A few months back I saw a framed print that read, “Think Positive and Work Hard.” I crossed out the words “and Work Hard” before posting a picture of it on Instagram.
Out of all the belief systems, this is one I’d like to see busted the most. Where did the belief that you have to work hard originate? Why?
I’m not advocating sit on your butt and wait for everything to manifest, but it shouldn’t have to be hard. What if you work hard and you don’t succeed? That could be followed by bitterness, a feeling of entitlement or victimhood. Not good places to be.
Recently, we moved our daughter into her first apartment in the city. I’ve never been one of those people with a toilet seat phobia, but I know it’s out there. My father-in-law wasn’t the first person I knew who recommended changing toilet seats before moving into a new home.
As a last-minute thought, even though the three of us had our hands full of cleaning supplies and tools we had used to prep the apartment for move-in, my husband one handedly managed to take a picture of the measuring tape extended over the seat before we left. “Dad would be so proud.”
We are so proud of our daughter, but it’s been a bit overwhelming for all of us, especially for her, working 9–6, moving, packing, commuting, etc. I was happy to help out with all I could, including the toilet seat. In Lowes, I began looking at the toilet seat display with my husband’s picture on my phone for reference. The seats were various lengths, all within about 2–5 inches.
Although I admired the dexterity with which my husband simultaneously held the tape measure and took the picture with a bag of tools over his shoulder in a cramped bathroom, in the picture, the tape measure did not exactly begin at the top of the seat.
I did some “mental math” and began looking to find a seat that matched the measurement—of which there were none. A promising toilet seat contender seemed to be a loner. Its box was opened and who knew where it really belonged on the shelf or its cost.
My hands were filthy from the dirty boxes and legs cramping from squatting. There was one wooden seat that looked to be the same as the one we were replacing, but a brown toilet seat on a white toilet in a black and white bathroom certainly would have been a designer faux pas. I decided to seek help.
At the far end of the long aisle I saw a man staring at his phone. His red apron gave me hope. I called out for help. He put his phone away and I began my litany of questions as he slowly strolled my way, yogi like, completely void of stress.
“I was wondering if you could help me.”
Slow nod.
“I’m looking for a toilet seat, preferably white, and I’m not sure how they are supposed to be measured. I have a picture…”
“Ma’am.”
“…and I know it’s kind of difficult to see the exact measurement, but my question is can I get a toilet seat…”
“Ma’am.” Timeout gesture with hands. My helper was calm and poised. “One question: round or oval?”
I stopped my narrative. “Round.”
Calmly, the red-aproned yogi walked over to the display and with a Carol Merrill motion said, “These are the round. Any one will fit.” And he left.
The earth is ascending and energies are moving so fast now that if you know how to work with them you no longer have to believe in working hard, because you don’t. When the keys to the apartment failed to work, I tried to apply my Lowes yogi lesson.
Neither my husband nor I, understandably, were comfortable with our daughter in an apartment with inoperable keys. So instead of my daughter waiting for her free time over the weekend to have it fixed, I called a locksmith and arranged to meet him.
I instinctively knew we were going to get ripped off but was resigned, as it was important. On my way down the six flights of stairs to meet the locksmith (the intercom doesn’t work yet either) I met the building super, Eddie.
“Why you have this man come? He charge you too much. Look,” he said pointing to the lock. “This part $30. This part more but only $120 all together.”
Then, a little coy, “You give me $150 total and I do it.” At which point the locksmith called. “Tell him you have emergency. I fix.”
We planned for the locks to be fixed the next afternoon. Not ideal since I would have to meet my daughter at work with the new keys on my way home, an extra trip I didn’t want to make. However, I gave it no energy, no complaining, and I stayed in complete divine neutrality—(pun alert) that’s the key.
A few hours later, Eddie called. Could he stop by at 8:30 in the morning instead? Why of course.
Later that night, my daughter unpacked several boxes and the recycling pile grew. No problem. With a six-story walk up you learn quickly to take garbage or recycling with you every time you leave.
Before going to bed I had the thought, Wouldn’t it be great if Eddie came a bit early and was finished in time to give my daughter the keys, saving me a trip? Oh well, whatever. Neutrality…divine neutrality.
I had just finished getting dressed when I heard a faint tap at the door. It was 8:00 a.m. and Eddie had arrived thirty minutes early. He worked diligently but had to go downstairs twice for a tool. Each time he took a load of recycling. He finished the job and gave my daughter a lock lesson with her new keys, and she was out the door in time for work.
This was not hard. No trip to meet my daughter with the keys. No extra trips down six flights of stairs to the recycling. No getting ripped off by a locksmith.
Now I ask you one question, “Hard or easy?”
