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.
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),...
Because it *is* art, this life--and art doesn't have to be beautiful. It doesn't even have to make sense or have some greater meaning. It only has to evoke, provoke, inspire its viewer to be better or different or other or like. It just has to move you--toward or away.
Movement and stillness--that's our dance; that's what we're learning.
Boundaries are vitally important, and getting intimate with where yours fall is part of this ongoing process of self-care and self-discovery.
But if you're anything like me, I suspect that some of those boundaries have morphed from privacy fence to prison wall. And perhaps you, like me, have noticed your perimeter getting smaller and smaller and that you've begun to gaze at your walls rather than approach them.
And it begs the question (for me, at least)--where did that intrepid wall-climber go? Where did the rebel disappear to? When did the tester of limits, the darer of the unknown, vanish? And how long will I keep myself prisoner before I realize that this is no longer self-preservation, but habit?
So maybe it's time to gain a little ground, to get a little perspective. Not from the top, necessarily, not right away. But a peek over the edge? The view from a convenient tree limb? I think that might be a very good start.
We so often forget how strong we are. You know why? Because strength is hard--it's hard-won, and it's hard to maintain for extended periods of time. But it's those marathons of strength--the ones that leave us exhausted and in need of long recovery--that we remember best.
Well, of course we don't want to live those again, and of course we think of them with trepidation, in fear of their recurrence. But what we forget is that we have successfully won every day we've lived through--and life ain't for sissies, man. Every single one of us has what we need to get ourselves up, move through our days (to do so gracefully is optional), and to thank both our guides/gods/powers and ourselves for navigating our course once more.
To do anything more, we must first realize that we can do anything.
I suppose it's about the old "what cannot be cured must be endured." So the question becomes, not why, but how? How do we find ways not only to keep going, but to find life and light and joy around those things we cannot change. Or, maybe (maybe!), cannot change yet.
It's that *yet* I need to hang onto. Because "yet" hints at hope, hints at a time when maybe endurance won't be quite so necessary, when we can relax into what is without the heavy burden of what if and if only.
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...
My superpowers are self-discipline, time management, canceling plans, and cutting to the chase. Not very exciting, I know. Really, I'd be a very boring superhero--my alter ego's costume would smack more of uptight scholar than a sleek and sexy, skintight-and-leather cat woman.
But, you know, you can't help who you are, and you can't project something you're not for very long. On the contrary, it's important to know one's superpowers and to take (a light-hearted) pride in them.
Here's what we can't help: our age, the people we come from, our genetic inheritance, and our past. Yet this is what we worry about far more than most anything else--how we'll hide/explain/ignore them takes up far too much of our valuable resources.
I'm still not comfortable with what I can't control, but what of it? The only solution is to let it go (hardly likely), or to cozy up next to discomfort and persevere anyway.
I always have been a bit of a rebel--let's throw that into the superhero category. I c...
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.