Life Limbo

It is Monday morning, yet again. Dread is seeping in as I face yet another day of what is called ‘work’.

I just want to nap.

At least my bus stop is by the park. There are some pretty fine-lookin trees to sit by in solitude with my mind before the chaos of the grind. That was an unintentional rhyme! Maybe today will be playful. Optimism is setting in.

My walk was brisk because it is chilly. As I put my bag down next to me, I close my eyes and remember my meditation breaths.

“Free Therapy.”

In on a count of eight and hold. Four counts and slowly release. Eight counts. Repeat. Did I forget my phone? Inhale, count to four. Exhale. I did forget my phone, what time is it? I snap my eyes open as I hear the bus tires squeal to a stop. I reach out for my bag handle as I readjust to get up better. I yank up causing the contents to dump out over the roots of this giant tree. Dang! Dang! Dang! I’m scrambling to stuff everything back in, squished lunch so be it! I cannot miss my ride! I’m huffing hard as I step inside and take my seat. Optimism fading.

The bus ride is over quicker than my thoughts are. As I get up from my seat clutching my belongings and scurrying down the aisle I am feeling uplifted because I know I have time to write in my journal. I had the best thought about my plan on revitalizing homeless communities. I am beaming with new purpose. I greet all the ladies I work with and find my place next to the phone on my desk. It looks like I already have messages. Well, I have at least 20 minutes before the boss gets here. I plunge my hand into my bag searching for that familiar feel of my journal… glossy tube? Nope, not my lotion. Prickly? No no, not my pencils… Dry paper along my fingers.. My lunch bag. Not that either.

Giving up, I peek my head into the open depths before me. My journal is not in my bag? My journal is not in my bag! My free time just morphed into flee time, I do not want to be here. I need to find my journal! Embarrassment is seeping into my bones turning me jelly. So many personal thoughts… So many crazy ideas! My most precious object is gone! Could that justify a day off? How can I function with my life bound up in a book lost to the wind? Dread won, optimism no more.

My mind has been racing like the Hare and time has been slow like the Tortoise; we know who wins that race. Going home was worse then being stuck at work for eight entire hours of my day. Because I held a small portion of hope that I actually forgot to put it in my bag all along. No. No. Nope. Energy is depleted. I must find my hidden stash of dollars so I may purchase a new journal. Preferably Moleskine brand because let’s face it: the handy spiral notebook isn’t cutting it for my creative ways. Plus I noticed it has a page dedicated to ‘Lost & Found’ which would benefit me, clearly. I need some tea. I’ll go to the cafe. …where I write. Today it’s just for tea. I’m trying not to let the sad emotions wear me down but this depression is hitting me like a tidal wave. What is life? Why must we hone our day-to-days just so a mishap can cause chaos to my process. I’m on autopilot. I grab my bag (minus essential item) and mosey my way down the road.

The cafe door being opened engulfs me with the sweet smell of creative busywork. Everyone is apart of this space yet we are all invisible to do our own thing without the prying eyes of the curious. I step in line and savor the menu; what is going to give me the umph I so desperately need? 
A hand taps my shoulder, and I turn around with what I hope is my polite face. I look into the eyes of an older woman who is kept in what I’m gathering to be high class grooming. You don’t see people donned like her in this neighborhood. She is taking in my curious glances with patience. 
“Are you Simone Phillips?” Strange she knows my name… I’m sure I’ve never encountered her before.
“Yes, ma’am.”

She looks down as she smiles. Looking back up to meet my eyes like she knows me. Have I met her before? No. Certainly not. Even in my upheaval I’m positive I would remember someone this elegant. 
“You look like you could change the world.”

What a strange thing to say. Do I? What am I wearing? As I look down at my pants to my shoes I hear her give a low chuckle. I glance up nervously… Why am I nervous?

“I’m sorry, I can’t seem to remember where we met…”

She raises a gentle hand up to stop my words, “No need to apologize dear, I am here to return something to a Ms. Simone Phillips and through some gathering I was told this lady is you.” She beams a smile that any dentist would be proud to showcase.

She leans in slightly to emphasize her next words, “I stumbled across a little black book that had the most fascinating ideas I’ve ever read… I told myself I must find who this belongs to and make it a goal to guide these thoughts to life.” Her eyes are sparkling at me like we are sharing the most scandalous of secrets. I know confusion must be setting into my brows at this point… her pause is validating what I’m assuming. What did she say? She said something about a little black book. A little black book? MY JOURNAL?! She found my journal! She is standing in front of me, reading my face as if I’m saying these words out loud. Her hand sweeps across the space between us reaching into her purse and when I see my journal peek out I lose my good sense; I squeal like a ten-year-old girl jumping up and down, clapping my hands.

“Where did you find this?” I demand in my ten-year-old girl voice.

Her laugh is as graceful as her movements, “I was spending the day in the park with my grandchildren and one of the boys brought this back to me. I must admit I tried to abstain for your privacy but your handwriting captivated me. It pulled me in like a siren, my dear. Your words brought more meaning into my life then anything I’ve been watching or reading for myself. Please, can we move our conversation to a table so I may present you with an offer?” 
An offer? A monetary offer? What offer could she mean? She said she read my journal. I should be mad, right? Incapable. I’m too happy I have my words back to process emotion effectively! My precious journal.

Alas, my curiosity has me following a stranger back to a table more prompt for polite Business meetings. She pulls her seat out and sits down in a flowing motion. Surly queens aren’t as graceful as this lady. I flop down in comparison.

She places her hands on the table, interlacing her long delicate fingers and stares directly at me. With a determined pause she declares, “I have $20,000 in creative funds that I want to allot you. Quite frankly I want to see what you can do with some money to ‘Grease the Wheels’ as it’s said.”

I stare at her. Like a gold fish, I am sure. I keep staring. Did I hear her right? She is being patient while I process these made up words I must of heard and replace them with a sentence that makes more sense. I’m stammering. “How did you know where to find me.... To return my journal?” Ah. My brain showing up to ask the important questions. She glances at my notebook, looking guilty. “You keep your cafe receipts in the back folder and I skimmed the information. I am sorry if I’m coming across as a …stalker of sorts. Truly, my intentions are pure. I have various charitable foundations and some projects I send donations to. Please, Simone, tell me you accept.” 
Do I accept? How could someone refuse a beautiful stranger begging for you to take their money. I’m getting whiplash from all these feelings! I was so torn about losing something so precious to me just for it to find me in the most amazing of situations I’ve never dreamed capable of being in! How can I not accept? Overloading optimism!

I meet her eyes, “How can I ever thank you for this?” I whisper.

“Darling, it is you whom must be thanked through your intentions.”

I’m overfilled with optimism.