September Stomach Concerto


My morning walk yesterday, was at the time when the local activity was the first day of school. I don’t have children myself, so I was not personally involved with this annual autumn ritual.


The Mission Hills neighborhood, in San Diego, where I live, contains both a parochial and public elementary school. The area is small enough that the majority of the students walk to school. I’ve taken my morning exercise at this time other days during the school year, but the first day of school has a certain energy all its own.


I watched one Mom take a picture of her boy and girl on the front step of their house, the boy held up a small sign that said their names, new grade and the year, 2006. I’m guessing there is a photo album standing among the video game containers in the family room credenza, which has a similar picture for each starting school day of their childhood. It is only pulled out when a new photo is ready to be inserted. The pictures are giggled over and exclamations such as, “You’ve grown so much!” fill the air.


One Dad met his wife and son at the halfway point to school, presenting the nine possibly ten year old with a Grande sized hot drink from Starbucks. I wonder if this is the new first day of school ritual?


Moms and Dads, baby sisters in strollers walk in a pack with the first day of school student in the middle, their own personal entourage, Rock Star for a day.


My stomach telepathically picks up on all the big and little stomachs around me doing, the first day of school flips and squeezes. I call it my September stomach concerto. Of course my September stomach concerto does not only get my attention in September but any time I am starting something new. It is the internalized concept of anticipation, overlaid with fear.


Everyone I’ve ever met has his or her own personal rhythm of the September stomach concerto. Mine, starts with a hunger pain gnawing deep in the pit. The second movement is usually a series of intestinal spasms that rise into heart flutters. The final movement, depending on my perceived importance of the event, may be a wave of nausea or the head temple drums build to a pounding crescendo.


In the past, as my September stomach concerto played, I sat in judgment. I critiqued myself for being blah, blah, years of age and still feeling this way every time I started or experienced something new.


Recently, I had my nose pierced. I had wanted to do this for a long time. I love the look of tiny diamond stub, winking when I turn my head. But it was against the dress policy at the Hotel Del Coronado, where I worked. When I left my job, and for other reasons I’ll share in another blog, the time to be pierced was upon me.


I amazed myself, at how nervous I was! A full pit orchestra performed my September stomach concerto. The technician piercing my nose brought the levels down. He suggested breathing techniques to calm me. But his matter of fact question of “Sure you’re nervous. Have you ever pierced your nose before?” was the one that helped me shift.


Whether the answer had been yes or no, as it was in my case, every time is a first time; each event is a new experience. And beginnings start with fear wrapped anticipation.


So now when my concerto is in full swing, I whisper to myself, “ Okay, what lesson am I going to learn? What adventure is about to unfold? My curiosity joyfully shoos the internal critic away. My September stomach concerto is my signal that I am alive and willing to keep experiencing new things.