Two Livers On Ice
My yoga teacher offered this tidbit the other day which was something to the effect of, "Notice when you’re moving through life as though you were trying to get to the ER with two livers on ice." His implication, or maybe he said it I’m always kind of spacey in yoga, was to ask whether that amount of urgency is appropriate to the actual situation. For some reason in my head the phrase two livers on ice reminded me of the song, “Two Tickets to Paradise,” and I started singing in my head, “two livers on ice,” to that tune. It’s kind of impossible not to feel happy with that song in my head, but I managed, because when I, in a non-two livers on ice manner, got up from the end of class and checked the time, I realized that if I didn’t hustle majorly I was going to be late picking up Ax from camp and he was going to be that kid standing there holding the counselor’s hand looking forlornly about for his mama as all the other kids all got scooped up with no one there for him.
Two livers on ice. I was anxious. I violated some traffic laws. I felt awful. The hour of meditative free-your-soul practice I’d just engaged in flew out the window as I contemplated my poor son and his feelings of abandonment. I got there and there were still quite a few kids around. I kind of forgot, in my catastrophizing/disastrophizing that the truly worst case scenario would be that he’d play with the kids staying for aftercare.
And when I arrived I saw him sort of spinning around in the middle of the field with his arms spread out airplane-style and I called out, several times, before he noticed me, and then he ran up, happy but not relieved to see me, and showed me some artwork he’d done which I admired. He climbed into the car as if my being one of the last parents, rather than one of the first parents as I make a point to be, made no difference at all. And we drove home, content, relaxed, unhurried. Paradise.