What is the source of my acute attention to the passing of time? Vacation, of course.
As I sit here on a beautiful, summer Sunday afternoon my mind has already begun wandering to the details of my life that occupies the greater balance of my day-to-day existance not to mention head space. And as my thoughts meander and as I begin to plan for the week ahead of me, I find myself performing tasks of preparation that can only be described as acts of superstition.
Mine is not a career filled with common superstitions. I am not an actor; "The Scottish Play" to me will always be just plain MacBeth and "break a leg" seems to me to be a most odd wish for luck. I am not an athlete (colossal understatement here) so I do not wear the same undergarments (I am trying to be polite) the entire time that I am enjoying a streak of success nor do I leave myself unshaven for extended periods during "the playoffs."
I am a simple gal working in a large organization taking care of my piece of the cog. But I do, as I am now paying attention during the fleeting remains of my vacation, have my own personal superstitions.
I pack my laptop bag before dinner, not to be better prepared for the morning but so I can enjoy the last evening of my weekend (or in this case my vacation) assured that the troubles and concerns of the upcoming week are securely tucked away without opportunity to disturb my peace.
I have prepared my lucky suit. Knowing what I do about the upcoming week, I feel the need to don the suit that has seen me successfully through challenging times at my workplace in the past. It provides me a small but significant boost of confidence and even if things go badly, I know I will manage with surety and serenity cloaked in my linen armour.
So as I finish my pre-work superstitious preparations, I am off to enjoy my Sunday night dinner out and to drink a toast to a hopefully, successful week to come.
Knock on wood.
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