I've come to the decision that I am in need of a Satya sabbatical. I've found myself struggling for inspiration lately, and I have a distinct feeling my life is going to be taking some turns as I reexamine and reevaluate in the new year. I will be back, but this space will be evolving in the meantime.
I'm so grateful for this community--I can't wait to see where we'll go next.
Happy Thanksgiving, petals. I am so grateful for this community--thank you, thank you for taking this journey with me. Have a lovely holiday filled with good food, good company, and good rest. See you on Monday!
I don't think I'd rather live in a different time. Well. To be honest, I don't think I have the stamina or the energy to wish for another time, to add that kind of dissatisfaction to my days. I'll admit I do miss the days of landlines and answering machines, old-school cable television, the fashion of the mid '90s, and the landscape before social media.
But maybe that's just my age talking.
We forget, in this be-dissatisfied-now, culture how many came before us. I sit at a desk once owned by my mother in college. Next to me is a rocking chair far older than either of us. How rarely I take comfort in the parallel presence of once-owner and object. How rarely I realize my space is inhabited with the warmth, the wisdom, and the blessing of those who have been through far more than I.
This is another post for my fellow princess-and-the-pea folks. I'm told that sensitivity is a gift, that it's what allows me to do what I do. But, you know, I have to ask, at what price? Is it worth the guard and the shields, the extra care with EVERYTHING (food, fragrances, cosmetics, household goods, organics), not to mention the cost (monetary, mental, and physical).
I don't know, but I'll be honest--I wish my buffer, my range, were a bit larger. I wish one indulgence didn't result in days of recovery. I wish I had a little more resilience against the electronic and chemical nature of our modern world. I wish I didn't have to worry so much about what a new innovation will mean for my system. I wish I didn't have to find and keep so many practitioners and experts and appointments on speed dial.
Sometimes all we need is for someone to give us permission to make a change--if it's the right decision, it doesn't matter who. Your mother, a stranger, your sister, your horoscope--sometimes we just need the burden of decision fatigue lifted in order to see straight, in order to see that we were drifting in a new direction all along.
It's the irony of acceptance--that nothing can move forward until you accept the moment you're in, welcome it, even. And, man, that's hard when the moment is so divinely uncomfortable. But what choice have we? There's no escape from ourselves. Well, I suppose there is, but it's expensive--to body, mind, wallet, and soul. And it's not like that kind of drastic escapism isn't short-lived for its high price.
Eventually, whether we like it or not, the bottom rushes up to meet us, and there ain't no avoiding that thud. And when that happens? I think all we can do is find a steady wall to lean on and just sit there. Sit there until it becomes, maybe not normal, maybe not comfortable, but bearable. Bearable becomes routine, and routine allows us to focus on something OTHER than our discomfort.
THAT'S the trick, THAT'S how you know you've "won"--you're able to focus on something other than discomfort. Imagine! The hard work isn't the pain you're in; the hard work is letting that pain in unti...
Maybe we'd be better off if we just saw everything as a beginning. Maybe we'd have more faith in ourselves, in the world, and in the possibility of optimism as a sustainable worldview. Maybe it's as simple as that--a change in language, switching out one word for another.
Let the endings take care of themselves, knit themselves neatly and tuck in their trailing threads while we begin again. Again.
It's our default mode--hoping that each day will be different while assuming (i.e. BELIEVING) that each will be the same (i.e. dull, bad, difficult, pointless, etc.). In this way of learned beliefs, growing up is a travesty. It robs us of that ability to wonder, FOR wonder. It teaches us that everything is hard--not only that, it teaches us that everything is of panic-level importance.
But guess what--everything is NOT hard and everything is NOT important. Some stuff just IS--it's neither good nor bad, difficult or easy. It just IS. And other things? They're marvelous--more often than not (Yes! MORE often than not), as long as we leave ourselves alone long enough to realize it.
Our strident inner taskmaster is learned behavior. And you know, we don't even need to un-learn it. We just need to forget it. To shrug it off. To invoke teenage rebellion against ourselves and invite in the little things--singing too loudly, dancing a little too wildly (or dancing at all, come to think of it),...
It's amazing the work we make for ourselves, isn't it? Especially when it would be so breathtakingly easy simply to watch the rising sun and take it as the sign that it is--that you're headed in the right direction, that every day you spend stepping toward, leaning into, the light is a day of progress.
There are no wasted days--even those spent fumbling around in shadows of our own making. There is always something to learn. There is always something to uncover, to discover, or to give--at long last--a decent burial.
Light and shadow teach us that there are some things best left behind and others necessary for the journey.
Be grateful, too, for unanswered prayers. I read that somewhere, and it's never failed to make me feel immensely better, as if we're not out here on our own, as if there IS a guiding hand gently nudging us first in one direction, then away from another. Because we don't know, we can't know, we might as well believe. We might as well believe in a higher good, a compassionate universe whose joy is in our joy.
If we can believe that, the rest becomes a little less important, a little less fraught, a little less like a constant flirting with deadlines and a little more just, well, flirting--with life and chance and the thrill of the unknown.
Because maybe you really are supposed to be here, and maybe it really is okay not to know what comes next.