Warning: I am about to get countercultural.
For those of you who have known me for a while, this isn’t shocking at all. I like to throw my picnic blanket out across countercultural and gnosh on what foods seem entirely unpicnic-like. I choose to be this way. It feels more fun to me.
I just got caught up with my 31 Days of Bold Stories posts.
In reality, I was never behind.
I was always right on time.
As long as I stayed present to the pulse of the moment and followed that moment where it wanted me to go, I was fine. I was right on time. I started, I continued, I flowed and here I am: all caught up with convention and unconvention simultaneously.
Isn’t that fun?
So, if this is true for me - it is true for you as well.
Pretty darned glorious.
How about a quick story from my childhood, when I got this before even having a clue it was something to get.
I was a little girl when the first astronauts landed on the moon.
I remember the moon landing was took place during one of
our infamous summer vacations where we rented a cabin someplace in upstate New York. It was rustic so naturally had no
television.
On this once-in-a-lifetime occasion, my Dad rented a hotel room
for the night (I swam in the pool in my underwear and my seven year old self felt delightfully decadent!)
I can still see my Dad, huddled at the end of the bed -- eyes glued to the TV screen with pure excitement on his face as he intently
stared: he was almost boylike.
This was a rarity to observe from my father in those days.
And I also remember on summer nights at home, taking quiet walks with my father where it was just me and him, holding hands
wordlessly walking along the sidewalks observing the night star scape with Dad occasionally pointing at a satellite or constellation.
In those moments, the "There" was exactly where we were. That was the perfect place to be, the foundation for everything else. I felt more safe and protected on these walks with Dad than I felt anywhere else in my little life.
Somehow in those moments I could "get" that I didn't have to be frightened. I became clear I didn’t need to handle all the details.
My most important task was being in those moments, those sacred times, and honoring the man who was and is, my father.
In those moments I had no idea of what was to face me later. I didn’t know about the times which were inconceivably joyful
nor did I have any inkling of the moments which were to be inconceivably heartbreaking.
None of that mattered. It doesn’t matter still.
What mattered then and what matters now is staying in the pulse of the moment, taking care of the me exactly as I was and knowing, in my cells, that honoring all that is sacred is a big part of honoring myself.
Being present like this tunes us into the miracles under our nose which sometimes wait for us to take notice so that we can continue to move forward right now.
Some questions for you to consider this weekend.
What helps you to continue to move forward?
What is it that inspires you?
Write or paint or dance or collage or meditate and watch these questions come into form.
Let me know what shows up.
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I got started on Day 3 and now... with a grand "ta-da!" I'm all right on time, caught up, good to go and oh so pleased to report it!
I'm grateful you are reading.