The Goodie Bag Incident

I’ll admit that lately in my head there’s been more drama than ease, more chaos than contentment, more stress versus serenity. I could point at completely legitimate external justifications for that, including the fact that it’s Summer and we don’t have any set normal routines, the fact that there’s this, that, and the other thing going on, all of which really do activate some stress for me. Or I could admit that I’ve been willing to slide on the practices I know help me stay centered, in my power, chillaxed, regardless of what’s going on in my outer world. I could admit that I’ve been on a fact-finding mission and can now report that my program doesn’t work if I don’t work it. Or it doesn’t work as well if I don’t work it a bit more. Evie rises.

So it’s on, again. Gently turning that wheel back to center, back on the smooth pavement, out of the weeds. Doing what must be done to be me, to enjoy this life, as me, free, and not as some slave to ego voices and fear voices and wounded old false self voices scrounging for pellets of “Good” that come rarely. And when they come they come fleetingly before the next round of “Bad, you’re bad, this is bad, you have to fix this or all will be lost.”

What matters? What matters to me is being kind, to everyone, including myself. Being kind to my husband and to my child and to the rest of my family. Taking it easy enough to go slowly in these interactions, to think about what matters, to talk it over, to stay, stay, stay in these conversations, to not react or rush to conclusions about how things need to be for me to be okay. I am okay. I am. And so are they.

There are no rabid tigers in the lifeboat. Mike was not trying to be a birthday party terrorist by ordering goodie bags, and twice as many as we have guests, for Ax’s party. Mike was not thinking about my aversion to waste, to junk, to stuff for the sake of stuff.

Mike did not know that I had twelve hundred and seven other concepts for party giveaways that did not involve goodie bags. Mike did not know goodie bags were the manifestation of all that is wrong with this consumerist, disposable, treat-driven world. He really didn’t know goodie bags = death. He just thought he was being helpful.

So thanks, Mike. Thank you for helping.