The whimsical mathematician

This morning I stepped off the train in the city, casually sauntered through the QVB – sans kids – and ordered myself a coffee. Good job Sarah…see this is how its done, calm, measured and in control I explained to myself on the inside. I smiled at passers by, I ran my fingers along shirts in shops they don’t seem to have where we live and I had a quick chat with a man who was begging for money. He was getting wet, I wondered if his family knew or cared where he was. He looked like he needed a good rest.

I glanced at my clock and realised I still had 12 minutes to get to the meeting. It was only a few blocks away in my mind. I walked, I breathed and I sipped. Looking up at number 37 nine minutes later I paused for a moment and thought well number 32 should only be a few doors away. And then I remembered that whole odd/even number routine they had taught us in Kindergarten. I swung around and looked across the road at number 2 and realised that the place I thought I was supposed to be was three blocks back in the direction I had just come from, in the rain, with three minutes to spare.

Whimsical walk. Be damned! I had no time to glance at my reflection in shop windows or spit on my hands to smooth out the frizzy curls that had spring from my head. I was back to the me that walks like a woman on a mission.

I pushed through the doors of the office at 10:34. Huffing and puffing and cursing my attempt at some whimsical ways. The woman I was meeting laughed when I explained my attempt at calm – who cares she said? You’re here now and that’s the most important thing.

Some days all the self talk in the world will not detract from who you are. The meeting went well and I got what I set out to achieve.

Do you ever forget your evens from your odds? Your whimsy from your rush?