All the Popsicles in My Way

My favorite song is “I Can See Clearly Now.” The Jimmy Cliff version. Once when my niece and I were belting out this song in my car, I realized she was singing one of the lyrics wrong. Instead of “I can see all obstacles in my way,” she sang “I can see all popsicles in my way.” I didn’t think the song could be improved upon, but there it was, straight out of a five-year-old’s mouth. I prefer her lyrics now.

This is my favorite song—not just because of the hopeful, upbeat and toe-tapping melody—but because it recognizes that we all have dark days that we’ll see past eventually. If we just remember that the sun will shine again, then we’ll once again be able to see beyond all those gnarly popsicles.

For me, the popsicles have been many and daunting lately. Endless hours of work, a constant barrage of political noise, five months of a bum ankle that doesn’t lend itself to my reliably, inspirational hikes, the flood of images of entire lives being wiped away by a storm, AI taking over the world, and a persistent empty tank from which I normally find my muse. Oh, the popsicles.

Inspiration for us creative types is bit like a fishing net. It’s a gate enmeshed in our daily life that catches those observational items, leading to insight or awareness about our human nature—good or bad. The way an older woman, without words, can give her husband a look of compassion or contempt with just a shift of her eyebrow. How a weather event can be misshapen by conspiracy theories. Or how a child can innocently misunderstand a word and give a long-lasting alteration of perspective to her aunt. Even if incorrect.

Some days this net captures whales of knowledge, and other days it becomes clogged with the litter of the day. It is up to us how we sift through what the net catches.

I don’t know the source of this quote, but I like it: “You cannot control the wind, but you can adjust your sails.”

There was a time when I adjusted my sails with ease. I controlled what I could, deciphered what was possible from the complex, and discarded the rest. But in my quest not to be that person who explains away difficulty with callousness or dispose of the world’s ills without care or thought, I have found myself challenged. I have misplaced my ability to slog through the day’s flotsam and jetsam with grace.

Cats help. As do poems and music and meaningful, even if short, conversations with a friend.  A good, uplifting movie. A spontaneous trip. A husband with a quick wit doesn’t hurt either.

And too, popsicles and a Jimmy Cliff melody.

Where do you find inspiration amidst the chaos?