Home Of the Snippets since at least the 1990’s

Came up to my office at 5:55 am. I know it was 5:55 because I checked my phone. In German, it’s called a Handy, which is cute, because most times that device comes in handy – when I’m not misplacing it innumerable times a day. Anyway, 5:55 was a wink and a nudge from The Schmoop himself. And really, any time that repeats itself is. Why? Because I’m a sap. Because throughout our relationship I would be the one to say, “Oh hey, it’s 11:11, make a wish.” And Schmoop would play along while simultaneously rolling his eyes. Now I know when I awake in the middle of the night, so often unsettled, and I see that it happens to be 12:12 or 2:22, that’s him saying, “I’m here. I’ve got you. Make a wish and go back to sleep sweetheart.” And so, I do. And so, 5:55 and we begin again.

Writing is so very often beginning again. The rust so thick and old that it’s become dust to wipe away from the keyboard as your brain and fingers attempt to work together. A dance of sorts; a stretch, a pause, a rhythm all its own, connecting with the pulse of the cursor. Comforting, intimidating, nurturing for the soul all in one swoop of the “publish” button.

Have you ever been so lost in an activity that when you re-enter the “real world” it’s jarring? This happened to me yesterday and I’m still unsettled by it. For me, it was listening to and discovering new to me music. I got lost in it and time flew. I wanted more and ever more as tunes unfolded and yet seemed familiar somehow. I smiled, I danced, I raised my hands and envisioned us at a concert. All of us. The collective us. I saw myself there and in my mind’s eye I was so beautiful – letting the song move my body, unabashedly unaware or self-conscious of appearing any sort of way other than letting my spirit shine. The spirit that’s far too bright to continue to wear the black dress.

But as I drove myself to dinner I noticed the world around me had kept spinning. Of course it had. It made me off-kilter though as I thrust myself out of the cocoon of comfort and joy (comfort and joy) and back into tidings that were not so joyful. The words “treatment plan” and “surgery” were passed across the table alongside the carrots, potatoes and bread. And wine. Thank you, God, for wine.

I’m no longer drinking to numb or forget or escape or to sleep. And in fact, am rarely drinking at all – a return or resettling into pre-trauma habits. My therapist will be happy to know this. And I’m happy, too. I had this thought the other day and it was as jarring as the breaking of the musical cocoon for this little butterfly.

I’m happy. There, I said it again. Almost out loud this time. I have faced fears that were thrust upon me through no choice of my own. And I still have tasks that are daunting in their finality and weight looming ahead. There are unknowns and uncontrollables around every corner. But I have learned with every corner I’ve turned so far on my path, that I control my road, the road does not control me. And, there’s usually a straightaway at some point after all of these turns. Using that straightaway to spread my arms wide, lift my head to the sky, and simply acknowledge my strength. It’s joyful. That resilience. That empowerment. That sunrise after a dark, dark night. Because everything’s right.

I’ll be wearing the above like a superman symbol across my chest when I embrace my yoga practice later this morning. It will cover my heart and will face the mirror so I can remind myself. “The body remembers”, is one of the favorite phrases of the teacher who will be leading my class. While she is, of course, referring to revisiting poses, I’ve found this to be true, both on the mat and off. The body does remember. Thank the gods and goddesses for that, too.

And so, let’s go greet the day, and the sun. The warmth a reminder of freshly cleaned keys, concocted cocoons, and standing mountain pose.

Hey. Hi.

I’m back. Bet you didn’t even know I’d left. As with everything in this space, I’m writing this as much if not more for me than for you. To remind myself of magic.

My yoga teacher didn’t say, “The body remembers.” today. But she did say this: “Move today like you are a blessing. Because you are.”

I want to carry that with me as well as my own final words above. Move today like you are a blessing. Because you are. You are.