Jolly

Finding Mojo

Doodles, Boo & OscarMort, too 2 Comments

I had an epiphany this morning. About mojo. As I climbed out of bed, I suddenly realised that mojo is very like Lord Oscarmort, the cat. Or an older teenager. And as Lord Oscarmort is a teenage cat, thus displaying all the worst characteristics of both, I feel very well qualified to comment.

How is mojo like a cat?

You welcome it into your home, your mojo-cat explores it’s new domain nonchalantly and you watch with delight as it beats the living daylights out of a shopping bag with it’s little furry paws. Your heart glows with happiness as you look on fondly as it inhales a bowl of Felix or whichever brand is in favour this week. (Provision of “acceptable” cat food is probably as close as I’ll get to understanding the true agony that parents go through when their child is a selective eater). You feel joy when (or IF, in Oscar’s case), the furry beast deigns to be cuddled.

And mojo is just like that.

It parades into your life with it’s tail in the air and assumes a prominent place in your home and heart. And you can’t imagine life any other way.

Except it’s as fickle as a cat.

And it will sit under the hedge at the front of the house, purring at passers-by, rubbing against them and following them home for a bowl of a more interesting brand of cat food than is available at home. And not come back that night.

At which point, you panic.

You are overcome with sadness and worry. Where has it gone? Is it OK?

Then another day passes. Still no sign.

You really start to panic. What has happened? Where is it? Where do you even start to look?

And time passes, and you are at a complete loss. Sadness consumes you. And you begin to worry that your mojo really is dead in a ditch.

Or maybe it’s more like a teenager that decides to go travelling, and they plan to go for a month, but with barely a word, you find out that their plans have changed and they’re going away for longer, but with who and for how long, you have no idea. And you worry and wait. And you worry and wait. And you think the worst must have happened because they haven’t been in touch.

Because, let’s face it. Cat’s are easier than teenagers: they usually turn up again pretty quickly. We had a cat called Felix in the UK, and he would disappear for 2 weeks at a time. (I think he lived on rats in the meantime. We lived in a tiny village or 5 farms and a paddling of ducks on the pond across the road, so there was no-one who would be feeding a not-very-stray cat. Rats were obviously just yummier than Whiskas!?!)

But just as I had given up hope, he would wander back in, bite me on my calf to indicate it was about time I got on and fed him and life would resume as if NOTHING EVER HAPPENED. (The moral of this story is: get a girl cat. They are marginally less disdainful of the huminion race).

And just like cats (or possibly just Oscar), the more you try to entice them back, the more they avoid you. And the more you remonstrate with a teenager, the more they go to ground…

As to why I had that thought pop into my head on first waking, I really don’t know. Because my mojo has finally come home after months of fretting about it and wondering if it’s OK, or dead in a ditch somewhere, never to return. It’s snuggled up under a cosy blanket right next to me, and purring contentedly. (It has clearly morphed into an entirely different cat, because Oscar would never be rash enough to get that affectionate with a huminion, let’s face it. One cuddle is exchanged for a bowl of food, and that’s your lot until his tummy next rumbles).

So what do I know about finding mojo?

Not much. But what I have realised is, that when I stopped looking, it came back.

When I’d given up hope of finding my running mojo, I did something different. I decided to try triathlon. And suddenly, my mojo is back. It might not have bitten me on my leg to announce it’s return, but I actually looked forward to (and attended) Parkrun for the first time in weeks.

How long this triathlon mojo will hang around is hard to say. But I am enjoying the purrs whilst it’s here.

And if yours has taken a hike, and has been gone a while, well maybe it’s time to leave it be. Find something else that is fun for you. After all, what’s the point in something if it isn’t fun? We’re busy women, right? There ain’t time to be bothering with something that isn’t bringing you joy. Besides, it seems to me that as soon as mojo sees you having fun elsewhere, it will stalk back into your life and make like NOTHING EVER HAPPENED.

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2 Comments

  • cheryl on 25th April 2016

    Love the cat analogy….I’ve been running for 45 years…you either love it or you hate it or something in between I guess. Have never called myself a “runner” tho…I just think of myself as a woman who loves to run. And garden. And sew. And work with special needs kiddos. And take photos. Last night before I went to bed after a long day of errands and a 20+ mile mtn. bike ride in preparation for an event next weekend, the last thought I had when I hit the pillow was “I can’t wait until 3:45 a.m. because I get to get up and get out and RUN and watch the sunrise”. Perspective.

    • Author
      Jolly on 25th April 2016

      That’s a fabulous perspective, Cheryl. I have an on-going love-hate relationship with running. I miss it when I’m injured, but beat myself up over when I’m not. Maybe it has added (too much?) significance because it’s how I found pretty much all my friends when we moved to Aus. That, and telling stories about my crazy cat. 😊

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