There was a time when Monday would call, and I would send it straight to voicemail.
Monday was the end of playtime, the end of rest and relaxation, and the universe’s demand that I return back to the salt mines.
At some point, it occurred to me that my job was exactly what I had wanted to do “when I grew up,” and it was not a call to go back to the salt mines but a call to get back to my calling. Once I realized that, I didn’t avoid Monday’s calls anymore.
If you resist Monday, it could be because you’re not doing the work you were called to do — or perhaps you are indeed following your calling but we’ve been trained to hate Monday.
What if you shed that training and choose to welcome a new week of doing the job that you fought to be chosen for?
Our “smart” devices fell back to Standard Time early this morning, and if we found every clock without a mind of its own last night, all of our clocks were “right” when we woke up.
It is a futile exercise — no matter how we set the clocks, we will have 10 hours and 11 minutes of daylight today. No daylight was saved during “daylight-saving time,” and no daylight is given back when Standard Time returns. We just change our frame of reference for reasons lost, ironically enough, to time.
As an early riser, I don’t object to sunrise coming up “an hour earlier,” because I enjoy watching the light outside slowly grow. If I had my way, we would always be on Standard Time, so the sun would rise around 4 a.m. in June, but whoever makes these decisions doesn’t want the sun in their eyes as they finish off a good night’s sleep, so they adjust the clock so the sun is in their eyes when they turn in for the night.
We each have 24 hours a day to do what we will, including the same amount of daylight whether we call it 7:00 or 8:00.
What we do with that time is more important than what time it is. It makes no difference if we decided finally to take action at 6:43 in the morning or 2:22 in the afternoon; what matters is the act. Whether it is too soon or too late is a matter of judgment — the action itself is what’s important.
We spend a lot of time — let me rephrase that — we waste a lot of time looking back with regrets. The present moment is all we control at any given time. We can assess whether a past action was a triumph or an oops — usually it’s somewhere in between — but allowing lingering melancholy over the passage of time and past actions takes away from what needs to be done in the here and now. Our earthly vessels are allotted a finite length of time, which naturally grows shorter by the minute, so it behooves us to waste as few precious moments as possible.
No, I do not consider it a waste to take time every morning to pick up a pen and fill at least three pages with my sometimes silly and often meaningless scratchings. Yes, I do chide myself when minutes and hours disappear into the void of antisocial media.
Even then, the antisocial platforms do serve the original purpose of giving friends a convenient space to interact. I am aware of what has become of friends and colleagues from 10, 20, 50 and 60 years ago, thanks to such platforms. To the extant that it ties us back together, each platform is a wonderful tool. I can do without whatever it is that draws us to fritter away precious moments staring at ads, vicious attacks and lies, and other material that exploits or appeals to the worst in us.
Every Sunday at precisely 9 a.m., my iPhone informs me how many hours and minutes I averaged staring at its screen in the past week. The number never fails to leave me aghast. Imagine if I’d spent that time on meaningful pursuits.
But I digress. I’d best be off applying this no-longer-saved daylight to its best use.
Fearless Leader burst into the room sputtering and fuming.
“How — DARE — you?!” said the leader of the alien delegation. Allen placed himself in front of Fearless Leader, blocking access to Barada and Spicee.
“Is there a problem?” Allen asked.
Fearless Leader loomed over his two underlings, and Spicee leaned toward Barada. The leader tried to reach around Allen but the diplomat kept himself between them.
“I gave you an order!” The catlike eyes blazed. “You are to monitor the planet and be prepared to destroy it! I did not authorize you to fall in love with this pumpkin-headed Earthling!”
“And yet here I am,” Barada said with an eerie calm. “And I am prepared to defy your foolish order.”
“Foo — defy — DEFY!?!?!?” The leader, as you can hear, was apoplectic and nearly incoherent. He was not accustomed to having his orders resisted.
“Perhaps the threat of turning Earth into a burnt-out cinder was a trifle overmuch,” Allen suggested diplomatically.
When Fearless Leader simply stood before them, breathing hard, Barada filled the silence.
“I was quite ready to follow through and stand guard over this world in your name with my particular set of skills at the ready,” the shaggy blue warrior said. “I did not expect to find a vision of beauty beyond any I have seen on seven planets. I am in love with this ‘pumpkin-headed Earthling,’ and I wonder what else you have misconstrued about this world.”
And now Barada took a step toward their leader, and now Allen had to restrain both of his fellow aliens.
“I would strongly suggest that you both try to calm down,” Allen said.
“Please, darling, I don’t want to get you in trouble,” Spicee said.
“I am very calm,” Barada said cooly. “Don’t worry, Allen, I’m not going to use my particular set of skills on our leader — unless I have to.”
“I am not going to dirty my wings on you, you treacherous bit of pond scum,” Fearless Leader said. “But you will never set foot on our home planet again. You are banished.”
“Fine,” Barada said. “That frees me from carrying out your idiotic order.”
“Idiotic, am I? I’ll show you idiotic,” Fearless Leader said, taking a step toward his former lackey.
“I really must ask that you don’t fight in front of the Earthlings,” Allen said, and the leader noticed that a small crowd had gathered. TriSight, Bobby, Cupcake, Ellie, and Count Duckula, among others, were watching the confrontation with wide eyes and open bills.
“You did this,” said Fearless Leader, snarling at Allen.
“I beg your pardon?”
“If it wasn’t for your infernal insistence that we ‘get to know the native people,’ before we tell them the rules, this all would have been over weeks ago and we’d be on our way home,” the leader said. “Well, you’re banished, too. You can live among these primitives for the rest of your life.”
Allen blinked. “That seems a bit harsh.”
“My mightiest warrior defies me, and you think I’m being a bit harsh,” Fearless Leader said. “I would show you harsh, but that traitor would probably use his skills on me.”
Barada smiled.
The leader stalked away and boarded his shuttle back to the mothership. The small crowd watched silently as the vehicle lifted off and disappeared.
“That did not go very well,” Allen said.
“Could have been worse,” Barada said. “I was just about to kill our leader, and that would not have gone well at all.”
“Small blessings,” TriSight said.
“And so we’re stuck on Earth, among the ‘primitives,’ as our leader described them,” Allen said. “Alone, light years from home.”
“Ah, you’re not alone, Allen,” Bobby said. “We’re pals now.”
“Yes, you’re welcome to live with us,” said Ellie, but something in her tone of voice made Allen think she still had a secret agenda.
A unique era in Earth history was underway, the time after we confirmed we are not alone in the universe. Allen was destined to have many adventures on his adopted world. This was just the beginning.
