Dissecting the Bird

I have been feeling off the past several days.

De-centered, if you will.

I’m doing all of the “right” things:
I have my daily ritual.
I drink water.
I write about my emotions while I sit in font of my happy lamp.
I work out or I dance for a minimum of 30 minutes.
I meditate for 10 minutes, sometimes more.
I take my vitamins while I make breakfast.
(Most days it’s a green smoothie with pomegranate garnets sparkling on top,
other days I just want two plain scrambled eggs. I dont like to scramble them in a bowl first—they are better when you mush and fold them together in the pan, extra butter—it’s a texture thing)
I write a to-do list.
I take care of the #1 thing on my to-do list.
I hide my computer.

For about 3 weeks this has felt lovely. Restorative. Grounding. Safe.
But the past couple days have gnawed on.
I know why. Areas I need growth in.
Areas chalked full of resistance.
Areas in need of some self-compassionate talk.

“You can’t be comfortable and vulnerable at the same time” as they say.

I hate this fact.
I’m trying hard to be patient with it.
To shift it towards a growth-mindset.
I’ll get there.
But right now, I hate this fact.

So, I spend equal time in distraction mode:
I go to pole for the 2nd time this week.
I show up in my batman pajamas because I think that’s hilarious, and I was also too late to put real clothes on.
I wore my sparkliest pole spanx.
I grunt and sweat and crack up as I bruise bizarre parts of my legs and fall on my head a lot.
My incredible small group of sparkle-pants-wearing-handstand-doing-loving-smart-motivated-big-hearted-oddly-specific-circus-skilled friends all walked over to the bakery for our Saturday fix and laugh so hard we all have sore abs the next day.
I come home and clean every space I own.
Scrub the toilet, shower, sink.
Clean the kitchen,
Do my laundry.
Light a candle.
Do a lunar eclipse meditation.
A close friend calls me.
Read sci-fi.
Read more sci-fi.
Read more, more sci-fi.
(It’s nice to be in a different set of worlds)

I wake up this morning to do the whole thing again.
Finding equal parts discomfort and safety in my ritual.
Laughing and cursing at the science behind why this works the way that it does.
Laughing and cursing that I know the science all too well.
Laughing and cursing that it doesn’t make it easier to put into practice.

I get through most of the ritual.
I drink water.
I journal feelings, happy lamp aglow.
I eat breakfast. Two eggs scrambled in the pan. Extra butter.
I write a to-do list.
I do one thing on the to-do list.
I head to my favorite Sunday morning DanceChurch session.

I pick up my phone to start a meditation timer.

And there is this text.
Simple, thoughtful, touching, beautiful.

I had no idea how badly I needed to hear these words.
I had no idea a year could feel so long ago.
I had no idea I could grow so many lives in that span.

I also had no idea that sometimes I get so caught up in “growing” that I continue to miss the point. Again and again.