iPod Loss

In the continuing computer saga that has made up my last week or so, the piece-de-resistance came at the end of the week. It turns out there is no way to sync a computer to an iPod without downloading a special extracting program. My IT wizard did that and then, somehow, picked the wrong button to click on so instead of transferring my full iPod to my computer, he erased my iPod. There was a moment, as we sat next to one another looking at the screen, when we said nothing but we both knew what had happened. There was nothing to do, no way to reverse it. He acknowledged his mistake, and he did not apologize. I basically use my iPod to study the musicals I use for my healing mystery novels. There was a lot of other music on it though. It was principally music significant in my past in one way or another. Songs that reminded me of good times past, most of them, long past. My IT guy offered to get me whatever music I wanted to replace what had been there. It was a sweet offer and I will take him up on it. Strangely though, I, who am the List Queen, did not have a list of what I’d had on my iPod, assuming that it could/would never be erased. In that moment of quiet, I knew without doubt that I had a choice about my reaction. I did have a reaction, no doubt about it, but did I have to/need to express that reaction? Not really. I breathed. He breathed. We breathed together. Is it such a loss? Yes. No. I don’t know. I know I’ll ask him to get some albums I’ve loved over the years, and I also know that I won’t miss what I don’t know is missing. Here is how this works in the spiritual life: when it’s time for things to change, things that we think won’t/can’t change do change. I have a “clean” iPod, a fresh slate for new musical memories. I’ll put Wicked, Legally Blonde and Rent back into playlists as I need them for the next three Mex books, and the rest? The rest is an adventure. What music will inspire this new me, no longer mired in the past? We’ll see, won’t we? For more spiritual nourishment, visit Dr. Susan Corso's website