Deep peace of the quiet earth to you. 

Ever-present insulation.

January 4, 2018


I've never really taken to New Year's resolutions for so many reasons--most of which can be found in the pages of this little blog. But this year I've picked up something different, not a resolution, but a, what? Phrase? Affirmation? Mantra? I'm not entirely fond of any of those labels, but I suppose that's what it is. A sentence. There. That's better. An anchor to pull me back from the wickedly familiar brink. 


This year my sentence, my anchor, is 'find ease.' That's it. Find ease. I've written it on small scraps of paper, stuck post-its on my computer at home and at work, and used my best penmanship to write it on cardstock later tucked into an extra frame by the bathroom mirror. 


Here's my thinking: my kryptonite is anxiety, which is constricting and itchy, entirely too tight for comfort. But there must always be space somewhere because I am, after all, still breathing, aren't I? So there must be room also for expansion, for relaxation. And where the body goes, the mind follows. So, yes. Ease. That, if I had three magical wishes, would be my first--always and easily to find ease, space, and okay-ness. 


And you know what? It works. Yesterday was the test run and every time anxiety crept in, or the pushy, nagging feeling that I *should* say yes to this or that invitation when I really, really, really needed to say no, I looked at my card. Find ease. After that, everything seemed a bit more manageable--almost laughably so. 


And that's okay. I think laughing (compassionately) at the convoluted mazes we run simply because we think we ought to is so much healthier, so much more freeing than getting trapped by, and convinced of, our own so-called absurdity. 








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