All in My One Word

I would like to be free.

My ego would rather I not write tonight, because truthfully, what I most need to say is that I’m feeling tender and weak and a bit untethered. My ego has always hated the idea that someday, I might look in the mirror and feel compassion for the woman staring back at me, so it tries to keep me from ever looking for too long. My ego would rather I bow down to the gods of production and perfection and certainty.

A prayer for 2019 (and please, hold me to it.)

I wake up on the morning of January 1 feeling a bit achy and like I can’t quite take a deep breath. Staring at the ceiling, I realize that I’m walking into a new year with more questions than answers. Each December, I pause to take inventory of the year that is coming to a close. I think about my core desired feelings and the word I chose to meditate on for the year. My word for 2018 was garden.

On sun salutations, springtime, and the spiritual discipline of slowness.

There's this beautiful old tree overlooking the Reedy River and Falls Park that has affectionately been named The Medusa Tree. It stands, all of its roots exposed from soil erosion and weathered storms, with a quiet sort of dignity that makes my breath catch every time I stop to look. For me, the tree serves as a bit of an altar, reminding me that growth really is worth the risk of vulnerability. 

The new normal.

I wish I could say that coming back felt like meeting an old and dear friend -- the kind that you can just pick back up where you last left off and feel like no time has passed at all. But really, this doesn't feel much like that. I'm not the same person I was before October happened.

The long way home.

I didn't expect that the past year would be one of the loneliest uphill battles. I didn't know how many times I would raise my fists at heaven and tell him he got it wrong and that we didn't actually belong here. If we belonged here, it wouldn't be so hard. If this is where we were supposed to be, then I shouldn't feel so alone.