, especially. I abide by the rules because there are defiantly days where I'm the idiot, and need to be on the receiving end of the goodwill. 

You will get those off kilter times, the periods where the cosmos seems to want to screw with your regular routine.

And the Universe must have realllly wanted my attention because last week was like the seven days o’ detour. I exaggerate not. 

I missed the memo that last Saturday was National Drive at a Snail’s Pace day. 

I don't mean going the speed limit or the random cautious driver. I mean 15 mph while in the fast lane, then swerving when I try to go around. And that was just the beginning. My blood pressure remained kosher by Clueless Driver #3, but it was thirty minutes later with Clueless Driver #4, that I began to question whether the Universe was trying to tell me sumthin’.

I stuck to the drill. I stopped. I breathed. I looked around.

Nothing caught my eye.

Pan to an hour later, I made a pit stop at my house. While rushing to lock up, I tried pulling my key from the door, but the deadbolt wouldn’t let go.

I tugged. I waggled. I yanked. I cursed.

I didn’t have time for that crap.

I heaved a sigh, and breathed. With a bit of cajoling and a finger bruise, I got the key to come out.

It was while exiting the parking lot that Clueless Driver #5 decided to make an appearance, the guy blatantly stopping in the middle of road, ignoring the fact that I was stuck behind him.

I waited. Patiently. While wondering if I was cursed.

I watched, as he stared down at his lap, the newsflash not registering that he was selfishly taking up more asphalt than necessary and thus preventing me from going on my merry way.

I sat some more, a picture from my previous CN post coming to mind, the image sparking a psychology theory—dial up internet. In the 90’s the two and half minutes it took for your computer to ‘speak’ to the dial tone of the phone was considered brief with the convenience of the break-through technology. You simply did something to fill the time while you were waiting; file your nails, flip through a magazine.

The point being that time can be defined in several ways. When you say “a long time” do you mean a million years ago? Seven hours? Five minutes?

With the advent of high-speed and Wi-Fi our expectations have been conditioned. What constitutes a “long time” is—in reality—less than a minute.

I tried to remember that as I was waylaid by Misuer Oblivious. I also reacted as any mature, conscious adult would in that situation. 

I growled, “Get off your phoooooone!” at the top of my lungs.

The “O” got morphed into the drawn-out, base “moo” sound that cows make—my personal take on “Mooooove your ...!”

I waited two minutes—timed using the dashboard clock, not my own distorted perception—and I then started like I would drive over grass to get around him. *Cue lightbulb*

He noticed me then. And proceeded to move... at 5 mph out of our complex.

Yeah.

I didn’t glean any divine wisdom from the experience other than:

Sometimes the more you push, the further nowhere you get.

          I’m sure everyone has had times like that. Where there are hurdles everywhere, and the more you try to correct it, the worse it gets. The situation is what it is. 

          It’s okay to let go. To just endure the feels—the frustration, the anger—whatever form they take.

          We run here and run there, buying milk, picking up the kids. We rush from point A to point B to the extent that we fail to see the wonder occurring around us.

          Buddhists call it the art of “staying present” of being in the moment.

          I’m the first to admit, it’s those frazzled moments that make me think that meditation is a bunch a hooey.  

Be silent...be still... Ain't no one got time for that.

          But when you think about it, every second is a beat of our life — it's alive, vital.

          Do you want to waste that moment feeling hassled?

Like my fight with the door lock—I expected the lock to work and fast. That’s the thing's job. When the lock stopped working as it always has, when the set expectation failed, it put a bump in my seamless routine.

I was delayed.

Similar to the high speed internet, waiting that extra minute feels daunting. But a clarity comes when you take that moment. You may be performing a task that is second nature to you, but you’re doing it consciously. There’s no harm in re-learning something, you may notice something that you never have before.

You experience things when you slow down.

And you have a choice: you can be forced to pay attention or be willing to conduct the task with patience.

The next morning I gave myself plenty of time. Pausing at the front door, I turned the key and pulled, anticipating resistance. None came. It clicked and released without issue.

It's a thorough lesson.

Take your time.