My mojo has left me.
I’m not sure what I did to offend it. I’m searching for answers.
I wonder if this is why…
Last week, I took a little time off. My BFF came all the way from California to visit. We hadn’t seen one another since January, and I was guilty of being just a wee bit excited. Much more than a wee bit, if you really want to know.
The day before Ellen arrived, I sat down at my desk. I put an “out of office” message on my inbox. I made notes of things I had to do for the following week. I got up-to-date on my assignments and other work.
“Mojo,” I said. “Here’s the deal. Tomorrow, I need to pay attention to my friend. And since you know me so well, I know you’ll understand that I can only do one thing well at a time. It’s not that you’re second-best; it’s just that it’s been months since I’ve last seen Ellen, and you and I…well, let’s just say we’ve been hanging out together a bit too much and we both need a well-deserved break.”
I’d put Mojo aside before, but had never been so straight-forward about it. Usually when Mojo disappeared, it happened somewhat organically, like when the weather was gray and gloomy, when I was navigating the raging and unpredictable hormonal shifts of menopause or when my attention was taken away by something more pressing, like the death of my father. And then, like the sunshine after a brief shower, Mojo would reappear, happy to be back and warming me with its attention and dedication. We’d have a huge reunion, filled with creativity and joy.
Mojo crept off silently, without even a goodbye. It would have been nice to have had the chance to at least tell Mojo that I looked forward to our reunion the minute Ellen left. But when someone slinks off without you noticing, it’s tough to get any words, much less any thoughts, across.
I rarely thought of Mojo during my friend’s visit. Being with a good friend trumps having your Mojo sometimes, I must admit. We shopped, we ate, we drank together. We sweated in the gym by day then at night, feeling virtuous, stuffed our bellies with frozen yogurt (even though we were full from dinner). We woke up each morning eager to do it all again.
Oh, the power of friendship. It can feed your soul like just about nothing else.
Except for Mojo. Mojo feeds my soul, too. Mojo is a pretty good companion, especially on the days when I want to be creative and write.
But right now, Mojo is missing and I don’t know where to look. It’s not the longest I’ve been without it – there was that one time when I was about to trade in the word “Mojo” for “Writer’s Block.” I’m glad I didn’t, because Mojo certainly would have taken offense and stayed away for a really long time, as Mojo has always been fond of the term “self-fulfilling prophecy.”
Oh, Mojo, where for art thou?
Where do you look when your Mojo goes missing?