My morning started off badly.
Power had yet to return to my house, since yesterday afternoon. I had an interview scheduled for 9:30 am and a driving lesson for 3 pm. Michael heard on the radio, on his ride home that power would be back by 9:00 am. I could deal with that. As the battery life in my iphone continued to dwindle, I stayed abreast of the time. When 9:00 am hit and still no power, my concern level rose to yellow. When 9:10 am hit and still no power my concern level hit orange. I called Peterborough Utilities to find out when power would be back, the lady on the other end of the phone replied, “We think it will be about 11am.” My concern level hit RED!
I raced to my journal to find the name and the number of the lady who was to hold my phone interview. No journal. I searched the house from top to bottom and my journal was officially MIA. I called Peterborough Transit, “Sorry Miss, we do not have your item.” I called Emma’s daycare provider, but the phone just kept ringing. I called the taxi company with hopes that I left it in there and it was still there. (Sounds weird, but after all this is Peterborough). I struck out once again.
So I did what any confident, self-sufficient woman does when everything falls apart. I sat on my basement step and cried. I cried because tomorrow would be my last day of my job with a company I loved. I cried because my journal that contained pages upon pages of my written work, was gone, or in someone else’s hands. I cried because my interviewer would call and not be able to reach me, with no knowledge of my power outage situation. I cried because it felt like the only thing I could do correctly at that moment. I cried for a full two or so minutes. Then I felt better.
I grabbed Michael’s charged iphone sent an email to a good friend. With her help I had the number to my interviewer. I left a message on her voice mail which explained my situation. By 9:38 am she had called me back and rescheduled our interview. One down.
I decided that I needed to find my journal. Here is a little history, on this book. I take it with me everywhere. It holds thoughts, information, stories, meeting notes, basically my life. I tried Bonnie once again, with no avail. I was still convinced that I left it anywhere but in a place I could easily obtain it. Why was that?
On my way to Bonnie’s place I tried calling her again, this time she answered. I did my best to sound calm and in control, I’m pretty sure I did not fool her. I asked her if in Emma’s diaper bag, was a plastic bag that contained a journal and a few writing pads. She said yes.
Did I feel better? YES! But, a thought crept into my head. Why was I so ready to believe that I would be careless with an item as precious as my journal? My first instinct was to NOT believe in myself. The possibility and the reality that I would have secured the journal in Emma’s diaper bag to ensure that I did not misplace it was only a transitory thought.
It was a matter of Faith, or rather a lack of Faith in myself. If I had only trusted my instinct this very morning, when something beckoned me towards Emma’s diaper bag but in its place I ignored that instinct and threw my morning into a tizzy. The past few months, have forced me to gain a few insights into who I was, and who I am. I do not crack under pressure easily. In fact the two minutes of tears shed this morning lifted a huge burden I was carrying. I decided to stop beating myself up for some of the decisions that I have made recently. Instead I am focused on the present and the future. With October’s arrival a new journey awaits me. Faith in myself will remain my steadfast companion.