Me and iMovie have a beef.
The last time this happened, I spent hours on the phone - clearing over a hundred film projects from the application, following the representative's restart instructions . . . brown banana, no fix. Then I went into Apple, and we found a rogue version of iMovie mucking things up from its hiding spot in the cyber jungle of my MacBook Pro.
"I've never seen this before!" It was almost cute, how thrilled the Genius Bar dude was over a newly discovered glitch.
Soon after that exasperating-in-the-short-term, minor-in-the-longterm iMovie hiccup, I decided to stop producing videos for YouTube altogether. I took down 106 movies and put my editing fingers to rest.
Maybe Sister Universe was saving me some hefty time and energy to be dumped on a path leading nowhere.
Then the time came when it felt right to start sharing my writings on video. I took the step. Two readings posted and now, what would be the third . . . moldy bagel, no-go.
The cosmic CD is skipping and I'm not sure what it means. This is the moment when I accept that frustration never solves, although, I re-learn this lesson every time my tech malfunctions.
I walk away. Do something else entirely. Chill out to a guided meditation. Take a walk. Sit in the sun.
Let the universe deliver the next step.
Because I don't need to know the meaning of it all. I really don't. I could drive myself batty, thrusting my fists at the sky and yelling, "What does it all mean, Universe?!?!"
Fuck that noise.
Trying to decipher the bigger picture is instant overwhelm. But the next step - I can do that. When it drops into my consciousness, it'll feel good and seem right. It's just about all I can handle and all I care to know.
I'll leave the galaxy in charge of surprises.