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...
Remember--it's just a day, neither good nor bad, but here and sacred and worthy of your attention, no matter what is (or isn't) on your to-do list.
We have to unlearn our negativity, our dread, our anxiety and replace it with wonder--with force, if necessary. Because it is wonderful--even if it hurts you to say it because of circumstance, say it anyway. Say it until you can pretend to believe it and then say it until it means nothing and then say it and say it and say it until it means everything.
We can't go back. Goddess help us, we can't. I think the hardest thing about being an adult is coming to terms with that-- coming to terms with the fact that, yes, you can do *anything* you choose, but you have to do it from where you stand. There is no room for regret, for 'if only,' for 'otherwise.'
Let those thieves in the door and before you know it, you'll be left empty-handed without time left for anything else.
Do any of us know where we're going? Perhaps the lucky few who have discovered, truly, who they are might. But for the rest of us, I think just knowing where we are is the best we can do.
Speaking for myself, I've always found that "where do you want to be in five years" a terrible question. Who can know such a thing? Well, no one, obviously. So I'll rephrase--who has any inkling of such a thing? There are things I'd love to do--travel off of this continent, buy a house, pay off school loans. Those are my top three. But to put them in a time frame fills me with anxiety and throws into sharp relief the time I've "wasted" or spent otherwise.
And, of course, sometimes the universe has other plans for us. So. Back to the beginning. Knowing where we are, where we (sometimes, quite literally) stand, is, with whole-hearted certainty, the best we can do at a moment's notice.
Probably, in the past, way back when our daily intention centered on nuts & bolts survival, we didn't worry about how much--or how little--we liked ourselves. We had no access to such luxury, or such anxiety--take your pick. And maybe that was better in some ways, maybe that focus on the primary objective was healthier to the mind, if more dangerous to our longevity.
Of course, I can't say. And, of course, my intention is not to make light of what it takes to survive, but to offer a contrast to what and how we label what's vital, what's important, and what we allow to take up our mental space, day in and day out. Because the truth is, we're lucky. We're lucky that our prime directive isn't primarily to get through a day intact.
But it feels that way sometimes, doesn't it? We FEEL lucky to have survived some days, and no amount of "at least..." will shift that. But on the good days, we see it, don't we? We see the divide, we understand what makes us so lucky to be here, now, in this spa...
I too often forget how not alone we are at any given moment, in any given place. Surprising, considering, I grew up hearing voices and spending nights in my grandparents' quite haunted house. Not to mention being lucky enough to be blessed with a sister who has an uncanny ability to know what's coming and when.
But when I remember, what a relief it is to be lifted from a place of alone-ness. What a relief to realize that, though metaphor may they be, all the fantasy novels have it right--there's something out there.
But then I've always been comfortable with the inexplicable nature of spirit. It's such a relief to have a collection of worlds that we can't micromanage, pick apart, predict, or muddy in the messiness that is part and parcel of having a body, of having an ego.
It's lovely to think of history and future, simultaneously swirling around us, reminding us that maybe this day/week/year drags on, but oh, the rest goes by so quickly.
A reminder to remember spirit because that's wh...
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...
As I type this, there's a bird outside my window learning how to sing. I can't help but think that, if I hadn't been up at this hour, if I hadn't stared out the window waiting for inspiration to strike, if I hadn't listened, I would never have heard something so marvelous.
But that's the thing--I was here. I don't have to think about why or about how I could have missed it, had I woken later or earlier. There's is always something that marvelous, we're just usually too wrapped up in ourselves, in trying to solve and remember absolutely everything, to notice.
So looked at that way, our timing is always perfect. Do you think that could be a philosophy by which we could live? If so--what freedom we could grant ourselves. Our timing is always perfect. Full stop.
Imagine how easily we'd breathe. Imagine how much we'd notice.
The moment you have, as opposed to the moment(s) you don't have (yet)--that's the trick, isn't it? that's the lifelong work of remaining where you are, rather than madly catapulting yourself into created moments, anticipated moments, moments most likely fraught with some dire prediction or other. All we have is the moment we're in.
For all the good it does, it bears repeating: all we have is the moment we're in.
Which begs the question, who am I trying to convince here? I'm certainly not teaching anyone anything they don't know--myself included. It's the putting it into practice where we need the reminding--daily, heck, hourly reminding. Minute-by-minute reminding, most days.
So we crack on and haul ourselves, kicking and screaming, back from the edge of anticipation and dread and back into the moment where we can, perhaps, catch a breath or two before chasing ourselves down again.