no. that's the answer to "susan, did you work on your bike yesterday?"
no is also this feeling I'm experiencing this morning.
and instead of banishing it, pretending it doesn't exist, telling it to go away because it's unwelcome, I am accepting it and embracing it, acknowledging it and writing about it. then it can go away.
(social worker training 101: meet the client where they are. I am in "no," so I'm going to sit with me here until "no" releases its hold on me and goes away, and I can float back up to "yes" land.)
it started when I tried to transfer money by phone from one account to another. after pushing at least 100 buttons, being transferred 3 times, talking to people who are housed deep at the bottom of the ocean, hanging up and calling back, and holding yet again, I was finally told "no." it couldn't be done.
then I came to the computer and played a clip on YouTube that a friend had sent; it was about their son's death from a prescription drug overdose. oh, so much pain and sorrow.
next, since I was on YouTube, I clicked on the video to the latest song-stuck-in-my-head: Beyonce's If I Were A Boy. I love this song not only for the hauntingly beautiful melody, but more importantly, for the fact that the songwriter correctly used the subjunctive mood by using "were." [this seems to be difficult to teach, and I'm forever having my ear tweaked by people who say "I wish I was . . ."] Beyonce's song is wistful and frustrated and feels like another big "no."
and finally, I checked the fat cyclist's blog, because it's been a few days and I wanted to know how his wife was doing. the answer to that is not well. which makes me just want to shout NO! she does not deserve to be dying of cancer, and he and the kids do not deserve to have this experience, either. No. No. No.
I am a huge proponent of acceptance. of forgiveness. of letting go, releasing, moving through things and moving on. but I still have these moments of No.
No, it's not fair, no, this is not okay. no, I don't want to, no, I won't. (I'm suddenly feeling like a two-year-old.) no, no, no, I won't, I won't, I won't.
I still have to go to the bank to transfer my money.
Josh Kresser still died of a prescription medication overdose.
Beyonce still wants to be a boy so she can be a better man.
Susan, the fat cyclist's wife, is still losing her battle with cancer.
and my bike is still staring me in the face, greasy and dirty and bald.
I am going to finish my coffee, finish wallowing in no, and then take a deep breath, shout yes a few times to get me in the mood, and go tackle my day.
I'm not sure that my yes will extend all the way to bike maintenance, however . . .
there's always tomorrow.