On the Car Radio

I noticed that I wasn't feeling any happier listening to the pop rock I tuned into on the car radio. The music all seemed either angry, whiny, yearny, romantic, over-sexed, sleepy, or outright depressing. And so I somewhat reluctantly turned to talk radio and discovered I LOVED it.

First of all, I felt "wicked smaht" (for you Southerners, that's New England speak for 'purrty smart'). I suddenly had interesting tidbits to talk about with friends & strangers-- no small feat for an introvert. Secondly, I noticed that it was great not to be manipulated by music in any negative way. (I'm all for being manipulated toward feeling upbeat, energized, or inspired but if you're listening to the radio, you have little control over that).

So, I clung to my local National Public Radio station (WBUR 90.9 FM --go team!) like an overboard passenger grasps a life ring.

And then the unthinkable happened. My car radio broke. I was desperate. Not only was I cut off from my happy-conducive distraction, listening to engaging stories on NPR was one of the only (safe) things that kept me awake on my long drives. Now what?

My child was all set. He had his portable DVD player and headset to distract and please him. At first, I decided to use the quiet drive time to work on my spiritual development. Being centered= being content. I tried doing an eyes wide open, 61 point, breath meditation, but it relaxed me too much and left me even more tired. Then, I decided to try instead "to pull a Jackie" (see blog post, "Thank you, Jackie," on http://www.the3minutemystic.blogspot.com ): I sang out loud for 50 nonstop minutes.

It was great. It energized me AND distracted me. When I didn't know the words and had to make stuff up it also made me laugh: not much rhymes with "remember."

My car radio is fixed now, but guess what? I kept it off by choice this time. Turns out that singing badly all by my lonesome is my ticket to endorphins, smiles and good times. If you should hear me through the car windows, I may sing off key, but I'm happy!
La, la, LA-A-A-A-Ahhh!

Don't Take Her Home With You

I once had a job that in theory should have been a dream but the woman I worked for squatted at her cauldron all night stirring up ways to make me miserable. Each morning, as I pulled into work I'd see that she had already zipped in over the treetops and parked her broom in its normal place. Any hopes of a good day were over.

Now as much as I would relish the recounting (see post labelled ruminating) of every wicked deed she directed at me, I'll spare you the warty details. Lets just say she was not a novice at her craft and I'm pretty sure that in the chaos of her office was a jar containing the preserved testicular matter of the two poor guy's who preceded me. Or maybe she had already stirred them into the cauldron under a waning moon. Anyway, this was a case where being a girl helped as I got to leave with all body parts in tact.

If it weren't for pesky little issues like feeding myself and keeping a roof over my head, I would have walked off the job somewhere close to 13,984 times in the 2000 years I worked there. Wait, no, my bad - the 2000 years was in witch time- in mere mortal time it was only 2 years. Oh the toll it took! And not just on me but on anyone who was unlucky enough to have ever given me their phone number.

My coworker Mike took the brunt of my ruminating and I adore him for his patient listening. Truly, I'm so grateful that I would give him my first-born son but a) I'm a Dried-Up-Old-Maid and b) he'd rather I find him a boyfriend. (Yeah, he is that type but you knew that as soon as you saw the words "patient listening", didn't you?) Anyway, the truly most wonderful thing he gave me was what has become one of my catchphrases. "Don't take her home with you" he would frequently say as the workday was ending and we were parting ways. "She can make your workday miserable but she can't make your personal life miserable unless you let her." I hated him for saying that. But I knew he had a point.

Ignoring his warning though, I would carefully pack her into my mental briefcase and take her home. Well, practice makes perfect and that she gave me plenty of practice. (Am I supposed to thank her for the opportunity?) And little bit by little bit I got better at leaving her at work. But let me tell you- leaving her at work was harder work than "work"! I caught myself time and time again every evening and every weekend mentally bringing her into my private life and used every gimmick to chase her away. The keys were a) recognizing that I had a choice and b) detaching enough from my thoughts to observe them so that I could c) distract myself.

I wonder if anyone ever reaches "Perfection" with skills like this? I sure haven't. But I do think I'm a teeny bit better about choosing what I dwell on. And even on this Halloween night, I may entertain some goblins and ghost...but I won't let the witch in.

It Was Just a Dream

"It was just a dream. Let it go," I keep telling myself. And then I start rewinding it in my mind once again, dissecting every word and action in this drama that occurred only in my head. I start feeling anxious, angry, tearful. "It was just a dream. Let it go," But something in me keeps pulling towards this little piece of mental masochism. A friend once speculated that most folk seem to crave a frequent hit of melancholy and will go out of their way to find it. (If that sounds implausible, then maybe you are one of the hundred people in the world that didn't flock to see the movies Beaches, Titanic, or The Notebook.)

Maybe that is why I keep returning to the dream. Whatever the reason though, I don't have enough moments in my day to choose to waste any on feeling rotten about something that did not even happen. But my attempt to coach myself out of it is failing so I pull another tool out of my GetHappy toolbox and go for distraction. Yes, at 6:30 in the morning I resort to the remote control. Five minutes of a carefully chosen program and the dream's grip on me has diminished. Chalk one victory up to distraction!