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.

And other crazy definitions...

"Hold on one minute, I think we got off on the wrong foot," urges a man I am pretty sure is mildly crazy.  He strolled into the eating establishment I was entertaining with balloon animals.  Struck a conversation with me as if he knew me. Apparently he was having a bad day. Something about poor service at the first restaurant he visited.

A skeptically raised eyebrow from me was encouragement enough. "No, see, I am actually super funny. One of the coolest people in the world.  Just look at me--I showered today."

Sometimes I need a sign like this to remember what is really cool. Like dogs wearing sunglasses.

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Or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at the moment I crave them most. 








Watching penguins hang out. 









Or getting dressed for work in record time and still looking effortlessly awesome. And of course, showering.

"This old thing? I only wear it when I don't care how I look."

And of course, if you like those things too (or perhaps accomplished some of them today), just take it as a sign that you, too, are cool.

Time For A Crazy Change

I am very familiar with crazy--both the people and the situational variety.  Just last week I had a mom scream at me, "You shouldn't be working with children!" because her child didn't get face painted. I got bitten on the arm at a restaurant on a first date and had to pay for both meals.  My brother listens to deathcore and sings--I mean  screams-- along. Oh, and my dog thinks she is a person.

All that being said, my definition of crazy tends to be pretty intense. Exhausting.  Frustrating. Daily.  It mostly comes from my circus job.  Something about the loudness of small children, being at least 20 people deep in line, the unpredictability of parents, and battling the elements just hits my bloodstream like a shot of adrenaline.

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So when the receptionist I was shadowing for my new job at a spa exclaimed, "Today is just going to be CRAZY!"  I braced myself the impact....that never came.

Sure there were a decent number of appointments.  Sure there are a lot of duties and endless laundry to fold. But there wasn't a rush. We weren't 5 people deep with all the phone lines ringing while the rest of the staff ran towels and the tea light candles singed the silk plants.  It was a steady, non-stressful pace.

It was a great sign for change.  This time, it was a definition change. A time to reset the limits.

Maybe my definition of crazy was, in fact, crazy. Accepting something so insanely out of balance could only send the rest of my life a little off kilter. (Sometimes it is hard to recognize that, though.  We like to think that if we fight long and hard enough, things will always get easier. Unfortunately, this isn't always true.) If this is my new definition of crazy, my quality of life is about to go way up. Crazy I didn't recognize this before...

At the end of the day, the receptionist turned to me and sincerely asked, "Wasn't that just crazy?" Something about the New Age music and the fact that I could still feel my feet made me smile. "Sure was."