Monday, October 14, 2013

Elegant and Important Paperwork

This morning a series of events inspired me to sit down and think about this question:  If there were a fire here, what items would I focus on removing from the building?  What would I really hope to save?

Here is the answer I came up with.

  • I would hope to save the cat, if he condescends to be found and put in his carrier -- if I can find the carrier.  (There being no other people in the house at the time I was contemplating this, it is logical, not callous, to put the cat first.  He'll take the most time to find and I can dial 911 while searching all his hiding places.)
  • I would hope I would be wearing pockets or clothing into which I could tuck my phone after I call emergency services.
  • And of course, I would like to get myself safely away from the fire.

So.  Okay.  Wow.  Really?  That's all?

  • Well, I would LIKE to get my writing computer out, and any data needed for clients.
  • The back up for the big computer would be good to retrieve.  Or even the big computer itself.
  • Um.  Maybe a jacket?  Some shoes?  Though if there's time to think about shoes there's probably time to figure out how to put out the fire.  (Though, I was contemplating an electrical fire, and I don't know the safe way to smother those.)

Perhaps grabbing my purse would also be a good thing, for ID purposes.  And car keys.  But I didn't  think about that this morning.  I know who I am.

So.  That's it.  The cat.  The phone.  Hopefully a computer and data.

Everything else is just paperwork we've created to make it all seem elegant and important.  And worthwhile.

Sure, there are memories in items and pictures.  There are priceless artifacts.  There are things made by family, and toys filled with happy vibrations and, heck! books and music that probably can't be replaced in physical form anymore.  There are all the ideas waiting to be fulfilled.

But the memories live inside us.  As does family.  As do the ideas, and the creativity needed to fulfill them.

If I lost my writing computer, I would be devastated.  I would wail and curse myself and carry on.  BUT! I would write on.  Newer.  Different.  And right for the moment.  I can make more runes.  I can add two plus two.  I can reenter data.  And no matter where I go or what I do or who I'm with or the adventures heaped upon me, I have my connections to the Universe and every beloved being in it.

I am not my ID card.  I am not my favorite stuffed unicorn.  I am not even the stories I write.

The only things I need to have hold of when the fires of transformation burn down are my core self, and the knowledge that the cat is fine.


Ps: there was no electrical fire.  But flashing lights during a thunderstorm do make one think!

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