There’s a part of the mind that I affectionately call Guy. This is the part of the mind that has been going full steam since I woke up a couple of hours ago, compulsively attempting to solve all the ills of humanity before breakfast. Not because anyone has asked him to. Not because he has the intellectual capacity, really. But because that’s just what he does. He’s analyzing, sorting, categorizing, associating, figuring things out... ALL THE TIME. Sometimes his voice is loud enough to be heard clearly, like this morning, but other times he’s whispering just below the surface of consciousness. (And yes, I am gendering Guy as a he, because that’s just how it feels to me.) A random comment on someone else’s Facebook post can get Guy going on a rant for hours. Often, like today, he can insidiously show up before I’m fully awake, offering to be “helpful” about what I could write about this morning. I almost fell for it today. I almost sat down to write a treatise on the conflicting definitions of racism, and how they map the conflicting worldviews that are manifesting in our culture right now, and how everyone is projecting, and on and on... and there I would have been, compulsively attempting to solve all the ills of humanity before breakfast. Thankfully, I always sit outside in our little garden before sitting down to write. In my practice of noticing whatever arises – robins chortling, tension in my lower legs, a neighbor’s air conditioning unit kicking on, the still-cool breeze on my arm – I can more easily notice Guy doing his thing. Sometimes, like today, the first glimpse of him comes in a vague sense of agitation. And then I notice the clamor of words words words, and – oh it’s you, Guy. Good morning. Thanks for trying to help, but I’m good right now. Really.