Another early morning finds me sitting in the office atrium, catching up on the day’s rhythm, seeing if I can match the beat. The energy is too slow, involving shuffling instead of stepping, a resignation in the bend of the head. Clearly I am not going to be a helpful dance partner. I need to carry the day differently…which propels me towards an entirely different train of thought. How to carry the day.
Should it be carried gently as a sleeping baby in your arms, held with acute awareness of its inestimable preciousness? Or with abandon? Tossing the day up in the air with delight, watching it return to your hands gleefully anticipating the breathlessness of being thrown higher again and again.
Perhaps it should be carried over your shoulder, as one carries shirts fresh from the dry cleaner? Protected in plastic that provides the security that they will make it home spotless and pressed (assuming you don’t fall into a puddle).
Do you hold the day like a briefcase – holding so tightly to the handle that your fingers ache, secure that no one will be able to take it from you?
Or
Like a well-worn handbag held casually and almost mindlessly – its weight comfortable in your hand, its contents familiar (save for the occasional forgotten lipstick and dollar bill at the very bottom of the bag).
How do you carry the day?
Held tightly against you like a cell phone to your ear, doing all you can to make sure that no one can hear what you are attending to? Protectively guarding your privacy despite being in the middle of all this humanity??
Do you carry the day with confidence or trepidation? Delight or dread? Is it one more parcel to hold along with too many others to effectively juggle? Do you push it away as a stroller or a shopping cart, keeping control of the direction by keeping a certain distance between you and it? Is it pulled along like a rolling suitcase, casually unaware of its contents (for after all it is always behind you).
Do you balance the day like an overly full cup of coffee that is thisclose to spilling over, taking mincing, tentative steps to avert sartorial disaster?
I suppose different days require different handling. Today my arms are at my sides, keeping questionable rhythm with my feet. Today perhaps the day itself will carry me.
Waiting for the Karma Truck 