I stood at the red light and a whoosh of wind almost took my breath away. I readjusted my too-big hat and bounced to keep myself warm. Distracted by the chill, my thoughts zoomed in new directions.
I think everything is going to be OK.
I kept bouncing to see what radical thought would intrude next.
My world is teeming with opportunity to create, connect and thrive.
It was getting positively psychedelic up in my head. Cars crept by me, sloshing in the dirty snow. I was tempted to stop bouncing so I could better hear the alien messages.
Every. Single. Thing. You. Want. Can. Be. Yours.
It’s waiting for you to be ready.
I wondered if I should talk back to this part of me I rarely encounter—this bedrock of positive thought that sees absolutely everything as moving me toward my highest good. My hopes. My dreams. My potential, fully realized. Should I ask about my shitty book manuscript or my professional situation? Should I ask for a cure for my financial terror? What about the ridiculous sleep thing happening at my house or how I have zero time to exercise in the sleet?
Nope. Don’t ask. Just listen.
So I did. I listened. I drank up my mystical moment with the biggest gulps I could manage.
Really. It’s all right here. You’re just not ready.
That sounded right to me. I feel a little unripe for the dreams I’m dreaming. Of course waiting often sounds more excruciating than just bloody giving up. But if I know it’s coming, then maybe the waiting will be easier—less jagged and torturous. Less like a dank solitary confinement cell than a plush waiting room where I can catch my breath, update my wardrobe and read a book for pleasure.
The light turned green and the glowing white figure of the man on the light signaled it was time for me to walk.
I hesitated, then stepped out into the street and proceeded on my way.