Um, is it wrong that I spent even more than a few seconds today considering how I’d like to be a giant so I could simply flick away people when they bugged me?

I know the answer. But what if?

I know I too often let little things bother me. But what if someone shared at a meeting – for example – something they’d created that I wasn’t crazy about? And what if I didn’t understand where the idea came from, who was on board and why in the world anyone would spend any time on said creation?

Theoretically, of course.

I mean, at work and everywhere else, goals always align, right? We’re always on the same page. One hand knows what the other is doing.

You scratch my back. I’ll scratch yours.

Scratch that, actually. Totally not what I’m getting at here.

Let’s try a more direct approach. If I was a giant:

• First, I’d like to think no one would bring me insignificant ideas because they’d fear bothering me and that maybe I’d destroy their desk, their car or even their smartphone.
• Of course, I wouldn’t be a destructive giant. But I would be an expressive one.
• I would growl at people who deserved a good growling at from time to time.
• And I’d stomp. Oh, I’d be excellent at stomping. All the tiny people around me would know in a tiny heartbeat that they’d done wrong and that they better just get out of my way.
• But mostly I would shake my giant head to show my dismay. You might hear only a small grumble, but my exasperation would be palpable.

I know it’s impossible. I know I get to stay my 5-foot-2 self.

I know the question I should be asking isn’t really about giants. Or flicking people.

Even if I can truly picture how some people would look flying through the air post-flick – before they land on a pile of super-soft pillows and accept the errors of their way – never to offend again.

Yes, it’s really about finding ways to not let people bug me. To be in control of my own reactions to other people. Or to not react at all.

And to be more accepting. Yes, Nancy, I hear you!

To let things roll off my back. “Like water off a duckling,” according to a guided meditation on YouTube that appeals to me greatly and helps me fall sleep.

So let’s erase that giant image. Let’s picture a fluffy yellow duckling. One just starting to venture into the big world of three feet from its mama.

It’s happy. It’s free. It’s got that certain lilt in its waddle.

And then. It encounters an excessively irritating chipmunk. The kind that chatters, won’t sit still, doesn’t ever take accountability for its own actions. You know the type.

That duckling. That cute little bugger I aspire to be. Or at least be like. It doesn’t even consider flicking the miscreant in its path. It simply saunters around it, goes on its merry way and doesn’t shake its head in even a smidge of dismay.