the omen

I just woke from a dream. In it I was crouched beside a little girl panicked because she could not find her sunglasses. I put my arm around her small shoulders, heard myself tell her to be still for a moment then look again. She paused, centered her being and there they were in such extreme uniqueness that they were hard to miss, yet easy to not find when so many other things get in the way of plain sight.

Over a week ago, I sat with my staff going over a few things before I departed for my business trip. I was wearing rough week from head to toe, exasperation as my makeup. One of them chuckled and asked if I was coming back. My elongated reply of no I am not was meant to be a joke but it set something in motion that I felt immediately and it did not feel good. I hurried to add that I was just going to run far away, sprinkled in some nervous laughter, and assured them that I would return…but it was I who needed assurance. I had caste a dye that haunted me right up until I was riding along the Potomac, a familiar humid wind blowing my hair into spikes as the cab driver took a finally contented me home.

A few small words carelessly spoken had become an omen. My body manifested symptoms of physical illness that made me question whether or not I should go anywhere. A strong dose of responsibility and commitment was medication enough to propel me to board the plane; it would not sustain or prepare me for the string of voice mail and text messages that continued to weigh me down each day I was away nor did it shake that nagging feeling that something was going to happen to me, that my saying I would not return was going to come true. I had to get still, hold onto myself to keep fragility from breaking. I wanted to go home, get home, be there, safe. On the last morning of days filled with words stepping on the broken ice that was me, I was about to crack. The only thing that could keep me above the surface was words spoken from my deep through my lips. I crossed the back of the room, waited my turn to approach the open mic. As I rose from the chair, the timekeeper moved in unison to push me under my splintering exterior. I would not be submerged. Adrenaline thrust to full throttle, I quieted my turbulence into stillness beyond calm and without a waiver, steered myself to the podium, lifted off and soared.

That woman who sat with her team over a week ago will not be back because I am not the person I was that day; we can never be who we were yesterday. So the premonition I spoke did indeed come true, just not with the dire outcome I dared not speak aloud. Those girls in my dream were me, me talking to me, reminding me to hold close what makes me distinct, to be still when the ride gets bumpy because the air ahead is smooth, we will land safely so…

keep your peepers open!®