It’s 8:45; I send my daily article at 9am, and I’m no where near ready.
I’m dog-sitting in town and there was just a knock at the door that took me away from my work during the final precious minutes.
I’d been trying to get out something about the depth of winter and the impatience I feel at wanting my own spring NOW. Because winter is just a reflection of the deep layers of heaviness I’m under.
The bleak, empty vistas and endless expanses of white are just a metaphor for the growth I’m not seeing below. The inherent reorganization and reformulation that’s taking place in perfect timing with the rhythm of things.
But I don’t care about the rhythm of life and everything unfolding in perfect timing. I want it NOW.
I want business success now. I want love now. I want travel and a new car and all the trappings of the life I desire NOW.
I’m sick of waiting. I don’t care if the pleasure is in the journey. I’m cold, I’m alone, and I’m not having fun.
I want out NOW.
Yet everywhere I look I see cold, white emptiness. I don’t see signs of growth. I don’t see that damn “corner” my horoscope keeps promising I’m about to turn. I only see white.
The insane asylum that is a Central New York winter.
The bleakness that is my attitude.
And then someone knocked on the door. Not just any someone, but a woman I know. An organic farmer, a business owner, an essential oils maven.
She wasn’t expecting to see me at someone else’s house, but I took the two-dozen farm eggs for the owner and we chatted about oils and business.
Her excitement for life is palpable.
And as I closed the door, I teared up just a little. Because the signs of spring are there.
When I moved here 2 years ago, I desperately wanted to feel part of a community and know and be known by my neighbors.
And so it is.
When I moved here 2 years ago, I hoped to get my business off the ground and feel competent and skilled in my new field.
And so it is.
And now I’m ready to transition my incredible life of travel, community, yoga, and coaching into a sustainable way of living.
And so it shall be.
As long as I can find the beauty in even the barren moments.
- What to do when you start slipping on your goals - January 9, 2019
- “But it’s not safe to be me…” 3 approaches to the fear of not being safe - January 7, 2019
- 3 tangible gifts of living your truth - January 5, 2019