On Grace. And the Disgusting Taste of Golden Calf Hooves.

Sometimes you have to break up with your vocation for a few minutes (or 3 days) because it’s breaking your weak heart and you’ve made it into a golden calf and you realize you’re accidentally kissing it’s golden calf hooves. And that bitter metallic taste on your lips is disgusting.

Then, while you’re watching it melt in the fire that you had to throw it in otherwise you’d end up in crazy town, these little things happen and you realize later (after you wash the mascara off your cheeks, look up from your navel, and quit swearing like a sailor) that these are the things of grace.

Your friend makes this for you because you don’t answer the phone. And it’s so accurate that you somehow begin simultaneously laughing and crying.

You find yourself at a super swanky bar with beautiful hipsters hitting on each other, and you’re hugging a friend that’s crying because she’s just gotten divorced.

Your sister texts a picture of June. and I mean. Duh. I mean duh.

While you’re stacking 85 chairs at your day job and about to cry from exhaustion and feeling like a loser, a customer stacks his chair on the table he’s been occupying. The chair is all backwards and wrong but the sentiment is all beautiful and right.

A new friend thanks you for being a friend out of the blue.

And then you return to your vocation Monday morning and just treat it like your grandmother’s piano. Dust it off. Sit on the creaky bench. Turn on the metronome. Try again. Remember you are not your peers. Try again. Erase any shiny gold in your brain that might turn into a cow. And try again.