It Is What It Is

Stepping out of the shower this morning, I experienced a few moments of overwhelming dread.  I stood dripping on the floor with a towel over my head and face.  Moving forward wasn't an option.  I was crushed under the weight of my so-called life.

Fortunately, my inner Buddha started a chant.  "It's OK.  It's OK.  It will be OK."
Since I doubted that the inner Buddha would ever chose those words, I found myself replacing the chant with a line from the movie Raising Arizona.  Nicholas Cage plays a lovable, petty-criminal named, Hi.  Hi says to his angry wife, Ed, (played by Holly Hunter) after a hilarious chase scene,  "It is what it is, Honey."
Just thinking about this line, helped me unlock my catatonic self and initiate the launch sequence.

Throwing on some clothes, I hurried to the kitchen to start a steaming pot of warm, delicious oatmeal.  Wheaties may have been called "the breakfast of champions" but it can't hold a candle to the Holy Roman Emperor of breakfast "OATMEAL."  My thoughts spin a robe of royal words exalting oatmeal's sanctity as I put away last night's dishes and pull together a lunch for myself.  Since I'm up and moving, and not still dripping on the bathroom floor, I indulge my random flights of fancy. Soon, these flights are stopped in mid-air.  The simplicity of  "It is what it is, honey" pierces the flowery mental rhetoric and brings me back to earth.

I savor my oatmeal and sweetly creamed coffee with one eye on the news.  Weather forecasts flash across the screen in a busy display of blue covered with rain clouds.  The bright rain clouds lighten up a dark corner of the room and provide a little eye candy early this morning.  I crawl into the oatmeal for comfort.  For a while, I find it there.  "It is what it is."  Comfort can be that simple, that sweet.

The day continues much as the average day does.  Minute follow minute in a steady progression.  I am carried forward in a stream of time.  Lunch is reheated leftovers in the staff lounge.  Two co-workers and I talk of a silly reality show and one episode in particular.  A woman spends outrageous amounts of money on her spoiled young daughter's birthday party.  We each take turns being horrified, then amused and back to horrified, always feeling superior to the poor mother oblivious to what children really need.  Time catches me again and carries me into the afternoon.

Suddenly, I find myself in a place I don't want to be.  I think of my early morning reluctance to greet the day.  A towel over the head is not a good look for me.  Yet, as afternoon winds up its pitch, it tossed me in the middle of a rambunctious class.  An elderly male substitute stands in front of the class.  The air around me offers me a sample of the trouble ahead.  I rethink the towel.  Where is my towel of safety now?

Within minutes, it's obvious that the sub has played into the classes' evil clutches.  They aren't going to listen to anyone.  I make a feeble attempt at some crowd control.  It's too late.  The sub has pulled the pin on this grenade.  I'm not going to sacrifice myself by throwing my body on top of it.  I throw an invisible towel of protection over my head and mentally retreat until it's safe to come out.
"It is what it is."  Chaos among teens can be this unpleasant.

The torture is short-lived.  Time hurtles me forward.  The school day ends pleasantly.  On my way home, I think of my children.  My thoughts are happy ones.  They will never have ridiculously expensive birthday parties nor will they expect them from me.  What they need most from me is my time, my attention, my better self.  I'm not always very good about giving them these things.  It's very easy for me to throw a towel over my head.  I can run for cover while standing still before you.  Some times that towel comes in handy but there are times when it really gets in my way.  Hi, comes crawling out from below and says again, "It is what it is."
"Yes, it is."   I smiled to myself and open the door.  I'm home again.