Well, a lot has been brewing. On the inside and on the outside. Life sometimes feels as though I am in a funnel cloud, just holding my breath until I get spit out, face buried in dirt, and sternum broken. Other times, it feels like I am on an electronic sidewalk in a fancy airport terminal, like Denver, looking out over the beautiful snow-capped Rocky Mountains, while I float on by with ease, grace, and style.
We have navigated sickness, a death, mountains of paperwork, the darkest and wettest winter in history. A beautiful weekend away, laughter, a free TV, lots of yoga and meals at home. I have been coming to terms with inner demons who scream incessantly that I'm not good enough or there's something wrong. I continue to struggle to find spaciousness and am quick on the draw to schedule every last but of white space. My receipts are piling up, to do lists litter my desk, the dirt between the stove and the fridge is taking on a color of it's own. Yet, my yoga mat is getting used. The gym membership is getting scanned more days than not. I am laughing. I am swimming in good books. I am capturing joy with my photo project on Instagram. I am making space for what matters to me.
All the things.
And you know what?
Sure, the bits of paranoia creep in every so often, freaking out that this isn't what it's supposed to look like. I am supposed to be thin, my house is supposed to be sleek, modern, clean. I am supposed to create these amazing meals at the end of my days, which of course I glide through and encounter no difficulties. My garden is well-kept and I treat my husband with TLC 100% of the time. Huh. Funny how realities create themselves.
But here I am. A rare night at home, downtime with Jimmy Fallon on the laptop, a glass of Pinot Noir in hand. Whole wheat pasta covered in parmesan cheese and crushed red pepper. The husband is out. And I could be doing a million other things that feel productive, but this is it. This is what I need. I read on Instagram this idea that "rest is the new hustle." Say that aloud. Three times. For recovering overachievers and perfectionists in the PA (Perfectionists Anonymous) program, stay with me. What if I gave up, even for an hour, the should & must life? What if I surrendered to the couch and did put my feet up? What if I didn't set the alarm on the weekends? (gasp!) What if I simply gave myself just a wee bit of a break?
All the things will still be there, that I know. Patiently waiting like little children lining up for ice cream on a 102 degree day. I'm not worrying. The only one yelling at me is...well...me.
I'm learning to surrender. Slowly. Briefly. Just for moments at a time. I am learning to savor it. And I'm learning to like it.