Two calls in one day February 11, 2010
Posted by Liz Mead in : Coming Back , 1 comment so farI have a brother in law battling cancer – he spent the day in hospital and it was his birthday – you could put all sort of labels on that – extraordinary, sad, lonely, karmic or just shitty.
On the same day I get a call from a good friend battling a challenging work situation – for him this day, 11 February, was an exciting reportable day – a day to ring a friend, a day to regroup, to gather forces to make sense of things. To take stock.
Each day, on an average, we take at least 30 calls from strangers, friends, recovered pals, Indian call centres, real estate agents, car repairers, sisters, work mates and possibly random accidental calls like the people who emailed you when they should have sent their message to someone else and rang to apologise.
Or the older compatriot who picked a fight the day before and needed reassurance that their tone was not too overkill and necessitated calling up personally even though a phone call wouldn’t replace personal interaction and the chance to diagnose body language.
Or the follow up sms from i-phone emails first thing this morning (because you seem to lose all etiquette when it comes to I-phone apps) to confirm the weekend movie session or luncheon location. Calls that feel as familiar and real as if heard by voice over the phone. Everything merges – the boundary blurs. We are, in many instances, on automatic pilot.
Every day something’s coming in – we either want or don’t want; we either allow or restrict. Like a restructure that brings us closer to the thing we rejected ages before. Or an estimation of value on a thing we’d invested much more than money into. Or a surprising drive to work when someone else in the driving seat enables one to relax into the concept of trust, of gratefulness and of surrender. To share their just about to begin adventure into Positano and Florence. A drive to witness their lives- now that’s a treat.
These days, on the day – someone new wants to follow you on twitter, or connect on facebook or linked-in. And on these days I play my part in equal part, inviting people to join me on linked-in or twitter; unseemingly chasing a number that equates with successful social skilling.
On this day 11 February at 20.30 in Sydney Australia all I know is that this allowing, restricting, directing, canvassing, receiving, acknowledging, mining, retrieving, researching, consolidating, reassuring, and consoling has buggered me completely.
I’m knackered – and I’ve no real reason to be so tired except that I was alive on 11 February 2010 in this fabulous city of mine on a day with no fires no rain no hail and no snow and that sort of balance sheet costs something.
I’m also happy that right now, as I write this and breath in and out, my darling brother in law does so with me and lives with the violence of love and faith and trust that binds us across time, cities and belief structures. And that right now, my friend, all my friends, online off line, in line or out of step are rising to the challenge to breathe at the same rate as each other.
Om shanti
