In Defense of Timing You Don't Choose and Also Cats

One of my less charming traits is that I get impatient and frustrated when things don't happen the way I think they should, in the exact timing my brain has chosen.

I've been wanting a dog for ages. Years. One could make a solid argument for decades.

Earlier this year, I fixated on it. Determined it was Time for the Dog. Looked at ways to move into a pet-friendly place, even though I love my house and my town. Whined about it more than was really attractive.

Mostly it was because I was lonely. My relationship wasn't going well and, in my efforts to learn how to operate as an empath with good energetic and emotional boundaries, I was spending a lot of time alone, to better sort through what was mine and what was everyone else's.

Moving didn't happen, dog didn't happen, things I was deeply determined I wanted didn't happen.

Instead, I watched a neighbor's labrador puppy a few times over the summer. Sweetest, most adorable dog you could imagine. Also the most exhausting. I could not keep up. I worried about her, gave her too many treats in hopes that she wouldn't notice that she wasn't getting adequate exercise, and eventually crawled home completely worn out.

And I realized I don't want a dog. At least not right now.

Yes, I will have a dog at some point in my life. But for now, I think I just want a lethargic cat. One that will nap with me, and encourage me to stay in bed. One that will lie on top of my computer and nose my book out of the way so I pet it. One that will be 100% fine with too many treats in place of exercise.

I still can't go out and adopt a cat, at least without moving or begging my landlord, neither of which I'm really in the mood for.

But I can go to the cat cafe in San Francisco and spend an hour with a bunch of kitties and drink a bucket of green tea.

Maybe tomorrow will have a different answer but, for now, borrowed cats. Lots of them.

Gently

I'm having the kind of breakdown I tend to have before a massive breakthrough.

Going gently with myself in these moments is key. Don't push too hard, don't expect too much. Now is not the time to expand.

It's the time to soften in.

Notice the present moment, the cloudy sky, the orange leaves scattered through the green, and how lovely it is that you have the ingredients for sweet potato soup and a cashew pumpkin spice latte without having to get in the car and go somewhere.

Tidy the house but don't scrub it like the queen is coming for cinnamon rolls.

Write random song lyrics instead of pages.

Know that the money is coming and you don't have to push for it.

Know that love is coming and you can delete Bumble after a brief spiral through the Human Shopping Network.

You can take it an hour at a time. You can breathe into whatever the experience is right now rather than trying to blast through to the next one.

You can just be. Get excited about the breakthrough without trying to force it. Like a skittish cat, it will come out from under the bed in its own good time.

Hello, Florence!

I want everything in my life to be as easy as getting my new car.

Meet Florence.

Florence is the unicorn of Mini convertibles. She’s everything I wanted and what I didn’t think was possible.

Perfect condition, a price I could manage (not a guarantee with Minis, even a little), and drives beautifully. Apparently, the people who make cars keep improving their products. So if you’re used to driving a 2005 and are suddenly behind the wheel of a 2012, it’s like your entire vehicular world has just been blown.

And everything about the process was easy. None of it should have been.

The very nice car dude who was consistent about handing me snacks, something I deeply appreciate in a person, kept saying, “I’m not really sure how this is happening, but it seems to be working, so let’s just go with it.”

He said it when he showed me the car, which had just been traded in a few days ago by a couple who just used it to drive to the beach. (Hi, Marin County. You’re hilarious.)

He said it when they offered me more for Penelope (my 2005 Mini) than anyone could have anticipated.

He said it when we sent in the financing and it was approved in record time with a super low APR. (I work for myself and that is what it is, but can make financing things weird.)

Here’s how it unfolded, and I’m saying this mainly to remind myself how easy creating the things I want can be, if I just let the process happen:

Know I’m going to need a new car at some point, so keep feeling into what I want (Mini convertible) and being open to something else (any other car in the world).

When the time came and I knew I had to get a new car - not just for my vehicular safety and that of everyone around me, but because my heart couldn’t take the stress any more - I didn’t think too much about it, just decided to visit the Mini dealership as a first step and see what the possibilities were.

Got the strong hit to go Saturday morning, as early as possible. So I did, where “early as possible” = “almost 11 in the morning” and was the first to look at the Unicorn of Mini Convertibles.

As I drove away in my New To Me car, bonus Toad the Wet Sprocket CD I found in the player blasting, another couple was looking at convertibles too, about an hour behind me in the process. Had I been any later that day, they might have scooped up Florence.

But as Nice Car Dude With Snacks said, “Sometimes the person chooses the Mini, sometimes the Mini chooses the person.” And Florence chose me.

I want everything in life to be as easy as getting Florence. I want to let events unfold, follow the intuitive nudges, and know that everything will happen perfectly, however that looks.

Because, voila! That’s how Florence appeared out of nowhere, in the easiest and most joyful manner possible.

Thank you and more of that please.

This is how I want my next relationship to show up. This how I want my next work project to unfold. How I want my new white winter jacket to show up, the one I saw last week and absolutely loved but didn’t buy because it was full price and my frugal little soul sometimes struggles with full price. (Please note, new-winter-jacket-that-will-be-mine-soon matches Florence. Not really on purpose but also not not on purpose.)

When Sally and I had our first adventure with Florence, we fell in love. She drives like a race car (I say, having never been in a race car) and I couldn’t stop smiling as we hurtled around the bends and loops of the California coast. Neither could Sally. Though, admittedly, it can be hard to tell with her.

Welcome to this weird little family, Florence. Thank you for showing me how easy this life thing can be when we allow it.

Farewell, Penelope

You know how sometimes you make a grave tactical error and then have no choice but to soldier valiantly on and pray you don’t die?

Yup, me too. More often than I’d like to admit.

My intuition is bang on target about many things.

Just a few days ago, I was walking toward the town square and thought “Maggie’s here.” Maggie is a lovely woman I have met maybe twice at a friend’s house and know very little about except that she has cute kids and does not live in Marin County. So there was absolutely no reason to think she would be sitting in the square I was about to pass. But, sure enough, 15 seconds later, there she was. It was a random and very efficient intuition barometer.

Just a few hours ago, I was sitting in a coffee shop reading Harry Potter - my favorite autumnal activity - and drinking a pumpkin spice latte - my favorite autumnal guilty pleasure - when I looked up and smiled at a woman walking past. As I did, I felt her energetically hook into me and thought, “Whoops. This is about to get interesting.” Sure enough, a few minutes later she initiated a rather bizarre interaction that showed me my energetic boundaries are doing better than I generally give myself credit for, because I was able to be kind without allowing her to pull me into the fear she was swimming in.

But sometimes - usually when I’m thinking too much - my intuition fails me quite spectacularly.

My initial hit was to rent a car for my jaunt from Mill Valley to Half Moon Bay, a journey that’s about an hour too long for the current health of my 13-year-old Mini Cooper.

But trying to wrangle a rental car would have meant driving 25 minutes in the wrong direction and ultimately became annoying enough a process that I just didn’t want to deal with it. So I thought, “Eh, it’ll be fine. Penelope will make it.”

To be fair, Penelope did make it. Both of us are still alive.

But about twenty minutes into what turned into a deeply harrowing day, I realized I had allowed my optimism to get the better of me.

A few hours later, I was flat-out praying. To god, the angels, the flying spaghetti monster, anyone who would help me get home in one piece.

Again, to be fair to my intuition, I did get a very strong “We will get you home safe.” But, as my car made grinding noises on mountains and dials flailed wildly in the ominous red zone, I wondered if perhaps I was confusing intuition with optimism again.

I wasn’t. I got home. It was fine.

But deciding not to pay attention to the “let’s make life easier and rent a car” intuitive hit bought me one rather terrifying day.

However, it did convince me that it’s time for a new car, something I had been steadfast in avoiding because I love Penelope and don’t want to give her up.

But our heart-pounding, hair-raising journey across bridge, through city, and over mountain is not something I’m ready to repeat. And there’s no point in paying California rent if you’re not going to go gallivanting through all the abundant beauty she’s got on tap.

So, after five years, Penelope and I have had our last long adventure together.

I’m sad to say goodbye. She was the car I wanted forever - and finally got after my dad passed away and buried a lot of money in the ground. Buried treasure which helped me snag Penelope when my old car died so soon after my dad. So she feels like the last thing my dad ever bought me. In a piratical sort of way.

May my next car bring me as much joy as Penelope did.

(And may I never experience a drive like that again. It was the vehicular equivalent of spending an afternoon with the albino in Princess Bride. It didn’t actually kill me but it definitely shaved a few years off my life.)