Pop ups

 God,

I took rest for granted until it’s the only thing that would fix the problem. Sometimes trying to fit into the box is more harmful than anticipated. I actually attempted to meditate. Lasted five minutes. Letting my breath be the only thing I hear was more challenging. Being still with myself was harder than I thought. I did it. Pumping the brakes is what I need. Not what I’d want. Needs are eclipsing wants these days. It’s a wonder anxiety lifts when we listen to what our bodies are not so silently telling us. 

Eating a slice of thin crust supreme pizza, reading a good book or checking out a good sale is bringing me joy today. Joy isn’t manufactured. It’s created in the moments we don’t realize are special. Fairy tales are nice, but reality is where I reside. It’s in the dog’s whimpers and cries to go explore. It’s in the country song that rattles my cage. Those lyrics are too darn true for my liking. It’s in my two dollar Old Navy flip flops covered in grass stains already. It’s in my twenty year old watch that still tells time. 

So today, I will eat cut up watermelon, spit the seeds and let summer simplicity be my guide. The season of heat isn’t teaching when to strike. When to sit. When to savor. When to relish the taste of a refreshing popsicle after hours in the chlorine. 

Here’s to pop ups, fireworks and independence from our own minds. Mine needs a hiatus. Love the life you live. It’s the one chosen for you to enjoy. 

Storm

 God, 

Grant me peace

Serenity

A desire

To look inward

Not want 

What the world

Tries to sell

Don’t react

Live in harmony

With self

And find

That what

I want 

Isn’t anything

That I can hold

Yet holds me

Let me not

Become an explosion

Upon detonation

But a calm presence

In the storm

Stretching

 As I was stretching this morning, i came to a few conclusions. My mind and body are not where I’d like them to be. My mind and body needing watering and pruning daily. Missing a day is not optional. I’ve striving too much for an answer. Would I like God to just deliver like Domino’s Pizza. I sure would. It doesn’t happen that way. What if there was a satisfaction guarantee for those who wait. My therapist suggested that instead of worrying about what I write, just write. Write because it makes you happy. Write because the frustration has somewhere to go. Write because it’s what you do. 

The point is to have fun. Even if the finished product is crappy. The fact is you didn’t delete your thoughts. You let them stand. It is proof that what is shared is your heart. Raw and unfiltered. You’re job as a writer isn’t to paint a picture full of rosy fluff, but truth that isn’t crude or rude. It’s as honest as you can be without revealing your innermost fears. The ones you share with God and me. 

I need you to see that glass houses can only shield us for so long. The lies we tell ourselves will shatter faster than the cup that slips from fingertips. Growth is that acknowledging that acceptance is a daily activity. Acceptance isn’t a permanent gift, but a daily practice that is practiced daily. Acceptance isn’t finding or placing blame. It’s a learning curve. 

Life is not mastered or something to be mastered. Life isn’t a game to win. Life is what it is. It is a process of gratitude for opening eyeballs to start the journey once again. 

So honestly, I’m writing right now to keep putting words to paper, and let them sit there. Whether I like what I’ve written. Writing to restore joy to creating what is in this hard head.