Safe landings
The desk I use at this temp job has a little "religious-quote-a-day" calendar. It looks hand written, black pen on white card. Usually the sentiments are somewhat saccharine for my taste, but yesterday the calendar read, "God does not promise a comfortable journey, only a safe landing."
Or, as krsnas_favorite might put it, "sometimes you just have to let go and trust in the universe."
One of the things I've been stressing out about lately is rugby - not the sport itself, but rather the attendent costs and the necessities of having health insurance that seem innocuous until you're unemployed. Specifically, I was worried about paying for next weekend's tournament - Pumpkinfest, which takes place in Philly and comes complete with gas and hotel costs.
Then last night, I went and worked a Redskins game as a Stingers fundraiser. I spent three quarters walking up and down the stands, hauling a bucket so full of beer that my arms were shaking from the weight, hawking my wares until my voice was raspy.
At the end of the night, I returned to the back room I'd been working out of all night, dumped the bottle caps out of my bucket, stripped off my sweaty, official yellow polo shirt, and took my cash apron to the woman who was running the show from her perch at a metal kitchen cart.
As I counted my wads of cash into piles on the table, she tapped numbers into a calculator, making notes of how much I owed and what percentage of my sales went as revenue to the team. When she finished she turned the calculator to show me the number at the top of the screen.
I squinted at it. "That's it? That's all I have to give back?"
"Yep," she replied, already double-counting my cash. "The rest is your tips and you get to keep all of that. You did a good job tonight." She paused to look up and smile at me, then gestured to a metal bucket next to her. "If you'd like, you can put some in for the kitchen crew."
Blinking, I pulled out all of my small bills to drop in, then looked at what I had left.
It was enough to cover my whole weekend in Philly - hotel, gas, even enough for some food and maybe a beer or two.
I folded the cash into my pocket in a daze. Maybe it was exhaustion, maybe it was lightness from having one less worry weighing me down, but I felt slightly giddy. Walking out of the stadium to catch the shuttle to the employee parking lot, I remembered Krsnas's lj posts about trusting the universe, and Jenna's reassurance Saturday night, as she passed me another beer, that "We're all ruggers, and ruggers take care of each other other."
It's true - it's true, it's true, it's true. All you have to do is trust, and the universe - or at least the rugby universe - will make sure you're taken care of.
Or, as krsnas_favorite might put it, "sometimes you just have to let go and trust in the universe."
One of the things I've been stressing out about lately is rugby - not the sport itself, but rather the attendent costs and the necessities of having health insurance that seem innocuous until you're unemployed. Specifically, I was worried about paying for next weekend's tournament - Pumpkinfest, which takes place in Philly and comes complete with gas and hotel costs.
Then last night, I went and worked a Redskins game as a Stingers fundraiser. I spent three quarters walking up and down the stands, hauling a bucket so full of beer that my arms were shaking from the weight, hawking my wares until my voice was raspy.
At the end of the night, I returned to the back room I'd been working out of all night, dumped the bottle caps out of my bucket, stripped off my sweaty, official yellow polo shirt, and took my cash apron to the woman who was running the show from her perch at a metal kitchen cart.
As I counted my wads of cash into piles on the table, she tapped numbers into a calculator, making notes of how much I owed and what percentage of my sales went as revenue to the team. When she finished she turned the calculator to show me the number at the top of the screen.
I squinted at it. "That's it? That's all I have to give back?"
"Yep," she replied, already double-counting my cash. "The rest is your tips and you get to keep all of that. You did a good job tonight." She paused to look up and smile at me, then gestured to a metal bucket next to her. "If you'd like, you can put some in for the kitchen crew."
Blinking, I pulled out all of my small bills to drop in, then looked at what I had left.
It was enough to cover my whole weekend in Philly - hotel, gas, even enough for some food and maybe a beer or two.
I folded the cash into my pocket in a daze. Maybe it was exhaustion, maybe it was lightness from having one less worry weighing me down, but I felt slightly giddy. Walking out of the stadium to catch the shuttle to the employee parking lot, I remembered Krsnas's lj posts about trusting the universe, and Jenna's reassurance Saturday night, as she passed me another beer, that "We're all ruggers, and ruggers take care of each other other."
It's true - it's true, it's true, it's true. All you have to do is trust, and the universe - or at least the rugby universe - will make sure you're taken care of.