Inching Back to Clarity

I'm at a stoplight in town, and suddenly the radio station turns to fuzz. I inch forward, and it clears back to beautiful music. I inch back to fuzz and then forward again to clarity. If I go backwards a little more, I hear the music, too.

I try this two more times.

It's funny--and remarkable--how sensitive my placement on that intersection becomes.

With a slight adjustment, I find clarity. It requires a sensitive touch; a little this way, a little that way, and it's clear. I'm aligned. I'm in sync.

When I'm all out of sorts, I like to recall how, at that intersection, it didn't take much to get back to clarity. I don't need major readjustments or dramatic, catastrophic change. I just need little tweaks here and there. Before I beg for an entire overhaul of my life when things don't feel right, I think about slight change. 

Maybe it's going to the movies, having lunch with a friend, taking a nap, or drinking a fancy holiday beverage. A little thing might just inch me back to clarity.