The Unexpected

I bartended late last night, but got up early this morning so I could take my car in for its scheduled body repair. (Nothing serious—a little rust spot under one fender, a scratch on the driver’s door, a ding on the back.) As I was getting ready to go out the door, John from Abra called me to say they were completely overbooked, and would I be able to reschedule? I kept my voice even and told him yes I could, but I was severely pissed off about it. My new date was set, and my day felt scuttled.

As I was driving to my day job being upset, I wanted to call a friend and complain; but it seemed like something I needed to sit with for awhile. Why was I so upset? This wasn’t like losing a limb or being cursed with eternal bad breath. It was merely a change in plans.

I thought about what would make me feel better, and decided that making a detour to Michaelangelo’s coffee shop might provide a small palliative. For some reason their coffee tastes exponentially better than even the best coffee anywhere else. Along with my java, I indulged in a seven-layer bar, which is seven layers of fat, sugar, and utter decadence. While finding comfort in caffeine and wicked food, I resumed my journey to work and my contemplation. What was the big deal about the changed appointment? I was soothed a little by the goodies, but still distressed.

Having to change my appointment was unexpected. Out of my control. Unexpected? Isn’t that the stuff out of which exciting experiences are made? I was the mother who refused to send my daughter off to school with the typical “Be careful” but instead yelled, “Make it a great day! Have an adventure!” It came to me that insistence on perfectly-followed plans, abiding only the expected, and accepting no waves is the way of comfort and unconsciousness—and John had provided me with a wake-up call.

It took me four false starts before I could bring myself to dial his number. Trying to convey this small epiphany to most people—particularly someone I knew almost not at all—seemed like an invitation to look like a whack job. But… if nothing else I felt like I owed it to him to say, “It’s okay.”

I finally dialed. “Hi John. I don’t really know how to say this without sounding like a nutcase. But first I wanted to say thank you for being kind when I was telling you I was pissed off. I know I’m entitled to my feelings, and I appreciate your listening and your kindness.” Then I related the thought process I’d followed about that distress and what caused it. About how I live my life as an adventure and why would I be upset by a changed appointment? Then realizing it was resistance to the unexpected and lack of control, but that ultimately I considered it a gift and an invitation to something greater. I was feeling really retarded by that point, sure that I sounded like one of those annoying, dreamy-voiced New Age people who need a dose of reality if not psychotropic drugs. I lamely finished, “So, John, I wanted to tell you it’s okay about the appointment and to thank you for giving me the opportunity to look at my day in a whole new way.”

There was a long silence. Oh crap. The man was probably moving as far away from the phone as he could. And canceling my rescheduled appointment. Finally he spoke. “You have no idea what this means to me. Thank you so much for telling me this. It’s making me emotional.” I don’t know what little planetary intersection occurred, but I got it that there was something beyond “Oh good, she’s not mad” going on.

There was some larger meaning there. Maybe I’ll find out what it was when I take my car in on June 7. Or maybe it will remain a mystery. But I do know that my day went exactly the way it was supposed to, making that call was the right thing to do, and my coffee and seven layer bar were exquisite.