Ten Ordinary Things

Sometimes the mind grabs hold of something and refuses to let go.

A thought.
A worry.
A story about what this means.

And suddenly you’re caught by it.
Embroiled in it…
Maybe even building on it.

When that happens, I sometimes do something absurdly ordinary… usually with ten small things.

Set ten spoons on the counter.
Count ten cracks in the sidewalk.
Locate ten sprinkler heads.
Stand up and sit down ten times.
Gather ten leaves.
Line up ten objects just to see how they look in a row.

It doesn’t have to take long.
It doesn’t have to be meaningful.
It doesn’t even have to work.

The point isn’t calm.

It’s space.

And what this does for me… it gives me space.

Space inside the upset.
Space to reconsider.
To notice.
Maybe even reset.

The surge might still be there.
The thought might still be looping.

But it’s not the only thing happening anymore.

You can stop at ten.
Or go to twenty.
Or repeat the same ten again.

Sometimes the shift falls into place immediately.
Sometimes it feels impossible.

Either way, ten small things are still here.

And sometimes, that’s enough.