How’s my jellybean?? What?
To clarify, there is a terrific 3-minute video on YouTube entitled “The Time You Have Left (in Jellybeans)” I would highly recommend watching: https://www.youtube.com/watch?reload=9&v=BOksW_NabEk
On average, we have a total of 28,835 days in our lives. The author uses jellybeans to illustrate this and then removes jellybeans for childhood, working hours, sleeping hours, eating, etc.
When all of those days have been accounted for there is a small pile of jellybeans left that are the days we have completely under our control. The author asks, “What if you had only a few jellybeans left – how would you spend those?”
Although it may be a silly metaphor, I really like using the idea of a jellybean to signify each day of my life. I like to envision holding one jellybean in my hand each day, saying – “This is a fine jellybean!” Even if it’s a color I don’t particularly like (which could represent aches and pains or some sorrow) – despite that, it is still a very fine jellybean because it’s what I’ve got: THIS jellybean, given to me.
In the morning when the weather is fine (as it is right now – yay!), I like to take some time and sit outside, watch the birds at the feeder, the sun come over the roof of the house and along the fence and be with the day. My spot in the garden is an electronics-free zone, so no cellphone or I-Pad. I look out over the mountains and say – “This is a great jellybean! Thank you! I’m going to do my best to enjoy this jellybean.”
It’s a simple way to bring my awareness from my head into my heart and to a place of gratitude, a nice set-up for the day. Try it — you might like it! How’s your jellybean today?
One of the recent assignments in my poetry class was to write a poem using color as it’s main theme. Since we are talking about colorful jellybeans, this might be a good “go with” poem:
Lying on my belly on a cold snowy day,
coloring book and box of 48’s ready, I
carefully choose my favorites – the ones that sound warm
and firey and imagine my friends
lined up in their Crayola places,
Rafaella’s Chestnut curls and Copper skin,
Elena Gonzales, Puerto Rican arms shining
Gold Ochre in summer.
Even me, whose winter white is too near the
most boring color – Flesh — turns to Desert Sand in the sun.
Bronze people carried a secret I wanted where
there is always music, Magenta skirts swirling,
fire smoldering in their hidden places.
Later, I fancied a man whose Raw Sienna skin,
eagle’s beak nose and black eyes
set me burning Blue Violet,
exploding in Umbers and Gold,
before fading like colors left out in the rain.