Early in December, my friend Joe, posted this to Facebook. And I had so many thoughts that I couldn’t even formulate a reply.
Two days later, I attended my work holiday party where I’ve known many of the attendees more than a decade. I looked around the room and thought, “Warriors!” The shit that some of these people have been through is overwhelming to consider. Some were unable to attend the party because they were dealing with whatever shit sandwich had been arbitrarily served up to them.
On Friday the 13th, I peered into the basement and a few boxes that I had purchased to use to give things away were slumping down the wall. I assumed a cat had knocked them down until I realized that the bottom edges were wet. It was then that my brain registered that the entire floor was wet. Really wet. With a lot of water. I called Andrea, "The basement is flooded! There's like a foot of water. I don't know what to do - my brain is frozen." I admitted, heading back down the steps, the cat at my heels.
"No!" I cautioned the cat. He ignored me as cats are wont to do and leapt into the water. It came up to his cat armpits, so clearly, not a foot of water. But a lot of water that filled the entire basement which is the footprint of our house. Andrea sprang into action from Virginia and we got ServPro out to pump the basement. The cat shivered and fought me off as I tried to dry him.
Of course, we were to have the realtor to our home the next morning to take pictures for the purpose of appraising our home for listing. Andrea's flight from Virginia wasn't landing until 9:45 PM and the thought of a realtor at our home at 9:30 AM was almost nervous breakdown inducing. Although the realtor assured us she wouldn't even LOOK in our basement, we opted to reschedule until after January 1st. After all, we do have time.
I told someone about the basement and their reply was, "So sorry, that is truly a hideous opportunity to be present with the moment." I laughed.
I spoke with my mom Friday night and we compared the contents of our respective picnic baskets - shit sandwiches all around. I spoke with my mother-in-law that same evening and, to her dismay, laughed at the current smorgasbord of shit sandwiches facing Andrea and me.
I recently visited Kripalu which is this magical place away from television and the grind of responsibilities. A place where moderation of electronic devices is enforced. The real magic of a visit to Kripalu is what you carry home with you. How you apply the lessons you learned there. How you respond to the inevitable shit sandwiches. And don't get me wrong - I will take my version of shit sandwiches all day long compared to what many of the warriors at my place of employment have been served up. Even so. Your shit sandwich is still... well, shit. So yeah. How do you respond to that shit sandwich?
Here I am, with all of you, at the end of one decade and on the brink of another. It seems auspicious to be moving at the beginning of a new decade. Or so I hope. To be honest, the move has tossed me into a small, unexpected identity crisis. Who am I if I'm not the one in the family who's the lead breadwinner? Who do I want to be, faced with a move to a place with a much lower cost of living? So many questions. I'm trying to unpack them all - using various resources and tools - like ones that Kripalu visits have gifted me with.
During my last visit to Kripalu, I settled on my "word" of intent for 2020: Discernment. I put my new bracelet on in advanc
e of the year because I could use a little discernment in my life this year, now, as the decade wraps up.
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