Patience, Prayer, Action, Kittens

First, thanks for the sympathy yesterday, it helped. And I didn’t think of myself as someone uncomfortable with being on the receiving end of that but I learned that I am. I also learned that reaching out for help, just the act of doing that, gives lift.

I mean I knew that from my various learning learnings plus insta but yesterday I felt it “experientially,” as they say. Coming out and writing about what’s really going on rather than kittens or soup helped.

I also went and got my meds checked. I went and got my flaring chronic body pain tended. I called my longest-running friend who knows my heart and knew me when and loves me even after everything, who for some reason I don’t call often  (she’s busy, has big job, has big fabulous family and life, don’t want to bug her). I didn’t even say, “I’m in the shitter please call” but she called right back anyway and was, just, reassuring, connected, sympathetic. She didn’t know. I hadn’t reached out.

I did fifteen minutes of an hour-long “groove” class at the Y, which felt good. I ate well. I applied for another yoga teacher training just because it seems somewhat appealing when most things seem daunting, heavy, no-can-do. And tentatively felt good about allowing myself to follow the light even when it doesn’t “make sense.”

I’ve done big life transitions before, not sober, not with a child, not with as much self-awareness or fear as this time. My past M.O. has been burn it all down and run, numb. Push and keep pushing until a new life acceptable to my ego forms.

This time, I’m baby steps, one day at a time, slow and steady, grow where planted, wait for higher guidance. Witness. I’m told patience is a virtue. I’m told prayer works. Grateful for my teachers, for you. I’m gonna keep going.

www.livingeveryminuteofit.com

p.s. The kittens have figured out how to turn the kitchen sink faucet on and are drinking from it. Is that a thing?