Things That Go Bip

I was feeling a little rocketish today.

This weekend a friend was telling me about a concept from the book “Leading on Empty” which says there are things in life that take away our serotonin – that natural chemical our bodies produce that makes us feel happy and in turn productive – and there are things in life that refill our serotonin. When we aren’t doing enough “refill” things to supply the demand, the serotonin depletes and our bodies start running on adrenalin, the rocket fuel of our bodies. This is all well and good for a very short time and then we, like every rocket we have ever seen, ultimately crash and burn.

I thought of what he said today when I started feeling a little rocketish – eight baskets of clean laundry that needs folded, grass clippings tramped all through the kitchen, kids’ rooms that look like a episode from Hoarders, school portfolios that need finished, a design deadline looming – you get the picture. My rocket boosters are starting to rumble again just thinking about it. While my initial thought was coffeecoffeecoffeecoffee, I tried to think of the things that fill my serotonin reservoir.

The big things leap to mind right away -- The intoxicating combination of book/chair/beach (without that other less enticing beach combo of: sand in diaper/where’s the middle child/when did you put on sunscreen); A big city, no plans, and me; A dim, cluttery used-bookstore where all you can smell is Book; The moment before you try something unpronounceable at a new restaurant. Sure, I love the big stuff that costs money and takes time … but it is the little bitty things that fall into my bucket of happy, almost unnoticed, that keep it from emptying.

It is times that God whispers my name.

For me, it’s the things that go bip.

The bip bip bip of lily pads scudding against Luke’s paddles when he kayaks. The pink stripe of neck above his swim shirt, and his hair sticking up, and the paddle going like a windmill. I am right behind him in my red arrow of a kayak, the lily pads obligingly bipping for me too.

The bip… bip… bip… bip of Will tapping away at his animation software. While I am not entirely sure of the marketability of an animated short called “Weirdo and FubFub learn Microbiology,” I love to watch that kid’s mind work and I love to watch him giggle.

The BIP BIP BIP of strong coffee dripping into a pot for a friend and me that will be the catalyst of a jumble of half-sentences we spill out to each other, a mélange of: It’s OK to admit this is hard – when does life stop spinning so fast – My word, I love what I do!

The almost scandalous beauty of my dove gray poppies with their hidden charcoal hearts that bloom beside the house and sway drunkenly with their ungainly splendor, bipping into each other.

The bipbipbipbipbipbip of my keyboard when the story inside is bubbling over and wants out. Writing is my mother tongue, I like to say, so much easier than the rambling speech I am prone to, and my keyboard knows that better than anyone.

In this rocketish life with places to go and things (and things and things) to do and people to grow, we all at one time or another echo Bilbo Baggins when he said he felt like butter scraped over too much bread.

How do we fix it – this disconnect between giving and refilling? I suppose we could all get a personal assistant, live-in maid and meal delivery.

And if that proves to be cost-prohibitive, we can keep looking for and enjoying the things that go bip in our lives.

Actually, just the second thing. Cleaning that grass off the floor wasn’t nearly as hard as I thought it was going to be.


Bip.