My Stacks
In the back of my mind there is this stack of worries that I sit on. They’re like books. That’s how much I love them. They are always warm, because I am always sitting there. Always comfortable, because I spend a LOT of time there. It’s where I plan, where I sew together bits of resentment to form blame, guilt and carefully constructed frustration. It’s where I find reassurance, confidence and security. And if I am drawn away for awhile, into an experience, a conversation, up a new trail, I am quick to return upon finishing that little project. I have to admit, I really don’t consider sitting anywhere else, despite the array of rugs, pillows, cushions, desks and even beds in this little imaginary room of my mind.As my friend, the goddess of wisdom, Maury, once told me, we don’t get the challenges we want, we get the challenges we need (Which makes me think of a certain song and my forever friend Leslie, who, I just now realize turned out to be completely right about something she said in 1997). What I happened to need was the courage to turn away from my well-varnished worry stack and choose an ottoman instead. Named for Turkey’s former empire. You know, a piece powerful and confident enough to just float out there between the East and the West, between the sectional and the chair, all on its own. Can you imagine?Whereas some challenges give you every little gory and exhaustive detail of your journey over a mountain of issues, this one just happened yesterday. Without dramatic consequence. I went to find my bench, and it was missing. I didn’t panic. But I talked about it with Michael and I think he was as astonished as me. Because worrying is just something I do.But I never did find it. I just kept wandering around, worrying and wondering where the hell it could be. I guess the transformation isn’t exactly complete.
