Soft air, fresh, but not yet perfumed by blossoms still
tight and pale on just-green stems, breathes through open windows. Forsythia
and daffodils shine yellow against gradually greening grass. Magnolias have burst into clouds of
purple-tinged white, the petals already wilting and tumbling like a
snowfall.
Sure, I’ve taken moments to sit on the stoop, to steep in
the glory of the season’s makeover, to mark even the jerky dance of myriad
gnats, flecks of living dust dancing at the first hint of warmth. But, for twenty years, I have
coordinated Eagle Hill-Southport’s spring benefit, and the event is a week
away. If I do not direct myself
consciously to look, listen, and feel spring’s scents and songs, it would pass,
a backdrop, barely perceived, to my mental whirl of details, to-do’s and
“don’t-forgets.”
Order an extra tablecloth for the photo booth prop
table. Remind the caterer to tell
the bartenders not to open too many bottles in advance. Pick up flowers for the program chairs! Should we order 20 more forks? Re-print the winners’ letters with
changes noted. Get 5 X 7 frames
for the prize lists.
At 3:13, or 3:27, or 3:56 AM, my eyes fly wide in the
dark. Talk to the caterer about
adjusting the number of servers.
Confirm the psychic and DJ.
Who will man the wine raffle table?
None of this is new; I know my frailties. Worry, guilt, and anxiety can rock me,
so, I have routines, prayers, readings and writings (and a very dear husband –
goes without saying) to bolster me.
My current book-friend is The Art of Growing Up by Veronique Vienne. Some might snort at my wish to read a book with that title,
and I wouldn’t blame them. At
sixty years old, should I need guidance in this art? Apparently so.
A few days ago, butterflies had taken up their accustomed
residence in my stomach, a feeling I’m used to, but dislike. During my morning reading,
Veronique offered, “Enjoy the endeavor and good fortune will follow.”
I’m one of those people who read pen in hand. I underline, dog-ear, star and
comment-in-margins when a passage strikes me. I’ve read many of my favorite books several times, and my
life’s phases are reflected in the different words that have moved me. I will come to a page clean of Lea-ink,
seemingly without interest given the absence of notation, but then a sentence
breezed over before will capture my heart and bring tears to my eyes. It will comfort and inspire, warranting
a flurry of stars, underlining, and
comment.
“Enjoy the endeavor and good fortune will follow.” Unnoticed before, this time, the line
prompted consideration. I thought
about all the meetings, all the emails and discussions. I thought about the women who have
given countless volunteer hours on behalf of the school and our students. I thought about the friendships that
have evolved through the process, for I’ve not been alone
in my lists, worries and three AM musings. In meetings with the parent benefit
chairs, each has reported her own list of mid-night mind-storms. And other
staff too, the directors of development and maintenance, have chipped away at
their lengthy checklists.
Responsibility for this event weighs on me heavily - as does
everything in which I play a role, or feel I should play a role - but Veronique helped me remember how
much of that is shared, how willing others are to help; how much I’ve enjoyed
the brainstorms, laughter, and even shared frustrations. She led me to recognize how much I’ve
enjoyed this endeavor.
After reading Veronique’s wise words, it seemed a switch had
been thrown, the butterflies flew, and I felt almost giddy. I went to school buoyant, with a full
heart, because I realized good fortune is not just a hoped-for end product;
good fortune can be the joy of the endeavor itself.
1 comment:
Any advice on how to stop worry in this frantic world is much needed. I like to think enjoyment brings good luck. I'll keep that in mind.
Post a Comment