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...
It's hard because we want the best life for ourselves. But, you know, I think we spend so long looking for it, mourning for its absence, or hoping it will arrive, that we can so easily lose our minds--and our hearts--to the search.
The only solution, obviously, is to accept one's present. And yet, as simple as that seems, we resist. We resist and resist and resist until we're left immobile and incapable of making even the simplest of decisions for fear that it will be the wrong one.
We really do make it entirely too difficult, too often for ourselves. The bitch of it is that we *like* that inconvenience, I think. We like the feeling of being burdened, of sacrificing something, even if it's only in our heads. Goddess forbid we enjoy a day, work or no work, without guilt, without feeling we *should* be miserable, at least in small part, in order to feel worthy.
I blame Hollywood. And Puritans.
And I blame ourselves for mainlining this idea that it all has to be so bloody difficult to be worthy of mention. Mention. Well, there's too much noise in this world anyway, not enough focus on quiet diligence, quiet joy and a day very well spent.
I think we're all exquisitely tired of waiting, and yet we continue to use the language that perpetuates this myth that we're 'not yet' what or where or when we need to be. I'm not sure why we have such a hang-up about accepting who we are in this moment--the only moment, ironically, we can ever possibly inhabit.
Do we hate ourselves that much? Or, better question, do we fear ourselves that much? Do we fear how we'll be accepted, IF we'll be accepted? Or, maybe, somewhere deep down (way deep down, apparently) we know how powerful we are, and maybe, just maybe, that power scares us a little?
We think we're protecting ourselves--from rejection, from reality, from our own illusions or disillusions, but maybe we're protecting ourselves from that small, pulsing heart that radiates warmth and universal acceptance and pure, infinite power. What we don't realize is that that power is there to protect us, not destroy us. It's there to unite us in one blazing light while magically maintaining that...
You bring your uniqueness to the table every day. You don't have to define it; you don't have to know how you're different than anyone else. You can just assure yourself that, simply by being here, you meet the criteria. To be wondering constantly why and what for and how is to trap yourself in a bubble of distorted self-reflection when you could be spending that limited energy elsewhere.
Just assume your right to be here and take comfort in the fact that someone, somewhere thought you were the perfect match to this incarnation. There is power and freedom in that belief, that belonging.
It's so easy to feel lost in the shuffle of the machinations of the day, from feeling impotent in the fight for change on the federal, state, or even local level to wondering if you even make a difference in yours--or anyone's--quality of life on a day-to-day basis. Feeling insubstantial is easy--remembering that you are integral to the workings of this day, no matter how you feel personally, can be terribly difficult.
But I'll tell you this--so often, the difficult things are so worthy of your time, so vital to your strength, and, once accomplished, so bloody inspirational that you make a double impact--both on yourself and by your example. So. Do one hard thing today--just one, whether it's getting out of bed, eating the needlessly forbidden cookie, wearing a bold color, or even just showing up. Do one thing for yourself, and then keep going. We see you, we hear you, and we know how much you matter.
I imagine, unless you're a monk (and even then...) it's almost impossible for us to accept ourselves as we are. Or, even if we could accept ourselves, then to like ourselves. I wonder if it was always like this. I wonder if my grandmother ever sat, frowning, in front of her mirror? I wonder if she was constantly comparing herself to others, worrying about how much she did (or didn't) eat, how much she did (or didn't) move. And I wonder if we've always, always been this exhausted?
There is nothing so certain as change, which is as frustrating and terrifying as it is reassuring. So, I guess the problem here isn't the change, but our reaction to (and anticipation of) it. Easily said, but so hard to live--how to stop reacting? How to stop anticipating? I don't know. Some of us are so finely tuned that any disruption sends us to static. Perhaps we need a stronger signal--more time with our bare feet in the earth might help.
When we restrict our own growth, unintentionally, by habit, we don't realize how constricted, how constrained we've become. We don't realize how much we've inadvertently crippled ourselves, cramming our feet into routines whose purpose we've long forgotten.
So. Isn't about time for a transplant? And if all that space feels frightening at first, no matter--it's space we'll soon grow into.
We don't know why we go through these things. Maybe it's to make us more creative thinkers, more skillful strategists and navigators--I don't know. But I do know that, sometimes, misery is inevitable, but its value is that it launches us into action, into uncovering, as my wise mother would say, plan B.
And maybe that's the point in the first place--maybe we have to walk through fire to burn away the excess, the illusions, the heavy burden of long-held desires and wishes that no longer serve us. Maybe we just give up berating ourselves for lousing up plan A and move on, lighter, with our lives.