One of the Dudes I dated in my pre-Diva days is a guy we'll call Sam.  Sam, by most accounts, seemed pretty normal , especially compared to some of my other dates, like the actor, who wore more eyeliner than  I did, the nudist, who cooked me vegetarian meals in his backyard, out of what appeared to be a large cauldron, and the CIA hopeful, who broke up with me on the basis that I was "bad for his career." 

Sam worked in a trade.  He left the house by six in the morning, came home, ate a meat and starch supper, watched his favorite TV shows, went to bed, and started all over again the next day.  It was a good life for Sam, and a reliable routine. Sam liked me initially because I was different.  He had never dated a "vegetarian" before, or a writer for that matter, or a girl who wore Doc Martens.  Sam must have read that book about the rules of dating,  because  Sam always made sure to call me by Wednesday for a Saturday night date. Hence, that became Sam's reliable routine with me, one quick phone call on Wednesday followed by a night out on Saturday.     

Things went fine for a few months, but then one day, I broke the rules, and initiated a phone call to Sam myself.  Sam and I lived about forty minutes apart.  I would be in his area that evening and wanted to know if I could stop by.  Sam explained it was not a good time for me to visit.  He was about to take his nightly shower,  which he planned to follow with ninety minutes of the Thursday night NBC lineup, followed by a 10:00 lights out.  Agitated, he hung up the phone.

I stopped hearing from Sam immediately after that phone call.  I spent hours talking with my fellow Divas,  trying to deconstruct the situation.  How could one innocent  phone call to Sam have rattled him so severely?        

But it wasn't so innocent.  It threatened his routine.  Like everything else in his life, Sam had compartmentalized me.  As soon as I ran out of the little box he kept me in, I became a hazard. Once I became a hazard, Sam had to get rid of me.  I was no longer safe,  benign, and predictable.

Some of us try to protect ourselves with rigid work ethics or schedules.  When we don't leave much up to chance, we feel more in control.  But be warned, Divas, the reality of life is that we have very little control.   Going for a five mile run every morning, insisting on doing one load of laundry per day, and paying your bills on  the first and fifteenth of each month may give you the illusion of control, but it's not real.  A pulled hamstring may keep you off the pavement or a month. Your washing machine could break down and take weeks to fix.  Your computer may crash, wiping out all the information from your bill pay software.  I'm not asking you to abandon your routine.  But perhaps it's time you let go of a rigid attachment to one.  Besides, clinging unyieldingly to your to-do list does not give a Diva much room to live the life you love. 

Next time you meditate, take a minute to think about where you are rigid.  Are you rigid about work, or certain areas within your parenting? Do you have a morning or evening routine that you refuse to break for anything or anyone? What opportunities are you missing out on due to your insistence to keep your agenda  ? And how truly important is this agenda?   What would happen if you let go of your Thursday night shower and NBC lineup?  Do you fear your world come to an end?  

Or is the real fear that your world would open up?      

Namaste, Divas!

©2012 Ilene Evans 

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