I’m down. I’m out. I can’t move. I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.
A big darn truck.
Perhaps the world’s largest — like this one in the photo. If you look closely, you can see actual humans standing next to the tire, and they only come halfway up the tire.
That’s how I feel about now, dwarfed by this big darn truck.
But my truck wasn’t sitting all polite and quiet and engine-ready. No, mine was moving and I went, well, under it.
I have some theories about my state of being. You see, I moved last summer, and I moved across the country. All the way from the west coast to the east coast. Why not go all the way while you’re at it, right, and why not with a husband, daughter and 4 animals (yes, they were small… no Doberman’s or Mastiff’s in the car).
It was no small feat, however, first — to get out of town — and second, to drive with 3 dogs and 1 cat (in one already packed-to-the-gills car) on the long road to a brand new life.
I should have made a video for Ellen DeGeneres. It would have won awards, I’m sure. Especially when the cat (who had been comatose in an impossible position under the driver’s seat, refusing to eat or drink while we drove) thought 3 am in the pet-friendly hotel room was a good time to play. Loudly. I have never had so little sleep in my entire life. At least he was entertaining, which saved his life.
Then 8 months later — oops, I did it again. Not across the country again, no! But I moved. (Am I nuts??)
I do know for sure that I’m tired.
There is something about moving that is much worse and than all the lifting and carrying. There is something way beyond the extra exercise you get picking up your stuff and putting it in the moving truck.
I don’t really know what it is.
Is it sorting everything? Sure, how could it not be? Is it decision-making overload? Heck yes. Is it the emotional ripping and tearing that goes on? Of course.
Add it all up and you’ve got the exponentially negative effect of moving.
Wham. That’s my head hitting the pillow….
Who knows if there some cure, some antidote, some fixer-upper magic for the movin’ blues?
…I went to the spa. I stopped working. I put down the box and the tissue paper and the scrub brush and the telephone. I got in my car, drove to the nearest Spa, and I enjoyed the treatment called “Ancient Bathing Ritual.”
I got into this very tub with alternating and rotating hydro jets galore. A goddess poured a pitcher of milk and honey and bubbles into the bath.
About ten minutes after I settled in, another heavenly creature came in and gave me a 20 minute scalp massage.
And then the heavenly creature ushered me into a quiet room where everything is soft and muted, the music is beautifully transcendent and the blankets are the kind you want to take home. She gave me a full body, full hour massage.
Basically, she turned me into homemade butter.
That experience has pretty much removed all vocabulary from my brain. Can’t write all that well, can’t really think, and what’s even better, I don’t even care.
On the way home (was I really driving???) Il Divo’s private concert may have sent me straight to heaven. From all indications, I might still be there.
Ok, now give me that box to fill. I’m ready.
On second thought, how about a cup of tea first?
When are we getting to Asheville? Don’t really know… we’ll get there when we do I guess.
Today, I’m sharing a story about how I accidentally accomplished something on my bucket list. I ran through an exit gate while looking the other way. The hood of my car is scratched up, and one windshield wiper is a mess, but let’s have a good laugh about how we never expect what “getting what we want” includes!
It seems to be a growing fad these days to call someone a narcissist, or declare they are toxic.
Political name-calling is similar—we assign politicians and voters to categories, and brush them off as if they are unintelligent, inferior, or even worthless.
By labeling others, we miss their humanity. We gloss over their struggle, their best effort at dealing with life. We dismiss them.
We do to them what we believe they are doing to others.
Look past a label, and in the soft light of day, there stands a person like you or like me, coping as best they can. At the end of the day, no friend, parent, or lover making conscious choices intends to be mean, or to ignore, or to embellish. There is always more to the story.
If we label others, then for sure we label ourselves. We trap ourselves into believing we are less than. Or not enough. Or we don’t give ourselves the time and forgiveness to work through our “stuff.” Maybe, if we stopped accusing others of narcissism, we could forgive ourselves for those moments when we were narrow-minded, inconsiderate, or afraid.
When it comes to labels, nobody wins.
So, my dear people, I suggest we peer a little deeper into ourselves to investigate a need to separate ourselves from others by tacking them with a label filled with disdain or scorn.
It is my wish that you view this video and take it to heart.