I have a friend who studies insects. On purpose. She even has a fruit fly dress. 

It is a relief to me that she has that particular segment of research covered, so that I don't have to. She recently won a grant for her very own lab to continue this riveting work. I will resist mentioning to her that there is a jar with rotting banana in it on the counter, as a trap to lure such creatures away from my lunch. 

 

The shelf inside my back door has had a stream of sewing projects on it lately. Hemmed curtains, sundresses, crib sheets, shortened coverlets each had their time under the needle, and were picked up by their respective owners. Those customers expressed their gratitude in both words and cash. Most of them were not interested in doing the task themselves, for lack of a machine, or bad karma around fabric. But it fits into my routine nicely. The sewing room is, after all, always set up and ready for action. 

 

There is a woman that I drive to appointments. Bone specialists, cardiologists, the dentist, physical therapy are sprinkled across her calendar and I help her to get there on time. Each medical provider has his or her own area of knowledge, and gives their attention in turn. No one would fault them for an unwillingness to cover all needs. 

 

Things work better when these differences are accepted. My liver cells are a good role model. There is no evidence that they vacillate between poor self image, and pomposity when compared to my capillaries. Jealousy, rivalry, and a need to impose their advice on other body parts are completely absent. I would even go so far as to suggest that the collective separation is intentional. Lovely, in fact. 

 

This simple observation calms me, when the tendency to have opinions about another person's decisions rears up like a cancer. The opportunity before me is enough of a focus to keep me from buzzing around inside a jar.