No Place to Hide

by Opa Hysea Wise

  “Ah, come on, Artie. We’re old friends.”

  Grinning widely, Artie pointed at herself. “Not with paste all over you, Leo. These clothes just came back from the dry cleaners.”

  Artie took a moment and introduced Smythe to Leo, the owner of The Joint, and the two exchanged pleasantries. He turned his attention toward Artie after a few moments and eyed her, giving an approving nod as he darted his eyes toward Smythe. Artie squinted, her eyes piercing a warning to Leo. The message was clear—relent! After a few minutes of catching up, he left only to return a few moments later, ripping up Artie’s check in front of her.

  “We’re family,” he said as he shrugged his shoulders. Scanning his restaurant, he searched for members of her team. He could never tell the difference between regular patrons and her team, that is, until they rose from a separate booth and walked out behind Artie.

  “Your team around?”

  Artie looked at him without responding.

  “Yeah, I know. I get it. Can’t blame a guy for asking, now can ya? How many ya got now?

  “Enough to take you on,” Artie bantered.

  “Ha! Well, listen, buddy, I’m baking two large pies for ‘em. Tell ‘em hi for me, will ya?”

  Artie smiled and said she would. The sun was still bright in the sky, and while Smythe enjoyed her outing, she still had several hours of writing to accomplish. After the pies were delivered, they returned to the apartment where Smythe spent the remainder of her day tapping on her tablet, nuancing an upcoming class she would give as part of homework her mentor gave her class in preparation for the next conference. By mid-evening, she reluctantly retired to bed.

  You were a bit of chicken today, she mused. But it was nonetheless a really good day.

  *

  * *

  For Smythe, a couple of productive weeks flew by. Her writing progressed at a steady pace, and she had several leads for corporate training. One afternoon, however, Smythe’s tablet was not operating efficiently, and it surfaced an old, unwanted friend.

  Smythe sat with her phone in her hand. It was the 4th call she made to her tablet’s support team. While sitting on yet another interminable hold, she thought she would assess her checking account. To her chagrin, she discovered a rather large accounting error had occurred and quickly began to spiral.

  I thought it was gone, this thing called doubt… but it’s crept back in.

  She felt a sickening ache in the pit of her stomach, and it threatened panic.

  What am I pretending not to know?!

  Smythe sobbed. She sobbed so hard, had her neighbors been home, they might have knocked on the door to see what was going on.

  What if I can’t fix it? What if the bank doesn’t believe me? I have too many action items to complete in the coming months, which will require those funds. Hurry up already, I’ve got to call the bank!

  Unfortunately for Smythe, her technical issues were only just mounting. What had begun as a simple software application problem had created a much larger issue. She was told that it would be best to reset her hardware to factory settings, but in the middle of working with the service representative to complete the reset procedure, her Wi-Fi connection went down. Unable to proceed until her Wi-Fi connection was re-established, Smythe called her cable provider.

  “Hi, I am working from home today, and my Wi-Fi connection went down.”

  “Let’s take a look at your account, Ms. Daniels. Please hold.”

  The silence on the other end of the phone only heightened Smythe’s mounting anxiety. Her only focus was to resolve the connection issue so that she could continue studying after calling her bank. Her mentor’s next conference was in less than two months, and there was so much homework for her to complete. She took in a breath, feeling her heart pounding through her temples. She balled her hand into a fist repeatedly as she allowed fear to occupy her thoughts and emotions.

  Why is this taking so long?!

  “Ms. Daniels, hi,” the representative said, breaking into Smythe’s thoughts. “I’m not showing any issues on our end. I have remotely rebooted your system. Can you check to see if it is up and running?”

  Smythe did as she was instructed, but to no avail. Her Wi-Fi connection was still down.

  “Well, we will have to schedule a technician’s visit to your address. The representative checked for availability, but the earliest date available is two days away.”

  What the hell am I supposed to do without Wi-Fi?!

  “Um, how early?” Smythe asked, curtailing the fury she felt coursing through her body.

  “We have a 9:00 a.m. appointment.”

  “And you’re sure you don’t have an earlier date available?”

  “No, ma’am. And please be aware that if the technician finds that the outage is something you caused, we will charge you for the visit.”

  “Wha—fine! But I didn’t cause this,” Smythe said though gritted teeth. She caught her tone and softened it a bit. “If a cancellation occurs, please consider reaching out to me. I’ll take the canceled appointment, no matter what time. I’ve just got so much to do.”

  Smythe disconnected from the call, and her thoughts began to race again. She had a mountain of writing to complete: a course to write, edits on her book, and an article to complete, all due in the next few days.

  “And because of the murder mess, Artie won’t let me spend days out in public to utilize free Wi-Fi!” she bemoaned. “How can I save my own part of the world?!”

  She sat motionless, staring at her tablet. Of course, it was Wi-Fi capable only. She then called the bank and spoke to a service rep. After verifying her identity, she explained what she discovered.

  “Listen, I’ve been with your bank for years, and this has never happened, but I found an error in the amount of $1,500.00. I only just noticed the mistake.”

  “When did it occur?” the representative asked.

  “It occurred two months ago. Why I didn’t catch it before, I just don’t know. I apologize, but I never authorized that money to come out of my account.”

  The agent was friendly enough and seemed professionally concerned, asking her to pinpoint the date of the transaction, the name of the merchant, and the amount deducted.

  “Ms. Daniels, thank you for holding. I see the amount of $1,500 was deducted from your account. It seems to be a merchant you’ve frequented before.”

  “But I’ve never spent that kind of money there. If you look at my history, you will see that I’ve only ever spent $150, and that was for a new pair of running shoes. In fact, I purchased the shoes right around the time $1,500 was deducted from my account. Is it possible that $1500 should be $150? I would never spend $1500 at that merchant. And if I had, I would have used a credit card. I just don’t have the finances to give away that much money all at once.”

  “I understand, Ms. Daniels. What I will do is open a case number and send it out for investigation. It will take up to ten business days to reply, perhaps longer, since the issue has gone undetected for this long.” The agent gave a reference number before politely disconnecting.

  Smythe sat dumbfounded, beginning to fear the worst as she began to sob. As she whimpered, she caught herself and wondered, Why the tears? Yes, both issues were concerning, but it didn’t warrant the degree of emotion she was displaying. She scanned her emotions. She definitely felt fear. It was then that she reminded herself of the acronym of fear: fantasized events appearing real.

  Find the good in all of this, Smythe.

  At first, her ego refused. It wanted to sit in self-pity and accusation.

  I swear you are so stupid! What possessed you to forget to check your account? If you can’t manage your own bank account, what makes you think you can manage your own business? And the Wi-Fi. If you hadn’t said yes to the article, you wouldn’t be in this predicament. Now, look. You’re behind the eight ball.

  She then heard the F.E.A.R. What will happen if the bank doesn’t rectify the error? We won’t have enough.
And if you caused the Wi-Fi issue, that’s going to be even more money out of your pocket.

  After listening to her ego’s toxic charge, Smythe took in a breath and made a conscious choice to quiet her thoughts by doubling down on her ego. She focused her attention on finding the good until, finally, her egoic part dimmed its berating attempts at accusation. She focused on her breath and listened to the silence.

  After several long minutes, she began to appreciate that her Wi-Fi was inoperable. Almost at once, she noticed how quiet her apartment had become. It was the first time she hadn’t heard the low volume buzz of electronics, and it was almost eerie. She continued to listen to the deafening sound of silence and thought about her response.

  Like so many, I have given a part of my life to these devices. But now, just for a minute, maybe two days, I can breathe a bit. Let it go. I wanted more time to read; to meditate. Isn’t this an opportunity? I no longer have the latest episode of my favorite TV show to occupy an evening, nor the collective angst of Facebook posts in my head. I can read the three books I have started. Just shift, Smythe… please.

  She turned her to attention to her finances. Out of my control, for now, she thought as she took in a breath and closed her eyes. The issue was concerning, and she would have to make adjustments, but for the moment—in the here-now moment—she understood there was little she could do.

  Artie arrived at the apartment a short time later and noticed the quiet almost immediately. Concerned that it was more than just a Wi-Fi issue, she contacted her teams to look into the outage. Satisfied that the outage wasn’t the start of something sinister, Artie relaxed, spending the rest of the evening reading one of the books she had picked up at their local bookstore.

  The following day, Smythe could hear the familiar buzz of electronics start up once again. She quickly tested the Wi-Fi connection on her tablet. “Yes!!! It’s up. Oh, thank God.” But then, just as swiftly as her elation came, it went. She sighed heavily.

  Oddly enough, she had come to appreciate the deafening sound of silence.

  Blind Commitment

  WITH THE MORNING CAME AN EXISTENTIAL CRISIS FOR SMYTHE. SHE had been working long hours, writing and preparing for a conference she was invited to speak at near the end of the month. It would be a big deal, for it was the first time she would deliver her material to several hundred community members. Her tears flowed yet again as she felt everything that came along with fear.

  Where is this coming from? I’ve given similar talks to much smaller crowds. Damn it!

  She wanted out of her head and found herself seeking refuge at the baker’s shop. As she recanted the past day to him, he listened intently with a solemnness she had not before experienced. After finishing her story, he sat with her for several minutes before finally speaking.

  “Fear and doubt are painful,” the baker began. “They rob us of our ability to live the life that is before us. They take all hope, all creativity, all love from us. They bond together and consume us, leaving no room for our ability to care for ourselves and others. This fear and doubt will attempt to push you off your path, dear daughter.”

  Slowly shaking his head as if remembering a thought, he continued.

  “Both fear and doubt, they also leave us blind. They lean toward hatred and, how you say, cropping of deceit and violence. Mmmm… Instead of unity, we sow discord; instead of compassion, we sow judgement. And this is the truth my daughter; for all of these things which fear and doubt create, they are only behaviors of what we feel within ourselves. I am sure many of your faith leaders and experts have more eloquently come to this conclusion.”

  “Blindness. Perhaps I am walking in blindness,” Smythe replied, deep in thought.

  “It is the inability to see, no?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Whether clearly or not at all, we often cannot see that which is before us or around us. Yet everyone who has this physical inability to see still moves forward. One step at a time, maybe, perhaps with a cane, an animal, or another human being, they move through their day.”

  The baker paused for a moment, thinking through the list of his regular customers. He then continued.

  “I have a guest who comes in every day, just like you, but promptly at 2:30 p.m. He cannot see, so he has no idea what my creations look like. Yet he still manages to choose correctly for himself and is always appreciative of the selections he has made. He can identify the ingredients in each of them through smell, and we often discuss them. When he sits down to eat them, he runs his fingers lightly over them, observing the texture. His expectation is that he chose correctly.

  “You have spoken about a blind commitment. For me, it seems a blind commitment requires us to see with our other senses. Take forward that one first step, and then another, knowing that the path is true.”

  “Has he ever made a bad choice for himself?”

  Smiling with a glimmer of enthusiasm contained within his slender frame, the baker stated, “There are never bad choices, for each choice offers a lesson. So, no, he has never made a bad choice. He eats my creation enthusiastically and always thanks me for the experience.”

  “Are we still talking about blind commitment, or are we talking about your pastries?”

  “Of course.”

  “But what about those who make a blind commitment to hatred and violence?

  “There will always be those who have given into fear and doubt. To love, to be compassionate requires a different kind of blind commitment. It is agape. To love requires that you choose perhaps an unrewarded path. It is an unspoken agreement.”

  “Too few make that agreement.”

  “Yes.”

  “It is the hardest kind of commitment to make.”

  “Yes, and the best kind,” he said.

  “So, how do you believe this relates to fear and doubt?”

  “Always will there be both as long as you choose to live from the past. What is your blind commitment, daughter?”

  “It’s that I made a commitment to this journey cloaked in starting a new business, and then to writing without really thinking it through.”

  “You did think it through. Again, predictability and control, my daughter. You want to see the end from the beginning, but you cannot. Continue to commit. In the end, you shall see how far you have come and turn to help others who wade in the mud of fear and doubt which lives only in the past.”

  The baker rose from the table and stated, “I have another customer coming through the door. I must attend to them. Stay for a while. I have missed your presence.”

  Aversion to Love

  AFTER HER ENCOUNTER WITH THE BAKER, SMYTHE BEGAN TO WORK more directly through some of her fear and doubt. She used several techniques to abate the duo, but her favorite was the mirror work. Her mentor taught her to look deeply into her own eyes in front of a mirror and recite love and acceptance of who she is. At first, it seemed perfunctory, her ego naysaying her every word of love, but she continued.

  Without conscious awareness, over time, her fear diminished. While her doubts persisted, she simply made a daily choice to say, “We will see,” whenever she doubted herself. It was a challenge to the doubt. Instead of giving in to it, she consciously decided to allow the doubt to hover and move into consistent action, allowing her Beloved the space to do what she could not.

  Yet, one morning, something seemed to be very much off. She was getting more than enough sleep—from a paltry four hours, she had stretched her horizontal position to seven. She was spending more time in meditation, and more time reading. Yet she felt intensely restless. It was 6:00 a.m., and her hands began to tremble, her breathing halting.

  In her here-now moment, she made the mistake of looking too critically at her past. Through a skewed lens, she saw only the constant state of emotional upheaval. She failed to see the budding relationship between herself and Artie. She failed to notice how much she learned from her mentor and then taught to others. She failed to see that the seminars she gave were
changing the lives of participants. She did not see her own progress in the beautiful life she was creating, and she forgot that everything her soul was up to was part of the process of creation to more fully step into who she had chosen to be.

  To get out of her head, she abruptly pushed back her dining chair from the table and stood up. In the living room, Artie sat upon the sofa and watched as Smythe opened the storage closet in her dining room. Near the front of it, she pulled out a small, empty suitcase and carried it into her bedroom.

  Artie listened to Smythe’s movements with rapt attention. She could hear Smythe rustle around in her bedroom closet, the sound of clothes being pulled off of hangers and dresser drawers opening and closing. Artie quietly arose from the sofa and walked to the doorway of Smythe’s bedroom. She found the suitcase sitting on her bed with shoes already placed into it, along with underwear, T-shirts, and socks.

  “Where are you wanting to go?” she asked.

  Standing in front of her bed, with clothes strewn about, Smythe did not look in the direction of Artie’s voice.

  “I’m through for now. I need a change of scenery. Perhaps to the beach,” Smythe said.

  “Really? Can you afford to take that much time off, with so much on your plate?”

  Smythe turned and glared at Artie before continuing her packing frenzy.

  “Talk to me, baby, what’s going on?”

  “I just want to escape for a little bit, Artie. A change of perspective will do wonders. The conference organizers ran into some financial difficulty, and they’ve postponed it until early next year. So, I’m free to roam about the country, so to speak.”

  “Is that what this is about?”

  “No. Actually, I’m a bit relieved. I just figured I can now skedaddle!”

  “It takes a good bit of preparation to ensure your safety, Smythe. Let’s talk about it and plan it out.”