Sometimes you wake up on the wrong side of the bed. It sets you on a dark path from which its hard to pull back. That can certainly happen. Me? It doesn’t happen often to me. Not that my life is all songbirds and puppies. I think I just made that phrase up. But I should check Merriam Webster on that as they are the authority figures these days on vocabulary and the like. Who knew a longstanding dictionary company could have so much snark? If you are wondering what I am talking about look up their tweets. To me, that company is so New York. I feel an affinity with it. I love that they added the word “sheeple” to the dictionary a few weeks back. People are so sheeple these days.
But I have severely, horrifically digressed. Or have I?
Yes. Yes, I have.
Back to waking up with a foul mood. Sometimes, rather, the day fouls up our mood. Sometimes we wake up energized and ready to tackle the infinitesimal problems. Then a foul-mood creature of habit messes up your zen and grove. Is there a name for those people in the dictionary?
Then there are those days you sort of wake up in a bad mood but you actively try to resist. And then the aggravating people around you just tip you over that line. I’ve got a few choice adjectives to describe that set. That was my context early this week. I fought off as much as I could the dark, evil forces. But the forces were strong and I became angry, sad, and annoyed. All these emotions at once wrapped up in my neat little package of being. The day wanted to be painted black. I kept humming that Rolling Stones’ song that often plays in the background of a movie battle. As many have noted it’s a dark, bleak song. Even with a 1001 covers of the song its sense of desolation never goes away.
“I look inside myself and see my heart is black. I see my red door, I must have it painted black.”
That was my mood. Then I went for a walk. I chatted for a bit with someone who was feeling similarly frustrated. We laughed. We frowned. We vented. And although a moment of catharsis had occurred, the darkness was still there.
Then, a few hours later as I had my head in my hands, I got a cool soothing surprise. Someone had gone to get a “raspado” shaved iced Mexican style for me. It was such a sweet gesture. I hadn’t asked for it. Hadn’t dreamt of it. But there it appeared. This person brought it thinking I needed to be soothed. I was so touched by the gesture.
It was not only a human-kindness sweet bit, but also yummy and refreshing. Unlike any other shaved ice I had previously eaten. Or does one slurp it? A simple gesture turned everything around. For that I am grateful.
It turned the darkness into a bright orange cone of comfort. And I shared it. And it spread happiness.