I write from where I am, as truthfully as I can- although I don’t always share everything I write (that sound you hear is a collective sigh of relief from my sons and ex-husbands.) Today I tried several times to write and this is what came:
I feel like I have nothing to say. I can feel those of you who know me personally smiling. I know- must be two moons in the sky.
Ever have a day or a week where everything feels. . . . old, empty, meaningless? Where you want to snap the head off the waitress who tells you brightly that perhaps she brought you the noxious tasting immune boosting drink you didn’t order instead of the chocolate shake you did “because everything happens for a reason.”
Ever want to just behave badly without having to apologize or feel like you have failed to be the calm compassionate human being you claim (and some days know) is your essential nature?
Yes, I’m grumpy.
I know all the things that should, could and often do help: good nutritious food, exercise, my daily practise of meditation, prayer and writing. And I am doing them. Sort of. Most of the time.
Now, it occurs to me that if I allow this to be posted and you are a new reader expecting or hoping for some deep wisdom or inspiration, this little diatribe may send you running. Sorry, but this piece is written by a mere mortal. Some days I know life is good, but that’s not the experience I am having. I don’t know how to get there from here. I am experiencing a restless, peevish (now there’s a good word,) impatient, disgruntlement.
That’s as far as I could get. Then something happened: I was scheduled to do some one-on-one work with people on the phone today. I did two ninety minute sessions with two different individuals on the phone. I’ve been working with each of them long distance for a couple of months. Although the sessions were for them- something happened for me.
I stopped feeling grumpy. My heart opened as I heard their honesty, their struggles and their hopes. I celebrated their growing self-awareness and self-care and gently challenged them to live more of who they are. I laughed with them at our shared human foibles. I mirrored some of their courage and beauty back to them. I asked questions and listened deeply to their answers. In fact, it was truly a privilege to be present with each of them for ninety minutes. I was inspired. Their lives are different than mine and yet, as so often happens when we are truly with another, we discover how connected we are. In extending myself to them and in receiving the gifts they offered to me, I reconnected to the goodness I know is life in each of us.
And where I was grumpy, now I am grateful.
Oriah Mountain Dreamer (c) 2010