“ask”

For the past few weeks there’s been a word from one of those magnetic poetry sets floating around in my washing machine. Whenever I do laundry, there it is. One little word. “ask”  That’s all, just “ask.” 

Ask WHAT? I say to it. Every few days, I say this. I wonder it. And I have yet to find the answer.

The morning started with the cat toppling over my water glass – exactly the reason that I resisted getting a cat for two decades and now I’m in love with him and stuck with this stupid habit. There’s a lesson in that one. Then the kids “helped” me make pancakes – flour and batter everywhere. Off to yoga. A friend mentioned Him – that other guy – and my mind which was already sort of jostly and off kilter from the cat and the water and the pancakes started doing its round and round loop. The class was awesome and kept me mainly in my body and my breath. But still, he was back there, the gerbil from hell.

Now I’m cleaning the house – another lesson in the never ending chaos of life, in how nothing stays the same – and listening to Nick Hornby’s Songbook, which I thankfully bootlegged from the public library years ago as it’s now impossible to find. When it got to Rufus Wainwright singing “One Man Guy,” a song he’s re-made to basically be about loving yourself because there’s no other choice, well, I had to put down the broom, breathe hard and just lie on the hardwood floor. 

It’s an hour later and I’m still wondering what to ask. I considered taking the magnet out of the washer but decided I like it in there, that plaintive little word. Ask:  How do I love myself? Ask:  How do I trust myself?  Ask:  Where do I step next? I’m up for a good question if anyone has one.