After reading this post, you are going to know why I named my Blog the way I did.
So I'm sitting in the car, sore throat, tight chest, coughing, waiting for Fluffy Bear to pick up some takeout. And I start thinking about a Shirley MacLaine book I read years and years and years and years ago. I can't remember what it was called.
Anyway, she spoke about how disease is really dis-ease and how everything, ever person, every experience we bring into our lives is no accident - we brought it to ourselves because we need it, because we have something to learn from it.
In other words, if you are a dancer and you sprain your ankle, maybe you really didn't want to dance the lead and so you're giving yourself a way out.
So it follows that dis-ease can be healed by facing that will is putting us ill at ease.
So I began to think... my throat is sore, my chest hurts. Maybe I have something to say, someting to literally get off my chest.
And so I started to say it, all alone, there in the car.
"It shouldn't have been me."
I said it again and again and again and again. I emphasized different words. I backed up what I was saying with different thoughts:
- It shouldn't have been me that got canned - [X person] is way crappier at his job
- It shouldn't have been me - I've tried to work really hard to deliver results
- It shouldn't have been me - I had just started to find a good work-life balance
- It shouldn't have been me - what did I do wrong?
But the emotions didn't really surface. I didn't start to cry or get angry. I just felt removed from it all. Numb.
The only thing that happened was that this strange woman with a pudding bowl haircut walked past the car and raised both arms to wave at me. I don't know who she was. I am not sure she knew who I was. She didn't smile. It was very strange.
And I'm still getting stuff off my chest - and it's very, very gloopy.
Thanks a lot, Shirley MacLaine.