some blessed quiet time,
a candlelit bath,
soft music playing,
then resting and reading.
A walk in the woods,
finding a perfect spot,
setting up the hammock,
resting, reading, musing.
Staring up at the trees,
breathing deeply, swaying,
writing out my heart’s desires.
A nourishing meal
and more writing.
moving every part of my body,
a shared experience in Nia class.
Back home, a shower,
and here I am, tired and calm.
It was a good day,
a full day, a day of self-care.
It occurs to me that many
such fulfilling days
will lead to a fulfilling life.
It all changes, all of the time,
so why do we become so surprised
when things change?
The weather, the seasons, our bodies—
our moods, our hopes and fears,
our likes and dislikes—
the people around us,
the stars in the sky,
our language, our deep desires—
And isn’t it a good thing?
Isn’t it a relief to count on change
as the only constant in the universe?
The alternative is to always be stuck.
Which feels better to you?
I’m going with change…
Adjusting to a new reality
and wanting to be graceful about it…
but watching myself
go kicking and screaming instead.
And then grateful
I can be this honest with myself.
Noticing I’m judging
when I want to be accepting,
I’m scared when I want to be brave
I’m avoiding when I want to be proactive.
And it hits me…
I don’t have to be good at this.
I can be the way I am
and show up for myself
with love and compassion.
A space opens up
where the resistance once lived.
Now true grace can be revealed.
For the longest time
I told myself the same story
that had been told to me as a child:
There is something wrong with you
that needs to be fixed.
Don’t make mistakes.
Don’t make messes.
If others don’t like you
it’s because there is
something wrong with you.
Today I decided to rewrite the story.
It goes like this:
There is nothing wrong with me.
I can make mistakes.
I can make messes.
As long as I like myself
I’ll know true belonging.
If the story you’ve been told
doesn’t bring you joy,
rewrite the story.
Going through this transition,
everything in my life is changing,
and people (bless their hearts)
want to offer advice:
You’ll need to get a full time job, they say
Your standard of living will go down, they say
Talk to your attorney, they say
It’ll get worse before it gets better, they say
Keep your head down, they say
You’ll be so much happier after this is over, they say.
And I want to say
How do you know what you think is true?
It sounds like what they’re saying comes from fear.
I don’t take advice from frightened people.
I sit and I pray:
Thank you, angels, for making your presence known to me.
Where would you have me go?
What would you have me do?
What would you have me say, and to whom?
We would have you stay right where you are.
We would have you breathe.
We would have you tell yourself
“I love you, I forgive you, all is well.”
Now that is some advice I can take!
I wake up anxious
and it isn’t yet the middle of the night.
Ah, it’s going to be a long one.
Two hours later
and still sleep hasn’t come.
I close my eyes,
I hope and hope for respite.
I look at the time,
each hour crawling by
so slowly it’s painful.
The morning comes finally.
I take my seat,
dive into my practice,
find enough of my Self
to act like everything is okay
when he leaves the house early
without telling me why.
I ask no questions.
It’s better that way.
Something is slipping away.
Is it the love I once felt,
or is it the illusion of love
making way for a new truth?
I see him and I’m still grieving,
but something new is there;
a hope, a wish, a desire
for a better life,
a bigger adventure,
a time when I can be held
by someone who loves
without the need to keep tabs.
Back in this room,
back in this house,
I wonder how much more life I’ll live
before the dream becomes reality.