Divine Dementia - (Losing My Keys, Finding My Joy!)

This past May a friend lent me his car for a series of gigs I had from Maryland to Massachusetts.

I was so honored and grateful that he had entrusted me with his ultra cool wheels to make my journey easier. To top it off, pun intended, it was a BMW convertible.

I never had such a cool car to drive before.

But...

I lost his keys. 

Let me put this in reverse for a moment.

Before I left California, I asked an intuitive that I occasionally council with if there was anything about my upcoming journey that he could foresee that might be helpful for me to hear.

Besides the usual fun times, he mentioned that he saw a bump in the road, a logistical hiccup  that would offer me an opportunity to splash in some puddles and sing in the rain instead of insisting on being high and dry all the time.

A knot formed in my belly.

Universe, don’t you dare trip up my control trip!

The next day, I flew cross country, letting the Captain fly the plane, as usual.

I guess there are many moments each day where I surrender the control to a much more capable pilot!

Speed forward, eight days into my twelve day road trip, and everything was going smoothly... well attended gigs, great times...

Then, right before my last gig, at my mother's condo on the upper west side, I could not find the keys. I looked everywhere. I simply could not remember where I put them. That happens a fair amount in my world.

I'm great at being in the moment, making up songs out of thin air, but remembering where I put things? Not so much.

Eventually I admitted defeat and texted and called my friend. Maybe he had an extra key.

No answer.

Breathe, Scott, breathe.

Mom was hovering over me, trying to be helpful while freaking out.

Breathe, Mom, breathe. 

She did not.

Can't control my mother.

Breath, Scott, breathe.

The idea fairy whispered in my ear to try to find public transportation. I looked at buses, trains...  there was nothing that could take me to the remote part of Western Mass where this weekend workshop was being held.

I kept trying my friend. Finally he answered. He searched high and low while I practiced letting go of needing a specific outcome, and my mother practice holding her breath.

The phone rang. Yes, he had a spare key.

I grabbed my guitar for the taxi ride I was about to take crosstown to my friend's east side apartment.

My mother protested.

From her point of view, this was a crisis, not a musical, and the guitar was inappropriate.

After all, it looked like I was going to be quite late to my gig, a couple’s retreat that counted on my singing to help break the ice and get people into a good space.

But I was remembering my counselors council, and I felt inspired, even guided, to grab my guitar before I flagged a taxi.

It was Friday afternoon, the start of the Memorial Day Weekend. Manhattan's gridlock was gnarly.

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I can’t change, the courage to sing and laugh about them, and the wisdom to remember that my happiness is never dependent on circumstances I can’t control.

I asked my cab driver if he wouldn't mind me singing some songs. He did not.

First up, I made up a blues ditty about the crosstown crawl we were in. If he could have danced he would have.

Then I asked him for a song request, and he suggested La Bamba. I got super into it, strumming away all the stress I had been feeling, singing my spirit back into joy and celebration.

He was singing along and beaming.  He had never been serenaded before in his cab. Maybe never in his life.

Up next were Stevie Wonder and Michael Jackson. And I was just warming up. We had some time to kill.

Actually, there was no killing involved.

It was one of the most enjoyable taxi rides either of us had experienced.

When I got back to my mother's apartment  I went to her fridge, only to spy, chilling on top of the lunch I had bought that morning, the original car key.

Oh, yeah.

I had placed the key there so I would not forget my lunch.

My mother, 88 years young, quite often forgets things. She began laughing. I joined in. We laughed ourselves silly.

I got into the BMW and slipped into the traffic.

The app on my phone helped me find the path of least resistance to my destination.

I made it to my gig just fifteen minutes before it was about to begin.

I told everyone my story. They laughed. Everyone could relate.

I remembered that when watching Johnny Carson, my favorite moments were when he screwed something up.

The graceful way he responded made for the best entertainment.

His hiccups were highlights.

Could that be so for us?

I will lose things from time to time, but if I remember my sense of humor, my sense of perspective, and my willingness to grab my guitar and sing about the inevitable bumps in the road....then I will not lose my keys to what is most important... the keys to joy.

Lightening up when the road has bumps may not always be the fastest way to get there, but it is always the path of least resistance.


The end of my first ever Spiritual Dr. Seuss poem, Oh, The Places Your Ego Will Go, sums up the message of this post:

When your ego is in the passenger seat
It lets down the window and takes in the treats
You're not in a hurry, you're taking it slow
Cause the journey's as rich as the places you'll go
Where you are going you don't need to know
For the journey's as rich as the places you'll go
Your journey's as rich as the places you'll go 

Scott Grace can be found at www.scottsongs.com