If the egg sticks.

People lie, steal, disappoint and disappear from our lives more times than we would like to count. I thought I had developed a Teflon type of coating where situations like this would hit and then slide off, like a perfectly poached egg. Trying to balance my rose-colored glasses on the bridge of my nose despite feeling moments of dismay, sadness, hurt, shock and my particular favorite, inflicted impropriety, it became apparent that my personal frying pan of sentiments was not so fool-proof. There are days when the egg simply sticks, where no amount of peaceful mantras can stop the flow of hurt or anger bubbling up through my body releasing steam out of my ears. I once read that people should allow themselves to feel these emotions but put a time limit on them. Beautiful advice, but there should have been some sort of disclaimer stating that this only works when you’re not the person irate, sort of like a best pal that remotely feels your pain and can easily zone out. My friend calls this falling of the spiritual wagon. I look at her as I fume and tell her that her wagon is short of a few wheels! Given the circumstances I should be allowed to rage just a little, to pace furiously and have a moment of verbal diarrhea, at least with my wall and my composure that’s hiding behind the sofa somewhere.

Why do I have to feel bad for feeling bad? What if I did try to allow myself to feel negative reactions for a limited period of time and it fails to alleviate the urge to throw plates around. Not that I have ever done that, my plates are too pretty. So I take the deepest breath that I can and count backwards. 10, 9, 8, and still nothing, 7, 2, 9, I can feel the bubbles, 8 7, 3, 2, bubble-bubble. My pace quickened and I raged at my poor walls, thinking if they had ears they would immediately cut them off and hand them to me. With no avail I slumped down on the sofa wondering just how to handle the emotions. I could feel my pile of spiritually inspiring books on the shelf flap their pages at me in disappointment for letting my feelings become the monarch of my mind.  Then I said to myself, you’re not superwoman, even if she did have a nice outfit, why suppress it? Just release it with some decorum, almost like having an unwanted guest and you have to ride out the visit politely.  Still upset I walked by the mirror in my hallway and took a glance. Eek! Anger was not becoming at all, but it did give me a great idea. What if every time I felt upset I would imagine anger standing in front of me, looking like a smart-ass holding up a shiny frying pan? Why?  So that every time I feel the bubbles rising I could acknowledge them, they way you can look at your reflection in a mirror, or pan, understanding that yes it’s there, this is the present moment and let whatever you are feeling stick and then just watch it slide off, like an egg. Incase you’re wondering – I’m not crazy, nor do I have a weird egg obsession, although on occasion I can make a great egg-white omelet.

In the end I decided to ride it out, to acknowledge that I was hurt, angry, upset and each one of those emotions couldn’t have an allocated time frame to poach, boil, serve themselves sunny side up or be scrambled. I let the egg stick. I just felt the emotions but detached myself from them, as if I was an onlooker. Complete state of egg-sticky-ness. That’s a technical term. It sounds weird doesn’t it?  After all these years of letting my emotions get the best of me, this was the omega three’s of sedatives; I became my own tranquilizer dart. I felt the hurt, dismay, anger and just stepped outside of my self for a while acknowledging that these feelings were present and were whipping all around me, yet I was in the middle, the yolk, unscathed. The more time passed, the better I became at it.  I would pace, vent and be upset for lesser periods of time.

Truth be told we have as much control over people doing us wrong than we do over downtown traffic at nine am. There are always going to be moments where someone will manage to find your personal remote control and push a button, no matter how many secret hiding places you have. Most of the time we don’t give anyone the power to hold that remote but once every so often, when we aren’t aware, we lose our grip. Here’s the thing, we can decide how long we want to feel that way. Now don’t go saying this to yourself the exact moment you feel immediate anger or whatever negative emotion it is that you’re feeling.  If you do, you’ll kick that thought out your head faster than a goalie kicks a ball out of his net at FIFA. See it coming, know what to expect and then as you’re simmering down, let the thought in.

It works! Really. Truly.

So now I carry around a collection of remotes, pans, mirrors, egg whites, eggs and maybe a spatula or two. Sometimes I lose a grip, forget a pan, drop an egg, lose my cool and feel the immediate woosh of prickly heat rising up. I let it. Telling myself that it’s completely acceptable to have a little inner tantrum and scramble my thoughts, only for as long as the pan is hot. After all, I’m not superwoman, even if I can give her a run for her money with my red boots.