Me, the guinea pig
Last year about this time one of my longtime sources was hanging out his hat as a life coach and wanted to take me on. It was successful, but little did he (or I) know that fate would have a hand in intervening and moving me to a new plan. Oh well, must be flexible, right? Now an old friend who has been a counselor for decades wrote to say she has gone through life coach training and would like to take me on as a practice case. I’m beginning to feel like my life is a petri dish just begging to be studied.
And suddenly as I am divesting myself of all things that are not adding to my life, I am suddenly being asked if I want to do this, or that, or how about my future – as if anyone knows about my future, even me.
So I thought about this whole grand experiment as I dragged my sick self to Jazz Fest (I caught a cold yesterday) just to hear Hurray for Riff Raff (a local band that I like) and Mia Borders (another local) and I sat on the grass speaking to a friend about “the situation” as we are wont to call it. The situation being over 50 and just not caring about a lot of things we used to care about, about being disenchanted with some things, and curious about others that were not even glimmers earlier in our life, about losing some faculties and gaining others, about friends who come and go from your life, about family that remains stuck in second gear, about losing love, about losing your mom, about the economy, the malaise, and so forth, and I must say that midday, I walked home, to get Tin who was going to be returning from school, who of course, on Tatjana’s first day gone on her two week trip, decides not to nap AT ALL, and I just decided that I would only vow to deal with what was in front of me at the moment and all big thoughts, goal setting, deeper digs would be put off indefinitely.
There is no question the universe is playing cat and mouse with me. The welts on my bald head are proof in the pudding.