I'm going to be honest with you guys--I really rarely have no idea what I'm going to write when I sit down with these Satyas every morning. Some mornings I think, this is it. This is the day it will fail to happen. But it never has--not in four-plus years of doing these. Some days I get up and think, good lord. I cannot write another thing; I'm empty and no one wants to hear it anyway. But I always do it. It's like my meditation, my daily prayer, my daily practice.
Continuing in this full-disclosure fun--I'm tired of the hustle. You know? Seriously. I'm so tired of shlepping and shopping my wares, my classes, my education, my time, my money, and pouring it into this thing I call a career, but which certainly doesn't act like one. That's what was on my mind this morning as I dragged myself around my routine, so it ended up in the Satya (that's how these things always get created--whatever is floating around, unsettled, lands on the page to sort itself out).
And when I get here--to this place of tiresome exhaustion--I ask for help. I go and ask the thing that is wiser than me to give me a little advice. This Satya was its answer. And it's good, heartening advice. I'm not sure I believe it (yet), but I will. As the sun rises and I can get outside of both my house and my head, I think I'll be able to pull that truth toward me as the day pulls itself on, singing and dancing in all its summertime sassiness.
And maybe I'll play hooky one more day. Just one more. It is my life; I'm granted a little breathing room, a little rebellion. After all, how long can we last in this path of self-examination if every time we go within, we meet a carbon copy of that boss who always made you work weekends?