A few weeks ago, in my Monday night yoga class, as the teacher went around the room for a check-in with everyone, people that night said, for the most part, that they were jangled, or lacked focus. When it was my turn to speak, I thought back over my day, a routine one, with quiet pleasure. "I had a good day," I said.
I should have known the hammer of fate was hovering above my head, waiting to strike.
I felt two soft blows, one that night and one the next day. They turned out to be mere taps, reminders of the impermanence of life, not (I'm glad to say) harbingers of outright chaos.
Nothing is permanent, this is a truth that is hard to accept at times, because I want the security of my plans and I cherish the illusion of control. My home isn't permanent. My job isn't permanent. My relationships with people and things are not permanent. I'm not permanent.
The hammer has retreated back into the clouds. I am back to planning (of course... this is ME we are talking about!). I had to give up a plan that I cared about, but at the same time, I have been given a gift, because in letting go of what I thought I had, I became aware of new possibilities.