You know how life can throw a googly? And how, even during the train wreck, you can sit back and survey the carnage, muse on the part you played and decide that you didn't chuck the curve ball. It just happened to you. There are two parts to this scenario: accepting that even though you did not create it, it's definitely got something to do with you now. The other part is how you deal with it.
Back to the first one. It can be quite nice knowing that you didn't create the chaos. It just swirls around like that rocket I set off at the rifle range as a kid. I thought I'd aimed it at the targets but it hit the iron barriers and ricocheted back into the shed, bouncing off corrugated iron, muzzle loaders and flasks of gun powder, sending grown men running for their lives.
... no no hang on, I must have had something to do with that.
And there is the rub. We are always connected to shit going down in our lives. Hindsight, now she's a bitch because she will point out this fact just as we are heading into a poor bugga me polemic.
So, it's late. I've just lost badly at scrabble.
"Well, it was a close game!" (for everyone but me, who lost by well over thirty points. But I did help 007 put down a kickass Qi and win, if that means anything ...)
How you deal with a curve ball probably depends on where you choose to sit during the chaos. Some float. Some act too soon. Some drink. Some sift their icons. Some Zen it. And some dance the whole way through.
Myself, I'd like to be locked in a cupboard and let out when the dramas are over.
"Oh, wasn't I available to take the blame/console/counsel/cook/keep your secrets/feed the dog/ answer the phone/liaise with family? Damn. I was locked in a cupboard at the time."
'tis interesting though; the energy that is gleaned and drained from drama. Kyabla asked how I was travelling tonight and I replied that I felt both ferocious and exhausted. He said, yes. I can see all of it in your face.
I remember a few years ago when I had a stall at a popular riverside market. I was selling tie-dyed petticoats and crystal necklaces next to folk selling handmade wooden spoons. Two men started a fight in the pub across the road and eventually the fight rolled through the green grass, along the aisles between the stalls. These guys seemed to want to kill each other. They fought like pit bulls with a fugue of rum steaming around their bodies. Their shirts were torn off and they were both bleeding. The fight began and ended quickly but the stench of the alcohol stayed rank in the air above the tie dyed silk scarves, felted beanies, ylang ylang candles and tofu burgers. Afterwards, the stall holders looked at each other, quite shell-shocked. Then the discussion started about how they would have dealt with it ... next time.
That scene is my definition of one of life's leg spin googlies.