What Did You Do


Today?

Me.

I drank a lot of beverages and read a lot.

I mean.

A LOT.

And I feel ok about that, in fact, I feel pretty fucking good.

Nope.

I did not get any of my readers, really when I say it like that I sound like I have five hundred of them to purchase and buy and read, but no, I just have two.

Granted.

They’re each probably a lot more reading than I want to fathom right now.

Especially since I am feeling rather, well, dare I say it, proud of the amount of work I have put in today.

Proud, and humbled, by my own abilities.

Which, as my person so roundly reminded myself of, I am the first to put down, the first to listen to that old trope of an idea, that I do not have enough time.

Time.

That illusive thing.

I don’t know exactly where I came up with this idea, but it’s an old one.

It goes pretty hand and hand with the other thought, persistent, annoying, and all together false, that I am not enough.

So.

There you have it, the two falsehoods that I labor under, lies, basically, that I tell myself: 1. I am not enough and 2. that there is not enough time.

Really.

I should just go toss myself in the ocean and end it now.

Nah.

There’s too much fun to be had negating these two little fuckers.

And.

Jesus.

Thank God for someone else’s perspective and also some one else’s insight to see what I have lacking, which is an appalling inability to see what I really do have in spades.

Love.

Light.

Joy.

Abundance.

Prosperity.

I have richness galore.

I can see it around me.

I am held by it.

I am lit by it.

Literally.

Figuratively.

There are just times when I wake up and I am caught by the throat, like a fox with a stoat, or a mouse in the claw of an owl, lifted screaming and terrified from my warm bed by the out dated and outlandish idea that I just don’t have enough time.

And since I don’t have enough time.

Why bother?

There it is.

The kernel in the conundrum and the anxiety that will lead my astray.

The “fuck its.”

I have had them and I am grateful that I can see them for what they are–ghosts of outlandish fears that still dance around the perimeter of my heart, trying to banish out that bright light that is mine, undeservedly, but mine nonetheless, to stand in, to bask in, to be a mirror of god in.

For that is what I am.

A mirror of God.

Of goodness.

Godliness, if you prefer.

The brush of magic not brusque or retiring.

Rather, fond, warm, contented.

A small light, mine, but my light.

I know it.

I know I am a light.

And when I criticize that lightness or that being I am some how saying God is a bad artist.

God is NOT a bad artist.

I have seen some art.

Art, in fact, motivates me.

I am still over the moon about going to New York.

I spent a few minutes, minutes I swear, I knew I had much to read today and I did not want to wile away time on OkCupid, Facecrack, or Air BnB, fantasizing about the perfect loft in just the right neighborhood of New York for my trip.

However.

It did not stop me from seeing what an awesome and powerful incentive it is to do the work.

Every page I turned.

Every sentence I highlighted.

Every concept I grasped and understood today.

One more word, one more idea, one more theory towards the goal of going on my trip to get me some more art in my life.

To have another experience.

To go forward.

Whether afraid or not.

But to continue forward on this grand adventure of my life.

What an exquisite gift to give to myself.

Now.

All this lovely perspective did not come about all on its own.

I had to do some work to get there and I did, in fact, wake up with the horrid feeling that there just was not going to be enough hours in the day.

But.

There was.

There always are.

And.

When I just focus on the exact next thing in front of me, the day goes by and the things get done.

If I get out of my hula hoop, focus on what others are doing, or not doing, I am not focused on myself, what I need to do for my own care, and I am allowing myself to be distracted by ruminating on things/people/places I cannot, nor ever can, control.

I am.

In effect.

Fucking powerless.

So powerless it can hurt.

If I choose to see it that way.

Or.

If I focus on the action.

Letting go of the results.

I can actually do some things.

I can accomplish something.

It might be small.

But.

Any action has great, huge, enormous, ripple affects out into the rest of my life, my day, my community.

I just have to comprehend that I don’t get to control the outcome.

That’s never the point anyhow.

I have no control over my environment.

Why is the refrigerator rattle so loud?

Damn it!

It’s raining.

So I can’t manipulate what I do to serve that purpose–to control my environment.

I was in fear today.

I started out that way.

Often.

I do.

But I have experience.

Some strength.

A lot of hope.

And most important.

I have faith.

I have done the deal and seen the results.

So.

I nestled into my routine.

I kept it small and right in front of me.

I ate the breakfast, did the prayers, dressed myself, cleaned myself, made myself lovely for the day and all I encounter (I always love that little reminder, to dress becomingly), I wrote a lot.

And when I saw myself trying to shove more things into the day I got honest with my people and I put it out to the Universe that there was only so much I could do and what ever it was.

It was enough.

Because there is enough time.

And I am enough.

And fuck that.

I am more than enough.

I am lovely.

Don’t you see?

Er.

Excuse me, you have nothing to do with it.

I see that I am lovely.

And that I was always.

And shall continue.

Always.

Always.

To.

Be.

Enough.

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