As my grandmother used to say, “Dirt will wait, but your children growing up so quickly won’t.” She didn’t mean that we should live in filth, but sometimes we get too obsessive about the small stuff; and the real interactions of love, family, and friendships go by the wayside . . . never to come again. When you look at it like that, a dish in the sink can stay there. ~ Sylvia Browne
I woke up in the morning with overwhelm.
Stay in bed a little longer . . .
Preferring lucid dreaming to prioritizing the million tasks that swallowed my days. Always another plant to water. Fungus gnats to eliminate. Food to prep. Dishes to scrub. Laundry to wash (How did one person wear so many clothes?). Dust balls proliferated so fast and steady
I imagined a tiny gnome in the corner knitting together hair and skin and dead fungus gnats around the clock. Life made messes, and I scurried around feeling, every day, unready to begin, unable to catch up, impossible to get ahead.
As far back as I can remember, I’ve had trouble getting up in the morning.
Every time I went to a sleepover as a kid and into teenagehood, I’d wake up to an empty room full of flattened sleeping bags, happy chatter tinkling in from the other room with the buttery smells of breakfast faintly lingering. It would be almost noon, and I’d be lucky to get lunch. I felt strange and alone, set apart by this inexplicable need to sleep, like I was dead to the world, and it was the only time I could find peace.
Every morning, I wade through a tinge of depression as I begin my day. Gargle with salt water, juice celery, write a little. Me and my cat dance, following each other from room to room. I burn incense, sage myself, light candles. Soaping up any leftover dishes, I tidy the kitchen and make the bed. Ticking off the basics. I get into it, and the day takes me. Some days I sing or chant. It feels good. My mind resets after meditating, and gives me a fresh start to the day, like the one I wish I had to begin with.
I was listening to an Abraham Hicks recording where a woman talked about this very thing — waking up depressed in the morning. She started sliding right to the floor and meditating before she did anything else. Said it helped.
Maybe I’d try this. Start differently. Wash my mind clean first. Before the hygiene and chores and things that needed to be done each day. Maybe my mind and heart needed me to be present in order to begin.
But it’s been like this forever . . .
Could a lifetime of morning blues become brighter? Do things ever really change? Life can seem so tedious and small.
How can I expand?
Questions and self fix-its filled my days as much as chores. Once one steps on the seeking path, all of life becomes asking.
My pursuit of knowledge ebbed and flowed in voracious bouts of reading and YouTube tutorial, searching for healers, spiritual groups, yet to find my people, hoping they would blossom from my writing, suspecting they would be beyond what I expected.
Could I learn to loosen into myself and be okay with my myriad quirks?
The more I relax, the more Joy seeps in.
It didn’t all have to be done or figured out today, but I was ready to make the most of what I was here to learn. A certain amount of chopping wood and carrying water was unavoidable on the physical plane, and I didn’t necessarily want to never wash a dish again (although I wouldn’t mind!).
Recently, me and The P.I.C. (partner in crime), sat on a sun-drenched patio to the sounds of acoustic guitar and chirping birds, iced drinks and a panini crisped to perfection at the ready, books flopped open . . . Soaking in all life had to offer in that moment.
“This,” he smiled lazily, “is luxury to me.”
It was simple, easy and delicious. Didn’t involve yard work. A tiny sliver of a break from life’s mundane tasking. Enough to get me through to the next sunny afternoon on a patio somewhere. I could relish the in-between, when something delightful twinkled on the horizon. We had to set our stars there, create our Joy and make sure to sink all the way into those moments when inside them.