Every weekday morning begins the same. The alarm goes off, I wake the kids, get their breakfast ready, pack a snack for school and give them lunch money. At the regularly scheduled time, we walk to the bus stop. We wait. The bus arrives and I run home, eager to start MY day.
On occasion, when I walk through the doors upon my return, I feel depreciated and unappreciated. This usually happens on Monday – my cleaning and laundry day. Offense falls over me as I stare upon the piles of dirty clothes and walk room-to-room assessing the weekend damage. An insidious curse may tacitly leave my lips, especially if small chocolate pieces are smashed into the beige couch cover.
While tending to the menial cleaning tasks, my mind takes a little trip. All of a sudden, I might be in the jungles of Africa, or back in the bazaars of Uzbekistan. Maybe I’m reliving a coffee date I had with a friend last week. Or, visualizing the last minute expedition we scheduled for next week. Wherever I am, it’s not amidst the mess in front of my eyes. I barely even see the wreckage anymore.
When I stop the frantic act, my body stops executing itself and releases the tension it’s been holding. The creative juices start bubbling and shortly thereafter ‘Epiphany‘ quietly arrives and sits at the threshold of my daydreams. She’s waiting for me to recognize and accept her right to be there. She’s really hoping I will extend an invitation and let her come inside for a few minutes.
Sometimes, Epiphany is only there to help me settle my own thoughts. She’s like a best friend (or therapist) eager to listen and ready to offer advice. Other times, Epiphany drops a more grandeur idea and helps me transcend the limits of my own understanding. These are the moments when script deserves an immortal signature.
Until tomorrow –
photo credit: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/284149057712754837/