Dear Laura, In order for you to fully grasp the meaningfulness of your Nurture Self Care Starter Kit contribution, we will need a time machine so I will type the following at 88 miles per hour and see if it works. INSERT: weird ‘nyeer-nyeer’ noises, an explosion, me putting Huey Lewis and the News’ “Power […]
Dear Brett, I’m taking what I call a Lobster Bath. The kind that’s hot enough to last for a while so I can get the feelings out. The kind where when I get out my skin is so red I debate warming up a big vat of garlic butter. Enya is on in the background […]
Never one to pass up a movie meant for kids that includes sly adult references, I quite enjoyed sitting down to Zootopia with a bowl of popcorn (lots of butter & a sprinkle of alder smoked salt – yum) recently. There is a memorable scene with sloths as DMV workers who take approximately 8563 minutes between actions. It's hilarious. They're sloths. It's also excruciating.
Surprised by my physical reaction to this scene (I squirmed; I flinched; I wanted to throw pillows), I took some time to consider why. And then it struck me – my own life lately has felt like someone hired those very sloths to work in the Department of Answers to Questions my Soul has been Asking Lately (DAQMSHBAL), while simultaneously bringing up a feeling of urgency in the lessons that have been coming up in quick succession. These lessons have been around letting go of things I thought I wanted and clearing of the old – patterns, properties, people, pilled sweaters. It's left a lot of empty space and the first instinct is to fill it. But if not with the old, the comfortable, the habitual go-tos, then what?!
I have thrown myself at my fair share of metabolic fires lately, especially in this past half year. After years of staleness and stagnation and stubborness, something in me finally clicked and I was like: no more.
I figured it was high time I met myself and learned to love what I found there and not settle for anything less than love in return.
I'm writing you this post, very late at night, past my bedtime actually, mere moments after slaying a personal dragon. I'm finding it a bit difficult to put words on the page, because I'm still basking in the afterglow – that very particular lightness of being that occurs when you act in discord with your past and in perfect harmony with your soul and the future it desires. I told my soul it could go frolic in my mind field all it wants as long as it doesn't bother me while I write. When I'm happy, I don't tend to express it very largely, but I do have a field in my mind where my soul does things I would never do in real life, like somersaults, backflips and Maria von Trapp “The Hills are Alive” twirls. That's what it's doing right now as I type.
I used to be afraid to ring the streetcar bell. There were countless times when I would stay on until someone else rang the bell – often a few stops further than I needed. A small thing that speaks volumes about how I felt about and within myself at the time. Ringing the bell was akin to asking outright for something – acknowledging a need: Please stop. I need to get off here. It embarrassed me, as it announced my presence in a way that made me feel uncomfortable, self-conscious and exposed. At the time, I didn't have the staying power to be with that discomfort of being seen or expressing a need, so I stayed hidden and ashamed and, well, entirely self-absorbed.
