And JUST when you thought you were surrounded only by darkness, you notice the stars.

I still daydream.

I bet at least once a day I’ll find myself in a not-present state, and almost always, in a better place than reality. And not really in the way that I wish I were in Bali, even though I do, but in really obscure ways. Like, if I were to put away one dollar bill for a bookmark instead of using plastic ones, how many bills would I have collected over the years? Or, if the person that installed the papertowel dispenser in the ladies bathroom at work had sat down before finishing the job, my toilet seat wouldn’t be wet every day. Or, if all lotions had the smell of both dessert and the beach at the same time, like my new favorite, I’d be a lot more lotioned.

Anyway, I was sitting in one of those daydreams this afternoon, only I was quite present in it. I was in the Starbucks drive-thru picking up my favorite green tea, and noticing their building being exquisitely inviting. I noticed that my car didn’t smell as good as outside did and rolled down a second window. And I turned down the news because it was belching gun control news, just like 84% of my Facebook newsfeed. My mind wandered to that place that it does, and I thought of all the bad news lately, all the darkness in the world, all my fears that I keep closeted until late nights or early mornings when the silence isn’t enough to hush them. In the three and a half minutes I was waiting in line and not thinking of Bali, I was wildly processing all the horrible things that were happening around my reality and willing an answer of peace to wash over me.

Instead, my turn to pay was up. I handed the man my George Washingtons, taking note even, that they still say, “In God We Trust.” . He held up his hand and shook his head and brightly said, “No ma’am, that gentleman in the pickup in front of you paid for your order.” Despite my goal to do this as often as possible, I was speechless. The goodness of fellow coffee lover in front of me had just snapped me out of my lack of peace.
After pulling my composure out of the crack in my downed window, I told him I’d then like to pay for the lady behind me in line. I don’t know why, at 2pm on a Tuesday, that this beautiful Starbucks was so brilliantly busy, but I loved the opportunity to quickly continue to pay it forward, and did. He waited until I offered before telling me that I was the eighth person in a row and we both exclaimed about how incredible it’d be if it went on all afternoon. He also noted that not only that, but last week he was part of a FORTY EIGHT CAR LONG PAY IT FORWARD and none of them knew it.

As I sit here listening to the ingenious guitar work of Joe Satriani, I can’t but let my mind wander just a bit again. The stars aren’t so far out of reach in this dark world, friends. We just need to choose to see them. In faaaaaaaaact, what if you were to start a whole constellation of your today?


Cheers,
Nomz

I’m calling it, “I worry too much.”

It was the day that my worry became something I wore so obviously, that it might as well have been hoopyloopy earrings or some fancy accessory.That same day, I started this category, – mostly to see if I do INDEED worry too much about the little things, or if I can be of some comfort to my companions in the crazy.

Someday, they’ll make pills for worry. And they probably won’t be pills at all since I don’t take pills, and they’ll probably even taste like orange tic-tacs covered in whipped cream, and they’ll be my vice.

Hi! And a GIANT – but careful – welcome to my new category; I worry too much.

It’s something that I’ve been told since I can remember, actually.
I tried to blame my anxiousness on having children, and while having them absolutely increased it, it’s been there all along. Carnival rides when I was little, being a passenger instead of a driver when we were 16, immediately figuring the worst when my cop dad didn’t get home on time, getting called into the boss’s office for something good and always assuming the opposite. Feeling even the slightest bit out of control and in the hands of fate, and I get this really cute pursed lipped – crinkled eyebrows face, chest red, tears ready. You’d have a hard time labeling me as crazy, I bottle most of it. But it’s time to uncork, with a goal to put hang some of my crazy out on the blog clothesline and let the good winds of comfort and compassion dry me out and force me to let the molehills remain un-montainous.

Let’s just list some of the things that go through my head, and later, I’ll blog a daily worry that we can hold hands and sing and dissect together, yes? LET THE FUN BEGIN.

-I left something plugged in at home and it’s probably burning down.

-Somebody is going to lure my children off the bus, away from the schoolyard, and into their camaro with really fancy candy, umbrellas, monster high dolls, or a bicycle.

-They’re going to contract Mono or worse from any and all public drinking fountains.

-My farmer is going to get run over by some piece of equipment, or struck be lightning, and nobody will even know it because a tractor in a field moving or stopped is never something people notice as worrisome.

-Can germs breed under fingernails?

-If my kids get on the wrong bus after school, what happens then?

-Not ONLY will they contract something much worse than Mono from a porta-potty, they’ll likely fall in AND THEN WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?

-There’s a burglar, murderer, and (not or, psh, they work together probably) rapist hiding in my basement WAITING for the ONE NIGHT that I don’t have the dogs or the giant guy or the cell phone battery charged, to pounce. You know that joke going around about hollering out to see if they’d like a sandwich? that’s me.

Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh,

Nomz