Aviva decided to cover all the cracks in our Havdalah candle with Krazy Glue. She also left the whole thing lying on a piece on newspaper on the kitchen counter. Much in the same way I’ve many times grabbed the handle of a hot iron skillet before remembering that it would be HOT, as soon as I saw the Krazy Glue bottle lying on its side, I impulsively picked it up to screw the cap back on. Yep. I immediately realized my error in judgment and somewhat frantically made sure my fingers could still separate, though that weird white coating did numb my fingertips for a few days before wearing off.
Enjoy the Ride
I like it on the ground. I’m a Capricorn, for God’s sake–we’re mountain goats! But sometimes getting above the treeline brings the mountains into view, and looking down at all the little people below gives you some perspective on your own big life. Not to mention the surrender of control: There you are, swinging in mid-air, going around and around and going nowhere. It’s not up to you where you’ll stop or when you’ll get off. So I have to say it: Might as well get uplifted and enjoy the ride.
Hang In There
While those words are generally well-intentioned, they can also leave you feeling small. You’re in a free-fall, for a moment weightless, unsure of yourself. You’re exhilarated, or terrified. Disoriented, groundless, breathless. But there is power in your ability to catapult your body into space. And there is power in doing nothing at all, just hanging there, letting the harnesses and straps and wires and pulleys do the work for you.
Put One Foot in Front of the Other
A few weeks ago, I was on my way home from dinner at a friend’s house in the country. I spontaneously decided to stop at a labyrinth a few miles from my house, behind a church. The moon was full. I parked the car and walked over the little foot-bridge, found the entrance to the path, and began. The anxiety, the doubting, the questioning came quickly–was I doing this right? Had I gone in the wrong way? Why did I seem to be getting further away from the center? Wasn’t I supposed to be moving towards it? I started to cry, just a little, more like a whimper of surrender. I found that I was slowing down, giving over to the turns and circles. “This is a great metaphor,” I thought to myself. And then I realized: It wasn’t a metaphor at all. It was an actual experience. The sky was bright and the night alive with summer sounds. And so I placed one foot in front of the other–not knowing how this thing worked, how long it would take, or where it would deliver me–and kept walking.