Not My Job
I recently ventured into San Francisco for a routine medical appointment. I was chatting with the lab tech, who noticed the hematite I was wearing. He commented that he preferred lighter stones, such as rose quartz, as they matched his energy better.
We chatted a bit about energy work. I commented that dealing with the energy of a constant flow of people at his workstation must be challenging some days, and he said he didn’t really notice, he just did his job.
I shared that the bus ride to the building had been an exercise in maintaining energy boundaries. One of the men on the bus had been yelling into his cellphone, saying truly awful things about a mutual acquaintance of his and the person he was speaking with.
The lab tech asked how I did that, and I told him about visualizing a mirror to bounce the energies back to the person emitting them.
He replied, “Well, that’s not very nice!”
I stared at him, and said, “Why is it my job to process this person’s energies, just because I’m on the same bus?”
“Because you’re—”. He caught himself, and then made himself very busy putting labels on things.
I rolled my sleeve down, fastened my cufflink, wished him a good day, and left.
No, it is not my job to process some man’s stuff just because I’m a woman. He’s old enough to own an cellphone and ride a bus, he’s old enough to manage his own stuff.
