At this moment, whatever gift you have to give — your smile, your energy, your kindness, your shoulder, your donations, your ability to communicate, your problem-solving — your voting, your helping others to vote safely, your taking time to educate yourself about civics, and then help others to learn about it, your compassion, your help in preventing the spread of a pandemic — you are being called upon to use any of these or all of these gifts right now, when we need it the most to bring light into to the darkness.
My sense is that a part of me still struggles with overcoming the feeling of “not being good enough,” to step into a greater role. Yet, just as I’ve silenced the voice of the guidance counselor who told me I’d never write, I will silence the voice of my mother, mainly, who admonished me “not to get above my raisin.’” And so too, will I turn my ear from the ghostly voices of partners who demanded that their dreams and visions be placed ahead of my own. I know it must be done if I’m to shake this feeling of being uncomfortable in my own skin. When I ask, what is it that I’m to do, and I receive an answer, I must do it – whether it’s rest, or write, or read, or move my body.
Apparently, surrender, like writing, is a practice––not something to be done in fits and starts, but to choose daily.
I just woke from a two-hour nap, one way to tolerate the record-breaking heat of this late September day. I’ve been crazy tired this week, mostly because my mind is whirling with ideas and tasks. I’ve been on Whole 30 for most of the last four weeks, so I’m not struggling with the effects of eating food that triggers uncomfortable symptoms. I say most because three weeks in, I drank wine on a girls’ night. This gathering I desperately needed, after what seems like non-stop teaching while amping up my business. My vision is expanding, and I know at some point, teaching will trickle away when classes go back to being held inside the classroom. The commute for one of the gigs would be impossible.