Crashing Down

Good Morning -

Hmm. What's that behind the Virgen? It looks like something I've seen before, but a distorted, twisted, and ugly version of that something. What is it?

Here. Allow me to help (because I'm a professional helper, remember?). Here's the photo that makes up the background for the Virgen at a different scale and without the Virgen.

Hmmm. Yes. That definitely looks familiar, but I still can't quite place what I'm looking at and where I've seen this before. It's ringing some sort of bell.

Yes, well it's changed some since you last saw it. I'll show you a picture of what it looked like before it changed and that might do it for you. Look at this.

Does that look familiar? Does that look like the cake I talked all about yesterday, the cake I said made my Tuesday evening so fantastic because it gave me the experience of having my actions result in a desired, tangible outcome? Yeah. That's it. It's the same cake - the shot above is how it looked when I was done making it and beaming with pride and a sense of fulfilling accomplishment.

The shot below is how it looked after it dropped down the front of me and onto the sidewalk, giving the fire ants who live on either side of the walk a renewed sense of answered prayers.

How could this happen? Let's see - unlike the cake - it's a rather complicated recipe with lots of steps. You'll need to start with a lack of sleep because you were so excited that your partner was home that you stayed up talking and listening to stories way past your bed time, which you had already shot to all hell because the airline she was flying delayed her flight from arriving at 10:15 p.m. to arriving at 11:40 p.m. to wait out a monsoon storm and because they're a little inefficient.

Add to this fatigue a climate that ensures that you are drenched in sweat the moment you step outside, even if it's 8:30 in the morning, which is about 45 minutes after you should be stepping outside, but you were tired, so you're running late. Throw in pinches and dashes of all the hectic that comes with running late.

Once that's gotten nice and molten, mix in a bike basket that is just a hair shy of being big enough to hold the cake container. To that, whip in concerns that the cake won't survive the heat if you walk and uncertainties about how to carry it while walking.

Before that starts to set, blend in a notion about using a big plastic bag with handles and then sprinkle in the frustration that comes when you realize the big plastic bag with handles isn't big enough for the stupid cake container - which is one of those fancy plastic jobs that is supposed to make cake storage and transport a breeze, but which you've never used because you were raised using a plate, poorly clinging, generic plastic wrap and maybe - if you're extra organized that day - some toothpicks along the top to keep the wrap from sticking to and removing the top frosting. The plate would have fit in your bike basket and in the big plastic bag, but that's a realization for later, when you're weeping inconsolably.

Now fold in the realization that it's about an hour after you should have gone to work and incorporate dashes of thoughts about how the parking at work can't be that expensive for a day. Blend in lots of walking back and forth along the sidewalk carrying two big work bags on your shoulder and the cake in your hands as you try to create a workable plan.

Finally, layer in the decision to just drive all the way to work and pay for a day of parking, turn to head to the car (after checking that you've actually locked the house since you're feeling a little crazy this morning), finish with a dig in your pockets to get your house keys in them and your car keys out (separate key chains because you're driving your partner's car because her A/C works better), and - wa la - you have a cake container splitting apart and a beautiful pudding, blueberry, and freshly whipped cream cake sliding down your front to land on the side walk, blessing the fire ants below.

Max came over to see what had happened and bear silent witness to my tragedy.

This next shot is taken by me bending forward with the camera to my face to get the whipped cream covering my pants. Notice in the top corner how my other pant leg is rolled up - that's what I do when I ride my bike. I still hadn't had time to unroll my pant leg.

My partner says I like the word "wretched" and it's true, I do. What better word to describe the swell of emotion, the intensity, the drama that comes with such a debilitating defeat? Sad? Hardly. Disappointing? Not even close. A bummer? Perhaps the intensity appropriate for a more centered soul than I.

The worst part is that I had written about how great it felt to make the cake - to have my actions result in the intended effect - and then to have it destroyed. Much of yesterday was plagued with the fear that the cake incident is foreshadowing to what will come of my attempts to create change right now - that my actions will crash in a crumbled heap to the ground.

When I'm in this Dark One place, it's easy to hop from one tragedy to the next, so it's no wonder that I also gave some good tears yesterday to the whole HR rejection letter situation from the weekend before. "See?!" said the hysterical woman in me - "See how my actions never lead to the desired results? I didn't get that job, my cake is ruined, and my actions will never produce what I want them to. Never!" (insert inconsolable wailing and sniffling here).

I call these my Don Music moments because like that piano-composing muppet, I feel like I'll never get it. I'll never, ever get it. There's not much to be done for me in this moments but hold me, pat my head in that delicately balanced way that is supportive and nurturing but not patronizing (now insert Meg Ryan as Sally crying and saying, "I'm difficult!"), and tell me all the reasons that I will get it, but not in that bad teacher generalized feedback of "Good Job! :)", but in that good teacher specific feedback of "Honey, of course your efforts will manifest the way you want them to. You're smart, you're talented, you [insert more specific praise and feedback here]" (again, see clip about Meg and being difficult).

I'm better this morning after a great dinner and a good cry with my most excellent partner. It's time to get back in the saddle, back in the kitchen, back to work.

Here we go.

Here's to actions producing only the best results intended or the wisest, most gentle lessons you can possibly handle in that moment.