This morning I am jogging down the street with Yorkie & Porkie. A bit perturbed the gardener across the way was pointing his leaf blower in my direction? Yeah, I was. Most individuals stop and wait for you to go by or point it somewhere else at least. So I am running and thinking about how rude that was and how the debris flying in my direction will irritate my senses. And that's when it happened. Suddenly my body is not in my control. The sidewalk looms closer with each instant and before I know it I am on my face on the ground with a thud!
Now somehow I managed to realize it was happening in enough time to relax my body and let my hands and knees take the brunt of the fall. I mean I'm only 5'5", it's not that far down. Hopefully my subconscious action spared my back and shoulders an exacerbated state of pain. But a second after I hit the ground I look over and Yorkie is in the street! And it's a busy street! Luckily it was clear at the moment. But the sheer surprise of the fall and resulting clumsy negligence with my dog's life scared me silly. So Yorkie got scolded and kissed, then I got up and looked at the tiny pebbles embedded in my palms. My pants weren't ripped so I assumed the damage to my knees wasn't all that bad. I don't even think about the gardeners who must be laughing themselves silly at me. We start to walk home and I cry like a little girl the whole way. Porkie is so sensitive, and totally freaked out already, straining with all her might to get away from her emotional and unpredictable mother. Between sobs I can't help but repeat over and over, "What's next?" Because I was certain my life was nothing but a ball of calamity (I still haven't told you about what happened on Wednesday) waiting to unravel.
Well I realized, as I am wailing to the world and inviting every bad thing to come and happen to me, that I was doing just that. And if I expected my life to be nothing but a turnstile of mishaps I really couldn't ever leave the house again. I mean it's a cold, hard, unpredictable world out there, right? But the thought of sitting in that misery, certain doomsday is on my doorstep waiting for me to step outside, well that could really be the end of me. Because the truth is I don't have any control and I've hurt so much already I just don't think I can take anymore. So there I was about ready to have a full blown anxiety attack and turn into an agoraphobic forever. But instead of defining my life with fear I decided in that instant to turn that frown upside down and expect good things to happen. I didn't see any other choice than to fearlessly go out into the world and, obviously paying better attention to what I am doing, live my life. So I started chanting, "Good things happen to me!" over and over. And for good measure threw in, "Good and healthy things happen to me. Where is my next good or healthy thing?" Expecting good not bad. I mean really, as I lay in painful misery for the next three or so days, what have I got to lose?
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