Waking up.

Or: Open your eyes ya ding dong, you're living it.

During pandemic, I finally started a tiny garden, these are my dahlias.

This morning I woke up, rolled over and put my arm around Alan, I stared at the back of his head for awhile, took my mouth guard out and smiled. We get a ton of light in the bedroom in the mornings, there are a bunch of plants and a fluffy rug, it’s delightful. I rolled onto my back and looked at the ceiling and it occurred to me, fuck, this is it. It’s happening. It’s here. I’m living it.

Before I turned 35, almost 5 years ago now, I became obsessed with self improvement. I started meditating, exercising and eating clean. I tried to cultivate a habit of daily writing, I called it the 90 Day Challenge (if you wanna take a trip down memory lane, I wrote a blog post about it). I was very focused on achieving things, setting goals and making them happen. The pros, I formed a lasting meditation practice. (I may dare thank that practice for the life I’m currently living.) The cons, I finished 90 days and life was still just life.

I’ve been reflecting on this for years. It’s probably what I think and write about the most; living for the future instead of taking a deep breath and looking around. I started writing a post about it that was going to be called, Ideas for the Future, it included all the things I want to get accomplished but from my more mature perspective of, it’ll get done, don’t miss the moment fretting about when. A message to myself in a way, loosen the reins, lay back, look at the sky and suddenly, you get somewhere. Stop freaking out and things work out. It was a rambling post (kind of like this one) that I just couldn’t seem to get right.

It takes me at least, AT LEAST, 6 months to get anything done. I form an idea, I become obsessed with it, I agonize over why I can’t have it now or how I can make it happen faster. Meditate, journal, read my Tarot cards. Cry. Fret. Get another idea and forget about the one I was just losing my mind over. I forget about it and suddenly, it’s here.

This year feels like one of the first I’ve ever had that has started without a sense of urgency. I feel completely content with slow and steady progress, with being where I am right now. Building habits. Reflecting at the end of the year on how many things I’ve accomplished through patience rather than through force. Maybe it’s because I’m turning 40 and glimmers of existential dread have started to haunt me, “oh my god, slow down, there’s no going back, my neck will get saggier, my eggs will all die, will I ever get in shape, are my hottest days over?” Maybe I’m learning to enjoy the moment more, not listen to those ghostly whispers. Maybe I’m letting go. Maybe I’m simply allowing myself to be happy? Hilarious how challenging that can be. I’m finding it really hard to wrap this post up because I’m not exactly sure what point I’m trying to reach. Ha. I think it’s just that. There is no point to reach. The sun comes up everyday, we reach milestones and the minutes keep ticking. I guess what I’ve realized most is that it’s about sinking into that exact minute, putting your mouth guard on the night stand, staring at the ceiling and really relishing exactly where you are.

I’m very grateful.

Thanks for being here. Have a wonderful weekend. I will talk to you soon.