I have fruit fly in my office. It’s been in here for days. I didn’t think they had such long life spans. It could be a new fly, regenerating time and again, each one finding me utterly irresistible, unlike the trap, which it could not care less about. I smack it away, and two seconds later, it’s back. Sort of like some of my worries.
What should the Orchestra promotion calendar look like? Will my son be happier this week? This rehearsal schedule looks nuts. I have an inconsistency in Chapter Four, but need to fix Chapter two first. I need to write a new query. What should I put in the grant proposal? Why can’t I get rid of the $*_$%^ fruit fly?
The power outage was stressful, but despite living in hotels, my in-laws, and the dark sauna that was my house, I was pretty happy. It was like meditative living. Three gallons of ice cream are melting. It’s too hot to run and I don’t have a shower anyway. Can’t do a dang thing about you now. Namaste, buh-bye. We lived in the moment. Don’t have food, so we have to eat out. Who has power and a decent salad? We still had clean clothes, and food, and managed to find Wi-Fi and coffee. The world kept turning and I didn’t even notice the fruit fly.
A friend and I have been exchanging thoughts on the idea of space. Breathing space, living space, space to move and grow. One can leap over obstacles with enough clearance. A ceiling of thoughts and worries works like inverse gravity, pushing me down rather than pulling. Rid myself of them, and perhaps I could fly. So this week I will begin a conscious practice of letting go. I’ll write it in my notebook, acknowledge the thought and then set it free like a bubble to pop where it will. Give it enough space, and it might float beyond the trees.
Sometimes naming them is enough. Like ghosts, when they find closure they can move to the beyond. Some are fragments that will come together when the time is right. Some are not my problem at all. They are someone else’s problem that I wish they would fix, because they inconvenience me. The fact that I’m not in control is my problem.
I should practice. I will. I always do. Namaste
The calendar is a mess. Yes it is. It will resolve in its own time. Namaste
The grant proposal is a ton of work, and it’s daunting. Yes, it is. Many things are. Namaste
That stupid effin fruit fly is buzzing around my ear. That is very annoying. Namaste, you stupid effing bug. Do you hear me? Namaste. Okay maybe that one doesn’t work so well.
My goal is a yard full of thought bubbles, shining and dancing on the breeze. I will watch them and breathe, and pop a few myself if they get too close. And the fruit fly? Whack! Say Namaste to the hand.
Words by J. B. Everett