Change is hard--there's a deep thought for you, petals. And I'm with you--I'm 100% happy (okay...92.2% happy) keeping to my routine, changing nothing. But the hard truth is, if we don't change, if we don't sit and breathe through the discomfort of transition, then we'll never experience the beautiful expansion, the broader worldview that acres and acres of new space provides.
We move or we die--that's a brutal truth, but it's also a marvelous opportunity. If it helps, change is inevitable--it's out of our hands. It's one of the (many, many) things over which we have no control--and there's a lovely freedom in that. Embrace it, trudge through it, but no matter how you approach change, be grateful for it--it proves you're still alive, still sparking enough to generate your own heat, your own evolution.
I have always feared that accepting the challenges, accepting the "bad" things life throws my way, means that I've welcomed them and will continue to welcome them--as if the universe, the powers that be, can't tell the difference. It's such an ingrained habit now that the cynical edge to my mind warns, 'don't get too happy; don't look on too many bright sides--you have no idea what's hiding under all that light.'
It's a sad way to live, and a fearful one. I remember chemistry. I remember like attracting like. Now just to remind my recalcitrant soul and fearful heart that to love what is good doesn't equate to embracing what isn't.
We ought, at this point, to stop feeling guilty for choosing rest, for choosing quiet. (We ought to stop feeling guilty, full-stop, but that's another matter entirely.) Feeling restless, feeling the need to move and denying that soul's urging is one thing, but knowing that this rest is necessary to your well-being is quite another.
Learn to distinguish the calls and I think guilt will slink away, bored, restless, all on its own.
I'd like to think of occasional depression as akin to a virus--something about which we can do little but bundle up and let it ride. And maybe that's not so far off the mark. Perhaps some of us are simply more susceptible to "viruses of the heart," to put it (questionably, admittedly poorly) poetically. And, perhaps, like "real" viruses, some times of the year are better breeding grounds for them.
Maybe, just maybe, if we could give these dark moments that much legitimacy (i.e. virus-like rather than an intangible manifestation of our psyche) and that much of a compassionate approach to healing (i.e. wrapping up on the couch, hot tea and good book in hand), these moments wouldn't be so fraught, so feared, so dismantling. Maybe.
At the very least, compassion-toward-self and a mug of hot tea certainly couldn't hurt. Here's to warmth, petals, on our darker days.
If we can rise above our daily fears, the small things that nab us with sticky fingers and for whose minor marring of our day we contort ourselves all out of shape, then we will have the clear head and clear sight necessary to sink effortlessly into endless beauty and infinite potential.
So often are we caught in the whirlwind of our own orbit that we have no idea the impact we have on those spinning alongside us. Petals, we are so loved. We are being willed to succeed, to be happy, to be complete, and we've forgotten for so long that we've ceased to believe it. We've ceased believing in support, relying all too heavily on our own dwindling resources.
Well, I admit it--most days I don't believe it either. But that doesn't mean it doesn't exist, that there isn't a benign force constructed out of our own and others' goodwill, peppered with a hefty dose of loving kindness from the unseen. If there were ever a time of year to remember, to humor old beliefs in hopes they'll garner new ones, this is it.
I, for one, am tired of entertaining that draining house guest, Worst Case Scenario, within these walls.
It's because we know what *could* happen that we paralyze ourselves. And for some reason, we never think, "oh, this *could* be fabulous." No, we always seem to go full-throttle for disaster. I suppose preparing for the worst isn't the worst (ha!) thing we could do. But how does that saying go, "expect the best but prepare for the worst"?
Well. I think we're leaving a vital step out of that equation...
So. Here's to the best we can expect--without trepidation, curses, or jinxes.
We are sweet creatures, petals, and we deserve a hell of a break.
You have no choice. You're strong despite your misgivings, despite your completely subjective view of past experiences, despite the conversations you've had with yourself. If you're here, then you're doing pretty damn well. Remember that, petals, and I promise to do the same.