my inner cutie

I write myself notes all the time in the bright light of an insight, a decision, a moment's clarity. I stick those notes some place clever: in the front of my calendar, under my ink blotter (whoa, I wonder if they've come up with a new name for that), between pages 135 and 136 of a book I may not finish, in the front pocket of the shorts I just washed. It's an imperfect system.

Today I came upon a piece of scrap paper with a wide range of notes to self. "Important," I wrote at some undetermined, unremembered point in the past. "Know that your internal experience is changeable." On the same scrap, near that great message - the essence of which I forget about a hundred times a day - is this: "When you have an unpleasant or fearful thought, think of a barking dog tied to a tree. Walk past it and say to the dog, 'thanks for sharing!'"

I have never once done this, but still think it's a great idea. I am going to begin by saying it to actual barking dogs, of which there are several along my daily walking loop.

The best thing about finding the scrap of paper, though, is this little scrawl, below. I imagine that when I wrote it, I meant to remind myself to "evaluate the value of my inner critic," meaning, I suppose, to question its assumed authority.

But today as I read my scrawl, I thought it said, "have you ever evaluated the value of your inner cutie?"

What? I thought. What does that mean?

Before I figured out what I really had written, I had time enough to think: why no! No, I haven't given enough time to evaluating the value of my inner cutie. But when I do, I can see that it's a much more useful part of me than my inner critic.

But hey, inner critic -- thanks for sharing!