I was traipsing down the road writing the Where Tigers Belch newsletter with two tuna fish sandwiches, four bottles of water, an apple, and a big fat dill pickle in my backpack.
I had placed the sandwiches in plastic sandwich holders for I remembered from school sack lunches how the apple made a crater—all munched and flat in the middle of my sandwich. I slipped the straps of my backpack over my shoulder and set out.
It was a glorious day with the sunlight casting shadows flipping through the trees like a movie film. I was humming and on the road to my destiny.
BAM!
A shot rang out.
What the heck?!
It struck my husband's job dead center.
A bullseye.
Well crumb, dead job.
When Universities close, they aren't motivated to purchase new equipment, especially custom microscopes. And you know the old adage; No buy-e, no sell-e, no mon-ey.
I remember Johnny Coleman, an exuberant guest minister at Terry-Cole Whittaker's church in San Diego. She yelled from the stage, "If you go into work one day and the boss, says, "You're fired." You say, "Okay, Great Master, what better thing do you have in store for me?"
I Loved that woman so much--I’ve remembered her name for over 20 years--when I was in Chicago, luckily over a Sunday, I took a cab to her church. Unfortunately, she was guest speaking someplace else, but I was loved up by the congregation. I guess that one-liner was the message I needed.
Back to our road--the one to find Where Tigers Belch(Come along—you can do it—subscribe here, it won't cost much, less than two lunches at McDonald's).
Suddenly the road collapses, and we find ourselves skittering down an embankment, scrapping our hands and legs. But we, luckily, we land short of the creek. Okay, we're still alive, what do we do now?
But here we are on this blog, with me wondering what in the heck is happening out there in the big wide world.
One dear reader said she had been alone for about four months, and she finds herself crying at anything that vaguely tugs at her heartstrings. Remembering her dog, her horse, her kids.
That doesn’t support her magnificence.
But as I said, this is a blog, and people usually seek out a blog because they want answers.
Ah, the pressure.
So, Let's call this:
"How to Be Okay Whatever…"
That's what I want right now.
In 2009 I worried so much about another financial slump that I couldn't sleep more than 3 hours/night. I lost weight and carried anxiety for the most part of a year like a boulder in my stomach.
I decided never to worry to such a degree again. I wrote The Frog's Song about our move to a tropical Island—our solution then. However, much of the angst was edited out. (Maybe the editor didn't want me swearing or crying.). However, I loved, loved, loved that publisher and editor, she was the sweetest thing.
So here I am, determined not to worry, and in some perverse way, excited. I'm wondering what lies ahead. I'm on my way to the spot where the Tiger Belches, remember? (That spot where the magic happens.)
On Wednesday, the day of the lay-off, I paid the bills, paid the mortgage, and bought groceries. We're set for a month, Whoops, we need half and half—gotta have it for coffee, right?
Tony Robbins would call this "Managing your state." He means "State of mind." Not an easy task nine-tenths of the time, and don't hold me to keeping mine in check. I'm trying to learn that we are in control of our mind, not conditions.
Sometimes celebrities who have achieved success in their chosen field, have money, and the esteem of their peers, still kill themselves. (John Belushi comes to mind.)
Not enjoying your success isn't a success.
I suppose we could go back to childhood and talk about the ills that befell us, the psychological hits that set us up for a complicated life.
(Jack Canfield says, "So, you had a childhood—get over it.)
That's called "Growing up."
I'm not saying we won't get hit once in a while and feel crazed. When my husband told me he was laid off, my blood dropped to my ankles.
But I'm up. I'm going to the spot Where Tigers Belch.
Are you with me?
Hit it!
