I just got home after a fantastic night at the Center for Collaborative Energies in Littleton, NH. I made the mistake of turning on the TV as I ate a late dinner, and now I'm a bit glued to it. Rarely do I sit and watch TV and it was still on PBS from Z's stint in front of it this morning. Now I'm listening to documentary on banjo music, which reminded me of a christmas when I was growing up.
My dad had apparently said how he'd love to play banjo, so mom thought a banjo would be the perfect gift. She had wrapped it in the case and tucked it under the sofa because she figured he'd guess what it was it right away. She pulled it out and handed it to him, and when he peeled back the paper he said, "YOU GOT ME A MACHINE GUN?" And he was serious. I wonder if the banjo is still in the case back under the sofa? I'd love it. I'd rather have someone show up in my life who loves to play the banjo for me. Or have Zach learn so he can play. Sort of on demand, so it doesn't get overwhelming. My personal banjo boy. Better than a pool boy, don't you think?
Because this whole post is just a little too out there even for me, I feel the need to make it a bit more legitimate. So here's your philosophical thought, posed in an attempt to not lose potential clients or supporters as a result of the ridiculousness of the prior content.
Sometimes we expect something, and even though the packaging may not look exactly like it should, our minds are so conditioned or convinced that we ignore all the signs and still expect it to be THAT. Whatever THAT is or was in your mind before you opened the case.