Page 1 of Crazy Thing

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ZIGGY

Honey Hill, Iowa

“My gosh, Ziggy. That was better than an 0rgasm!” The town librarian rolls over in the grass, flinging her arms out at her sides.

My favorite bartender, Jane, stares up at the sky with a dopey, breathless grin on her face. “Agreed. I feel like I just had the best sex. But without all the saggy balls and the boob sweat.”

Everyone laughs.

“I feel like I just ate like, three gummies,” another voice chimes in. “I feel more relaxed than I have in years.”

“Me too! Today’s session wasah-mazing.”

“Yes, girl. Seriously. Thank you, Ziggy. Thank you.”

Stretching my limbs and drawing to my feet, I grin proudly. “The pleasure is all mine, ladies. And Joanne’s, apparently.” I toss out a wink and the ladies laugh.

I just finished leading a meditation workshop at the local park, right around the corner from my metaphysical shop. The vibe here issooogood. The end-of-summerbreeze. The beaming sunshine. The sounds of nature and of little kids yelling their heads off at the playground in the distance.

I’m still smiling to myself as all of my attendees climb to their feet and gather their things to leave. This workshop had a great turnout. At least ten guests joined me for today’s session, and every one of them seemed to find their inner peace during our meditation practice. In my book, that’s a win.

Although my measly bank balance would strongly disagree.

As I stand barefoot in the grass, saying goodbye to the participants and doling out hugs,I’m loving the after effects of this session. I would meditate all day if I could, focusing my attention on my inner world. Unfortunately, the outside world has this annoying habit of getting in the way of my bliss. But I digress.

Being my own boss is a gift. I mean, how else could I justify spending an hour of my day lying on a yoga mat in the grass, grounding myself, easing stress naturally, and reaching a higher consciousness?

I may not be making the big bucks but at least I’m blessed with an enjoyable work life. I’m thankful to have found such a fulfilling career. I write about it in my gratitude journal every single night. I get to do something I absolutely loveandit pays the bills.

I glance across at my small tip jar that’s sitting beside my yoga mat.

Shit. It’s empty. Again. Not a single dollar bill or coin sits inside.

The smile tumbles off my face. My gut clenches with a sharp, sudden twinge. Uh, well…maybe I shouldn’t dwell too much on the ‘paying the bills’ part.

I hosted this meditation seminar for free, on an at-will, tip-what-you-can basis. Yet, here we are at the end of the session and no one is tipping.

I don’t want to ruin the vibe by begging for handouts as my participants prepare to leave. But if I want to keep enjoying the benefits of self-employment and keep doing the work I love, something’s got to give.It’s now or never, Ziggy.

“If everyone could leave a donation in a size of their own choosing, that would help fund future sessions.”

There’s some grumbling among the small crowd and discomfort trickles through my veins. But I hold on to my outstretched tip jar—and my prettiest smile—as the women amble past me.

They turn their pockets inside out, dropping their loose coins and lint in my sad little tip jar. Someone even leaves a peacock feather and wishes me good luck.

Oh lord.

When everyone has left the park, I fold up my yoga mat and make the short walk down the block and around the corner, back to my metaphysical shop. The familiar fragrance of essential oils and dried herbs greets me when I push through the door, making me smile again.

I love this place.

Divine Treasures may be tiny and cluttered and a bit chaotic. But it’s mine. It tells the story of the colorful, little life I’ve cobbled together for myself in the years since I left my hometown of Starlight Falls. This shop is my shining pride and joy.

I make my way through the crowded aisles, taking my tip jar to the counter. I dump out its meager contents and count up the change.

Eighty-three cents and a pretty blue feather.

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