“I enjoy my life!”.
So rings out my current mantras. My life coach, bless her big-little-glass-is-half-full-cheerleading-heart, called BULLSH*T (can you EFFIN’ believe it???) on me when I regaled her of my overflowing “plate” i.e. life. In short, “I don’t have time for my blog!”.
Only she can call “bullish*t” in such a way that it feels like a hug full of hope. That’s magic man. That’s “she-definately-has-been-called-to-do-this-sh*t” mojo.
I’m sensitive. More often than not (I’m sad to say), when I get called out, especially when in the overwhelmed, agitated, anxious, emotionally wrung out place I’ve been in, you better find the nearest bath of holy water in which to immerse yourself. My self pity has a battalion of screeching line backers straight out of hell. Don’t f*ck with my self pity. OR my excuses. Or woe be to you.
Of course now that I am aware of this about myself and find the feelings associated with the hypocritical mess of being unwilling to take AND USE constructive criticism – OBJECTIONABLE, my demons have withered a bit. Their reaction time has slowed. Really their performance is embarrassing lately. I never thought I’d be grateful for poor performance.
However, my demons still have teeth. And they have not been banished.
So when my life coach called BS, they groaned and whined. I, however, exhaled and felt sunlight on my shoulders (something foreign here in the midwest for sometime now!).
Practice. Practice. Practice. Badly. Imperfectly. Devotedly. Practice.
My last act of service was Tuesday at approximately 10:57 am. I gave the barista at a Starbucks my debit card, leaned in and whispered to him would he please use it to buy the mother with the two toddlers behind me her order, while I waited for my espresso drink. I thought he understood what I was trying to do. NOTE TO SELF: BE SPECIFIC with those you recruit to collude in your mission.
He gave me up and since my espresso was backlogged, she walked over to me and smiled. She thanked me warmly and genuinely stated what a great moment we were having. She let me know she would be paying it forward. THAT excited me.
Yes I still need to sit and strategize so I can be more consistent, more successful executing this challenge. One or two a week falls too short of my intent.
However, I comfort myself knowing how present I have been in my life recently: in my children’s lives, in my marriage, in nesting my home.
Being “present” can be exhausting. I don’t drink. I don’t smoke. I’m not therapeutically shopping. I’m not eating or gambling or sexting. (Make no mistake. I’ve done ALL of the above – and more – at one time or another. Sometimes ALL AT ONE TIME!). So I can absolutely justify squandering my valuable time reading US magazine (I can actually FEEL a film creep over my skin and brain cells running for their lives; and still I can’t stop!) or watching one of the Real Housewives franchises. The fact that I can justify it does not mean it’s actually justifiable.
See, all of this pursuit of spiritual and mental and emotional and physical goodness makes my freakin’ eyes glaze over some days, and a little emergency switch seems to flip shutting down and any more inflow or outflow of productivity.
Bullsh*t? Sort of.
“I AM THE MASTER AT CRAFTING TIME!”
I can do this. I can write in lieu of the rag mag OR the reality show. Yes, that means I can still do one. Just not both in the same night. That’s what I can do. See that? I just crafted time, ha-HA!!!
I can write even when I haven’t been of service that day. Because quite frankly I have a lot to say. And despite the suspicious comments I’m receiving which I’m pretty sure are spambots (the internet is a much scarier ocean that I had nary a CLUE about!), this is ultimately MY internal/external journey.
This journey, it turns out, is all about reaching beyond who I am now to connect with who I fully am as well as ACCEPTING exactly who I am, right here, right now.
Happy Valentine’s Day.