Start Where I Am
I am all sorts of discombobulated. We recently finished a big house project that necessitated getting EVERYTHING out of three bedrooms — beds, dressers, nightstands —along with everything off the walls. Furniture, clothes, and boxes of knick knacks we
I am all sorts of discombobulated.
We recently finished a big house project that necessitated getting EVERYTHING out of three bedrooms — beds, dressers, nightstands —along with everything off the walls. Furniture, clothes, and boxes of knick knacks were jammed into every nook and cranny of the house for nearly three weeks.
Just as the project was wrapping up, I got sick. Congested, no energy. I isolated for several days in case it was Covid. I kept thinking I was better, only to get knocked out again whenever I tried to do anything. I couldn’t go for a walk, let alone a hike, I couldn’t help put things back in place in the house. I couldn’t write.
Now, just coming out the other side of it all, I feel lost. I finally have a bit of energy to write … but I don’t remember how. My book project feels daunting. The ideas I jotted down while sick are scattered across various documents in my Google drive and I’m not sure it’s even worth trying to hunt them down.
Start where I am.
The thought comes to me while I’m casting about for a way to begin.
I’m feeling lost and confused, so that’s where I start. The lost feeling manifests as a fuzziness in my head, difficulty focusing. Also a scared feeling in the pit of my stomach. My legs feel heavy and weak. Breathing is a little shallow.
I consciously deepen my breathing. Unexpected tears. Slight headache. Tension in my shoulders.
Continue to breathe slowly and steadily. Breathe in, breathe out. I still feel lost, and unsure how to proceed.
Another thought, from my EHP call this morning: What if what was happening right now was perfect? What if it’s okay that I don’t know how to proceed? Instead of fighting it, what if I could accept that that’s just the way it is right now?
A sense of peace alongside the lost feeling. My shoulders feel softer.
This feeling is not resignation. Resignation is hopeless, small, brittle, sad.
Acceptance is soft and expansive. Acceptance is letting go of wishing things were different, and resting in the spaciousness of what is, right now.
When I’m practicing acceptance, I can more clearly hear my truth:
Right now I feel tired, still getting my energy back after being sick.
Right now I need to rest and drink some water.
Right now is not the time to GET ORGANIZED! and GET BACK ON TRACK!
I want to work on my book and write a bunch of posts and go for a hike and finish unpacking and putting the house in order.
I accept that I wish it was different. I accept that it’s not different. I accept that this is where I am right now.
It’s where I can start.