I had a really tough day. One of those, “why on earth did I ever get out of bed sort of days’. I drove over fifty miles to go to a lecture with somebody I really wanted to see. The lecture was (apparently) great, um yesterday. Tried to make a conference call on my new cell phone that refused to work, and just as I was headed out to meet with some friends and have a glass of wine, I caught my new leather skirt on the door handle and tore it. So I had to run to the store and buy another skirt (not leather and NOT on sale) before I could go to the networking event.
So, yup. I had a colossally bad day. One where the entire sky is one big pigeon that decided to poo on my head.
And this too offered a type of freedom.
When you have a crappy day of epic proportions, you give up expecting what will come next. You don’t put immense pressure on yourself to produce–you’re just trying to survive until bedtime without ending up in the ER. And when you give up on what you think should happen or even having any idea what’s going to happen. Totally cool, completely unexpectedly wonderful things happen.
If this whole drama hadn’t unfolded the way it did, I wouldn’t have ended up going out tonight with Gina–who happens to be one of the very funnest people on the planet. And I might not have had the oh what the heck attitude that allowed me to drop the power networking persona and just meet people for the fun of it.
So my bad day allowed me to end up having a day that was good in unexpected ways. Pollyanna? Perhaps. But I still say, “I just give up, give me a chardonnay” is a kind of freedom too.
The Fat Chick