Many moons ago I attended a conference, that was all about spirituality.
I was a postman at the time.
When I got to this conference, it didn’t take me long to feel I was out of my depth.
I was surrounded by university professors, teachers, psychologists, counsellors, researchers and the likes of.
And then there was yours truly.
The power our self-image has on our confidence and outlook on life is truly phenomenal.
God, I felt small.
In my mind I might as well have been wearing a blue shirt, navy trousers, whilst carrying a red bag on my shoulder, and followed everywhere by a black and white cat.
Every time someone stared at me I felt like they could sense something was amiss.
“They can see I’m a fake.”
A suit-wearing man, sitting next to me asked the dreaded question: “So what do you do?”
I couldn’t lie.
“I’m a postman.”
I waited for it.
The dejected, “Oh…”
I used to hate people asking me what I did because I thought I could do better.
(Better only came about because I chose to grab an opportunity to move forward. But better is only better because of personal preference. My current situation isn’t better in the grand scheme of things, it’s just different.)
Being a postman provided me with the space I needed to grow, and I sit here being incredibly grateful for that.
Funnily enough, it was when I began to acknowledge how good it was for me, that opportunities to move on from it arose.
I used to practice mindfulness on delivery and write books in my spare time.
Not many jobs offer the space for that.
Oh, and the folk at the conference concluded that they hadn’t the foggiest idea what spirituality meant.
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