I wonder how we would behave if we REALLY knew how many people were watching us? My dear friend and writing partner is getting ready to move across the country. (AAACK! Is she crazy??)
I am absolutely in awe of her focus, organizational skills and stamina since “Move”, at this particular juncture of my life, has taken on the mantle of swearword. I have found that moving, in terms of physical relocation of one's belongings, is a practice best left to those with the chronological age of about twelve, with the emotional and physical stamina to match. Yep. Moving is best left to a super, strong twelve-year old.
I’m still recovering from my last move two years ago. I find the whole, "where is my bra?" adventure tremendously unsettling. There’s a perfectly good reason most of my packing boxes now double as end tables. I didn’t think I could survive one more day as the answer-woman. How did I get appointed “The One Who Knows Where EVERYTHING IS.” Clairvoyant, clairaudient, I can see through moving boxes! They speak to me. By the time we were done I thought "couldja,didja,what-didja-do-with" was my new Indian name.
Back to topic, my friend is practically whistling through this seachange of life! She’s powering through all the tough stuff with nary a whine on her lips. (I said whine – with an H. It took me a pantry full of the red grape variety to get me moved.) I watch her attack each task with gusto and grace and frankly I want to slap her! C’mon, be a grouch. Bitch. Moan. Carry on about how hard this is.
Nope. She’s going to show me how to tackle the hardest tasks with a positive attitude and spirit. She’s going to demonstrate exactly how you do the tough stuff. You make it fun. You dive in. You laugh. You dance. Funny thing is? She doesn’t even know she’s setting a good example or how high she’s raising the bar – or even that she’s being watched --
she’s too busy dancing.
-- I'd love to hear how you are Tango-ing through the tough stuff...