You cannot always control what goes on outside. But you can always control what goes on inside. ~ Dr. Wayne Smartypants Dyer
When I was eight or nine...
I went through a phase where I was not only fascinated with witches (thank you, Samantha and Endora!), but I was also convinced that I could control the weather. The proof? A series of tests carefully conducted with the help of my faithful assistant (aka Ratgirl aka Laurel). We would stand outside on blustery days, our arms raised to the heavens in good High Priestess fashion as we commanded the wind to blow. It did, yielding proof that we were filled with the Magicks and it was good.
Many years later....
I am driving to work, thinking about how after a couple months of relative happiness, I am again feeling I've somehow been diverted from the Job Satisfaction Highway to the Suckfest County Fairgrounds via an upcoming project symbolizing the kind of cosmic detour that apparently amuses The Fates significantly more than it does me. So, I do the only reasonable (and obsessive) thing I can think of, which is to start chanting in my head "Please please please please please please please please please, just let it go away. Please?"
I arrive at work. The first thing I hear as I sit down is a cheery: "Good news! It went away!" wafting from my boss' office. This brings on the thought that perhaps I have been too hard on The Fates, which is then followed by an inconspicuous but highly festive bout of butt dancing in my new ergonomic office chair. Had it been later in the day, I might have done a jig, but at such an early hour a person needs to save her strength . I realize, even after all these years, the Magicks are still with me and it is good.
But then, after lunch disaster strikes. I smugly return from a celebratory outing to Lamb's to learn that the project has returned! I am left feeling betrayed by The Universe, The Fates, and especially The Magicks. How can you toy with me like this? I will not be your voodoo doll (or maybe I will, but I won't like it...that I promise you!). In my head I can just see the planning meeting (I'm cosmically important enough to merit a planning meeting, right?) that lead to all this: "Hey, you know what would be fun? We take the Powellhurst girl..."
I have been working on The Project for two days now. As much as I had dreaded it, it has not, as far as I can see, actually killed me. Of course, there is the slight chance that I am living out some kind of Sixth Sense moment wherein I am dead but just don't know it yet, but I don't think so. What I think is that this is a good lesson in how we create our own reality. Now I'm not saying that The Project* will ever be on my personal Top 10 List, but having to do it did not exactly turn out to be the end of my world either.
The truth is that once I decided to just suck it up, shake off the exceptionally bad attitude that I had been cultivating over the last few days, and just DO it, it (kind of like ripping off a bandaid) really wasn't so horrible. There were even a couple moments of it when I might have actually cracked a smile. My point is, that when we (especially those of us with a natural expertise for internal snowballing) expect heinousness that is exactly what we get. If we approach things with an open mind, sometimes they are actually bearable and sometimes even fun. While I have my doubts that knowing this will ever turn me completely Pollyana, I do think that being willing to admit and use it is a bit of Magic in itself.
*You will, by the way enjoy this much more, if you read "The Project" in that whispery voice used in pseudo-news pieces about The Secret. I guess I probably should have told you that nearer to the beginning, but I figure if you've read this far, I've probably bewitched you anyway, so you will probably forgive me sooner or later, so you had might as well just do it now. Seriously. Don't make me turn you into a toad. You know I will do it.