Deep peace of the quiet earth to you. 

Careening toward brilliance.

January 12, 2018

 

We don't have to believe the stories we keep telling ourselves. I know. It's a revolutionary concept. We don't believe everything we read, we don't believe everything we hear through the office/school grapevine. And anyway, what makes us think that we're such authorities on life, the universe and everything? 

 

Just because it comes from our own head and over the mental loudspeakers to an audience of one doesn't make it gospel. Did Orwell and 1984 teach us nothing? Are we that credulous? 

 

This is all on my mind because I was looking at my calendar this morning, totaling up the incredible amount of facetime with other people I have coming up, conversations and interactions which, taken as a whole, is already making me feel twitchy. But my good goddess--that song and dance is old, old and so over-rehearsed that I can't, can't keep listening. 

 

Then it occured to me--I wrote the bloody thing. I wrote the plot and the music and even the terrible dance steps. Can't I rewrite it? Can't I, just for a few moments (and a few is enough), believe it might be okay? It might not be exhausting? It might even be enjoyable? 

 

And, you know, if not, so what? At least I'm listening to a different story, a different soundtrack and, really, sometimes that makes all the difference. 

 

 

 

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This Quiet Earth