A Lucky Sign

Okay, it's not what you are thinking. I didn't find another four leaf clover or eat an awesome fortune cookie.  But I did encounter a sign.

It proudly read, "The more you practice, the luckier you get."

(It was referencing golf.  The sign winked at me as I drove by the driving range on my way home today.)

www.islandlakegolf.com/practice_range.asp

Makes you wonder about those people that seem to have all the luck: maybe they just get to practice more.

Maybe the point they are trying to make is that if you practice hard enough, life can look easy.  And then maybe you will believe it IS easy, only to find that this new outlook makes it so.

Of course this philosophy of practice makes luck applies to a lot of things:
                Cat grooming         making out        the perfect pancake recipe           driving       reading signs       and who could forget golfing?

This goes without saying that sometimes your luck isn't found in getting better, but in realizing you truly ought to quit.  I have been to the driving range, multiple times.  I manage to cause damage to the property with my $6 bucket of balls.  My luck is in not causing serious damage or getting thrown out of the facility.  (Pretty luck if you ask me....wedged a ball in the rafters, awfully close to the lights....)

Sometimes you have to acknowledge that you just cannot manage certain tasks.

And probably for good reason.

Consider it luck, cut your losses, and go practice elsewhere.

Good luck!

Sign of Moving

Times have been crazy. I suppose that is what makes them "special" or "unique" or any other adjective inside of the ever satirical quotation marks.

I have helped friends move out of dorms and acquired a free meals.  Helped my second mom move out of her house and received free dinner plates and excellent furniture. Helped family move in for two weeks, and helped rearranged the house after they left.

It seems to me that everyone is moving.  In my recent 80 mile trek to work, I see more and more moving trucks.  Everyone is going somewhere.

Begs the question, Where am I going?

To work. Home. To doctors appointments. To sleep.

To be honest, it all feels rather circuitous. I am fairly certain that all I'm going is around.

I'm sure you have felt the same way.

But this was my sign, as I was travelling to work.

panoramio.com

Yes, it is a roundabout. Just like I expected.  But I am not the only one in it.  And in fact, I am one of those people who go around the roundabout more than once.

The sign is, there isn't a sign that says you HAVE to exit after one pass.  Sometimes it takes a few times through to clearly see the exit routes, read the street signs, and make up your mind.  But they are there. And most of life is rather circuitous (many enjoyable things are: roller coasters, merry-go-rounds, the earth). Keep going.  Keep going until you find enjoyment. Til you find the street you need. Til you are tired of the traffic. Keep going because everyone is moving.

Catching the Sunset in a Bottle

Hey, where ya been?  (Know that you are not alone in asking that question.)

I asked myself that, on Friday.  Because I finally met myself this year.  Friday was the best I have felt through all of 2012, first pain free day.  (Which is only a big deal when you have chronic pain disease.) And the first time I ever learned about bottling sunsets.

Friday I took an intro course into holistic medicinal energy healing.  A good bit of it was hands on.  Perhaps that was why I felt so good. Maybe it was merely the absence of 'feeling bad' that felt so good.  Or it might have been knowing this was a course that wasn't graded and therefore I could not fail.  Maybe it was finally doing something solely for me. Who's to say?

It was pretty expensive.  But it is Sunday and overall I feel so very alive. Keenly human. Deeply wonder-full.

Here's the thing about really good days: they are like catching the sunset in a bottle.  When you have, you know it is possible. That more than one good day is inevitable.  You open the bottle and enjoy it again, not wanting the memory to stale.  And that drives you onward.

You find ways to make it happen, because you already caught it in a bottle once and deep down inside you know you can do it again.  Because you keep that bottle, even after it's empty. You keep it on your nightstand, on your desk, with a note that says, "Remember."  You plan what you are going to do with it once you have it again.  You plan on how you are going to bottle the sunset again.  Because you can still feel the warmth in your hands, see the brilliance when you close your eyes.  You look to the skies, knowing it is out there.  Maybe it is watching you too.

Remember.