Oh man! Oh hi!! It feels like my heart is bursting just to be back here writing. Just sitting here for awhile typing words onto a blank page in my new beautiful home with HGTV muted in the background and a candle that smells deliciously of cactus (!) on the table. Blogging has always been my way to escape. I turned to this platform at a very young age. I was about 13 or 14 when I first did a program at Columbia University and I was introduced to the magic that is blogging. Being able to post my words in real time and then share them with the entire world is both terrifying, but also completely magical. It’s the difference between seeing a friend in real life and via FaceTime, both are “real” per say, but later allows you a little more distance, a tad bit more space for self-reflection.
Recently my heart has been pulsing with words, but I haven’t given it any space to allow them to hit the page. I’ve been transitioning between cities – New York to Boston – transitioning between counting days and having 97 days of sobriety, and transitioning from living with my ex-girlfriend to living completely alone. Lots of transition, and little time. My days have felt like they’ve been flying by. Maybe it’s true what they say, when you’re having fun time flies. I feel like I’ve never experienced that before though. Time usually doesn’t skip by, it lags. I remember feeling like everyday over the summer took forever to finish. I couldn’t see through them, I could only sit in them. Today and yesterday and the day before that flew by. I’m busy trying to check off a busy to-do list, making new, encouraging, loving friends, and reminding myself that self-care actually has to come first.
Whenever I get super passionate about something I tend to talk super fast. I’ve had a bunch of moments with new friends recently where I feel like I can’t get the words out any fast, so much so that sometimes I forget how much information can be conveyed between he lines. Sometimes I don’t need to say it all. Sometimes silence is another way to say, “I’m okay,” or, “space would be nice.” When it comes to boundaries I’m just trying to figure out what I ask for and what I let God do for me. Everything? Some things? Sitting on my meditation mat this morning I asked for His help and the response was short, simple, “you’re okay.” And then the light fractured just perfectly on the side of Buddha’s head and my face was bathed in light and my heart which had felt tight for days, loosened. Leonard Cohen wrote, “there is a crack in everything, that is how the light gets in.” It is one of my favorite quotes. For someone who has always tried to seal up my brokenness, tape together my pieces in one giant display of OKAY-NESS, permission to be fractured is so welcome. Sometimes I just need the reminder, from friends, from strangers, from the silly love notes I purchased for myself, or the strange shadow-play outside my window. You’re okay. That’s what they all say.
There are so many new things surrounding me: new sheets, new furniture, a new turquoise ring that somehow fits perfectly, looks natural and glistens in just the right light. There’s new friends with new boundaries, new conversations, new days. I’m trying to spend more time between the lines: letting myself sit, breathe, and stop when I need to. Knowing that the days may feel short, but my life is long. Everything doesn’t need to be done today. What needs to be done today is a lot of caring for my heart, checking in with my tribe those that remind me how to do this thing called life, and that’s it. I stay sober. I breathe. I love. I show-up. All today. Maybe, hopefully tomorrow. What I hope for you this week is something Esther Hicks wrote:
Tell everyone you know: “My happiness depends on me, so you’re off the hook.” And then demonstrate it. Be happy no matter what they’re doing. Practice feeling good, no matter what. And before you know it, you will not give anyone else responsibility for the way you feel-and then, you’ll love them all. Because the only reason you don’t love them, is because you’re using them as your excuse to not feel good.