Monday, December 30, 2013

Smash, Splatter, Curse



I've been dropping a lot of things lately: glass bottles, full plates of food.  Cutlery.
Smash, splatter, curse.
I've been dropping things off, dropping names, dropping hints. I put drops in my eyes, but they were the wrong kind, the kind with hydrogen peroxide in them. I screamed. The pets scattered in terror.
Usually, when I start dropping things and running into walls, it means I'm a teensy bit stressed.
If only I could drop some good things: pounds, for instance. Baggage. Fears. Certain holiday obligations. I'd like to drop-kick my computer sometimes (No, no, I'm sorry Sweetheart! I would never smash you! I need you! It's just that you have Windows 8).
Sometimes I worry that I've dropped IQ points or my wallet, or dropped the ball, but usually it is just a false alarm. After all, I'm very good at minding the important things. But that sort of concentration is stressful.
And why is dropping things so bad, really? So full of angst?
Maybe it's because of the connotations of destruction, of carelessness.
If we stopped saying "drop" and reframed it as setting down, wouldn't we be doing ourselves a kindness? We could set down a toxic relationship and just…refrain from picking it up again. Set down a job that is killing us.
We could set down burdens and expectations. No guilt involved.
And then, with our hands suddenly free, we could pick up something that makes our hearts sing.