I stumble into my cubicle almost an hour late, still reeling from the family drama llama special (served with a side of guilt and passive-aggressive texting). That's when I spot it - a massive report on my desk with a sticky note that just says "EOD" in my boss's serial killer handwriting.
Perfect. Nothing like a surprise deadline to really get those cortisol levels dancing.
"Your aura is a fascinating shade of panic this morning," Russell observes, materializing at my desk with coffee (does he have some kind of stress-activated radar? Or maybe he just camps out by the elevator waiting for signs of existential crisis).
"My brother is turning into a reality show minus the production value," I mutter, grabbing the coffee like it's the last life vest on the Titanic. "And now this report..."
"Ah," Russell nods, settling against my cubicle wall. "The classic work-life chaos combo. You know, there's this Buddhist concept called equanimity-"
"If you're about to suggest meditation, I swear I'll forward you every chain email I've ever gotten."
"Not exactly," he chuckles. "It's more about finding calm in chaos. Like being the still point in a storm."
I eye the report, which seems to be mocking me with its perfectly aligned tabs. "The only still point I want to find is the bottom of this coffee cup."
"Think about it," Russell says, dodging my existential snark. "You can't control your family drama or surprise deadlines. But you can control how much real estate they take up in your head."
I pause mid-sip. "Are you saying I should just... not care?"
"I'm saying maybe there's a middle ground between total zen master and setting the office on fire."
I consider this while doodling a tiny Buddha wearing noise-canceling headphones on my sticky note. "So... selective caring? Like Siddhartha at the river, but my enlightenment comes with fluorescent lighting?"
"Something like that," Russell grins, pushing off from the wall. "Though I'm pretty sure Buddha never had to deal with EOD reports."
As he walks away, I look at my phone (three new family drama texts) and the report (still intimidating, possibly gaining mass). Maybe Russell's right. I can't control the chaos, but I can choose how much space it has in my brain.
I take a deep breath and start typing. One crisis at a time.
Besides, if Buddha had to deal with my inbox, he'd probably have picked a different path to enlightenment.
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