The most recent eclipse brought up so much for me – I cried buckets and let myself feel grief that had been buried for decades. In general, that happens during eclipses – people are more sensitive and emotional, and things that were hidden get revealed. It can be incredibly painful to look at something you didn’t want to look at. It may also feel scary and overwhelming.
To quote my friend Emma, we have default modes of thinking and being. We don’t question these modes and accept them hook, line, and sinker. And then when you realize you can choose differently, it’s hard to change direction. How are you supposed to let go of something you accepted as true for perhaps your entire life?!?
I can’t say what works for everyone but for me, I’m offering everything to the Divine Beloved. As Tosha Silver says in her book It’s Not Your Money, “The act of offering is a holy process. Anything truly surrendered is indeed made sacred. You’re not just throwing some mess at God, saying, ‘Hey, I hope You can handle it, dude, ‘cause I sure can’t!’ You’re no longer demanding, ‘How fast can I get my order delivered?’ Instead you’re softening and wondering, What am I learning here? How can I be kinder to myself right now? You take that unbearable burden and say, ‘I can no longer be an ego lugging this around like a pack mule. Please show me the way!’”
That’s what I want. To release the things that no longer serve me and recognize there’s a new way of being, a better way, a more loving way. Over the past week I’ve said to myself, “It’s true Rebekah, those things did happen. It’s OK to cry about them. Go ahead and cry as much as you need. And I also want you to remember that this life now belongs to Love and anything can happen.”
Love, love, love. Photo by freestocks on Unsplash
That’s another principle from Tosha’s book – that no matter what happened in the past, you don’t have to repeat it. You don’t have to replay the same patterns – whether they’re internal or external. You can have a new experience. When Divine Love leads, miracles happen. I’ve seen this in my own life with getting into recovery for an eating disorder, but also my relationship to money. I’ve shared before about how checks will appear out of the blue and that remains true. Instead of stewing in financial worry, I affirm all true needs are always met in amazing ways. And because I worked so hard to change my thinking about money, now I’m peaceful about it (most of the time) – when one client leaves, I know another will take their place.
What this past week is teaching me is the same process I used around money from Tosha’s book, I can apply to anything. She has a meditation about offering the burden of money to the Divine Beloved but I’m tweaking it to be more general so that whatever topic you’re struggling with – abundance, relationships, health, fear, whatever – you can cast aside the burden and let Love lead:
Focusing on your breath, feel yourself sinking into the Earth, your body heavy and relaxed. Get a clear symbolic picture of whatever it is you’re struggling with. Now, imagine that you’re taking this symbol to Love itself, however you envision it.
Feel that you’re now offering this burden to the Divine and that you’re saying, “Make me ready.” I’m ready to be shown. I’m ready to open to this, and I’m ready to have this belong to you. I’m ready to allow old restrictions, constraints, limits, and baggage to go.
Take me over and begin to do what my own ego never could. Take me over and begin to allow this change! Let me be uplifted and transformed. Imagine yourself offering the entire burden of this topic to that Force of Love. You may see a word; you may hear something; you may just feel it.
Know that whatever torture you’ve felt over this issue can finally be offered to God. What a relief. You’re finally really offering it, and you’re asking to be shown the right actions, from today onward. Those right actions will be shown, step-by-step, from the inside, all in right timing.
And then, as you’re ready, slowly come back out. Jot down anything that may have happened. Even the smallest message may turn out to be important.
What worked for me is doing this meditation every day until it felt true that yes, I could offer the burden of my finances to God. And now I’m doing the same thing with what was revealed to me during the eclipse. I’m ready for my life to belong to Love. Maybe you are too?
I dream of a world where we recognize we all have default modes of being and thinking. A world where we understand we don’t have to keep enacting the same patterns. A world where we grieve the past but also change our futures by letting our lives belong to Love. A world where we let Love lead.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I feel incredibly off. In large part, it’s because I’ve been sick with a cold for the last nine days. Add in lack of sleep due to said cold, disruption at my apartment because of construction, Trump returning to the White House, the collective heartbreak around the LA wildfires, continued destruction of Gaza, and all the other tragedies in the world, and I want to pull a Rip Van Winkle. If I could go to sleep and wake up once everything is better, that would be great.
When life is like this, I remind myself of a few things: One, I don’t need to tackle my life’s problems (or the world’s problems) all at once. I do what I can when I can. And two, what’s called for is the next right action. The next right action varies but it’s always something small and manageable like taking a shower, calling that person, or running an errand. Little things snowball into big things and I can trust the big things take care of themselves when I focus on taking the next right action over and over again.
Lastly, to keep myself from falling into a pit of despair, it’s important to find the good and remember the miracles all around me. To that end, I’m resharing a post from August 2023. I hope it helps you as much as it does me.
After a long day of staring at my computer screen, I walked outside to my apartment complex’s terrace where something caught my eye. Leaning against the far wall beneath an overhang is a bag of detritus. It’s filled with dirt and pine needles and everything workmen scooped out of our gutters from at least eight months ago, if not longer. Do you know what was spilling out of that bag?
A well-developed nasturtium vine. There are so many things about this that are astounding. Number one, I’m on that terrace every few days watering my plants. How did I not notice it before? And number two, it hasn’t rained here in MONTHS. How did that nasturtium vine survive?!? It’s not like any of my neighbors were watering a bag of soil in an attempt to keep a plant alive. And yet, not only did the vine survive, it thrived as you can see in the picture.
The vine in question. Look at how big it is!
When I saw this plant, I literally laughed out loud because it was so unexpected and also miraculous. It reminded me that miracles are everywhere if we look for them. Miracles often have the connotation of being something big and obvious, but they can also be small and discreet, like this nasturtium vine.
I could use more miracles in my life. It’s easy for me to become disheartened by the ever-present pessimism in the news. Fires leveling towns. Floods. Famines. It’s a lot. And yet, if I look around, I also see evidence of miracles. Back in November, scientists captured footage of the black-naped pheasant-pigeon, which hadn’t been seen since 1882! In Brazil, the Golden Lion Tamarin used to be on the brink of extinction with about 200 animals in the wild, but the population has rebounded to around 4,800, according to a recent study.
Miracles happen every day with people surviving deathly car crashes, getting pregnant when they thought they were infertile, or walking again when they were told it was impossible. It’s easy to think, “Well, that wouldn’t happen to me,” but what if it could? What if you could also receive a miracle? And like me with the nasturtium plant, what if miracles are all around and we’re just not noticing them?
Given the choice between a world where we’re all doomed and one where miracles occur, I vote for the latter. It reminds me of a concept we have in my spiritual tradition called madhuvidyá, which literally means “honey knowledge.” It requires seeing everything as an expression of an infinite loving consciousness, also known as Brahma.
My spiritual teacher says, “This madhuvidyá will pervade your exterior and interior with … [ecstasy] and will permanently alleviate all your afflictions. Then the ferocious jaws of [degeneration] cannot come and devour you. The glory of one and only one benign entity will shine forth to you from one and all objects.”
That may not seem relevant but for me, practicing madhuvidyá means remembering God is here, there, and everywhere. Because everything is Brahma, everything is a manifestation of that infinite loving consciousness. In that framework, OF COURSE miracles are everywhere. How could they not be?
I dream of a world where we recognize the strange and the unlikely occurs all the time. A world where we make room for magic and mystery. A world where we understand this entire universe is composed of an infinite loving consciousness that is all-knowing and all-powerful. A world where we recognize if that’s true, if anything can happen, then miracles can too.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
On the heels of my post from last week about making new milestones, the phrase that keeps coming to me is, “Let go of the way you think things are supposed to be and embrace what is.” That’s a big one for me because I have a lot of “supposed tos.” Everything from I’m supposed to have fewer gray hairs to I’m supposed to be wealthier. Where those “supposed tos” came from I couldn’t say but they’re rolling around in my head.
Those “supposed tos” aren’t neutral or ephemeral either. They aren’t something I say, “Oh well!” about. They cause damage because when things don’t match the vision in my head, I feel angry/sad/resentful/disappointed. But it’s all self-inflicted! I’m the one that set myself up for those feelings! You’d think I’d learn by now not to do that to myself, but no. This whole year has been an extended lesson in letting things unfold as they will and embracing what is, not what I think is supposed to be. How do I do that? I’m still learning (obviously) but what I’ve come to is two parts. The first is surrender.
My spiritual teacher says, “Human beings and other created beings perform a multitude of actions. The ultimate action, however, is … total surrender.” Total surrender means aligning my will with my higher power’s will. Total surrender means recognizing I am an actor in this world, not the general manager of the universe. In other words, it’s saying, “OK” to whatever life is throwing at me. I don’t have to like it but I do have to accept it.
Maybe it’s already the way it’s “supposed” to be. Photo by Helio Dilolwa on Unsplash
The other part is staying present. Ram Dass says in his famous book Be Here Now:
“[I]f you set the alarm to get up at 3:47 this morning and when the alarm rings and you get up and turn it off and say: ‘What time is it?’ You’d say, ‘Now. Now. Where am I? Here! Here!’ then go back to sleep and get up at 9:00 tomorrow. Where am I?? Here! What time is it? Now! Try 4:32 three weeks from next Thursday. By God it is – there’s no getting away from it – that’s the way it is. That’s the eternal present. You finally figure out that it’s only the clock that’s going around … it’s doing its thing but you – you’re sitting here, right now, always.”
Another quote from Ram Dass: “What are you doing? Planning for the future? Well it’s all right now but later? Forget it baby, that’s later. Now is now. Are you going to be here or not? It’s as simple as that!” Being here, now means not only enjoying the present moment but accepting it’s exactly how it’s supposed to be, gray hairs and all.
I dream of a world where we let go of our “supposed tos” and embrace what is. A world where we remember expectations only set us up for disappointment and resentment. A world where we understand as much as we have dreams for the future, we are actors, not general managers, and that means it’s better for us to let things play out how they’re meant to not how we think they’re supposed to.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
The past week has been a huge lesson in humility. I don’t mean humiliation or low self-esteem. The word “humility” originates from the Church Latin word humilis, which literally translates as “on the ground.” Other words that mean “Earth” are also part of the etymology of “humility.” Being humble means keeping your feet on the ground, and staying present here on Earth. Sometimes humility is interpreted in the context of others, i.e., remembering you are no better and no worse than anyone else. Humility can also mean recognizing how powerless you are over yourself and others.
That’s been my experience in the past week, recognizing how powerless I am. I’ve had social interactions, or non-interactions as the case may be, that I REALLY didn’t anticipate. I reached out to eight people and none got back to me within a day or two like they usually do. Some of them still haven’t responded. As I told my friend, “If it’s odd, it’s God applies to the unpleasant things too.” I think God was forcing me to touch some unhealed places within me, particularly in my past where I felt lonely, alone, and invisible.
And then on Friday, I woke up with twinges of pain in the same places I experienced from my car accident in 2021. For context, I haven’t felt pain in those places for at least 1.5 years. It’s not like they ache on a regular basis. No, this was a searing, out-of-the-blue pain. It, too, forced me to confront a quite literal old wound.
Sometimes life is like this. Photo by Sam Moghadam Khamseh on Unsplash
When I slowed down and asked myself what was up, why this all was happening, the answer that came to me was, “Your wounds are meant to be healed. You cannot pretend they don’t exist. Nor can you focus on how good your life is now as a way to fix when it wasn’t.” In other words, it doesn’t help to say, “Look how many friends you have now!” in response to the pain I felt when friendship was scarce.
Like I wrote about in 2020, trauma is always running in the background because it’s stored in the central nervous system. We used to think trauma was stored in the brain as a memory, but the latest research shows trauma is stored in the body. You might have heard of the book The Body Keeps the Score by Dr. Bessel van der Kolk which is all about this. He writes, “As long as you keep secrets and suppress information, you are fundamentally at war with yourself…The critical issue is allowing yourself to know what you know. That takes an enormous amount of courage.”
What I know is I’ve felt deep emotional and physical pain in my life. What I know is some of it remains unresolved because otherwise, I wouldn’t feel so triggered when eight people don’t get back to me. What I know is my physical body still has scar tissue from the various accidents I’ve been in. What I also know, but struggle to believe when so many things go wrong at once, is that my higher power wants me to be happy, joyous, and free.
I’ve quoted this poem by Hafiz before but I’m sharing it again because it’s appropriate. It’s called “Tripping Over Joy”:
What is the difference
Between your experience of Existence
And that of a saint?
The saint knows
That the spiritual path
Is a sublime chess game with God
And that the Beloved
Has just made such a Fantastic Move
That the saint is now continually
Tripping over Joy
And bursting out in Laughter
And saying, “I Surrender!”
Whereas, my dear,
I am afraid you still think
You have a thousand serious moves.
Humility reminds me I don’t have a thousand serious moves left. Humility reminds me that all I can do sometimes is surrender. Sometimes in laughter but sometimes in sorrow. That’s what I do when life brings me to my knees: I give in.
I dream of a world where we realize there’s a difference between humility and humiliation. A world where we understand old wounds continue to exist until we confront them. A world where we understand Higher Power wants us to be happy, joyous, and free, and sometimes that means hurting emotionally and physically. A world where we surrender when life brings us to our knees.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
In 12-step programs, there’s a saying that for anything to change, you must go through the three “A’s:” awareness, acceptance, and action. I’m very good at awareness and action. Acceptance? Not so much. I want to skip over acceptance and go right into action to fix whatever is wrong. I don’t want to sit with it or accept it. That’s the uncomfortable part. But there’s something to acceptance, to saying, “This is where I am right now and I don’t like it but I also don’t have to fight it.”
Did you know that one definition of “accept” is “to receive”? When I accept myself or my life circumstances, I’m receiving them, I’m meeting them, I’m greeting them. They become like a friend coming in out of a storm that I’m welcoming inside. There is no judgment, no sense of good or bad. Instead, there is neutrality and that’s exactly what I’m striving for right now. To let myself be what I am – no more and no less.
I love how flowy the jellyfish is. Photo by Giorgio Trovato on Unsplash
I can apply that mentality to circumstances as well. Do I like them? No. Can I receive them? Yes. To take the guest analogy further, guests are not residents – eventually, they leave. Some guests stay longer than others, sure, but no one sticks around forever. And in the interim, what sort of host am I? I’d like to be the gracious and hospitable kind.
There’s also something to letting the flow take over. To say to whatever is happening in my life, “I’m entering the stream and I’m letting this take me where I need to go.” There’s grace in that act of acceptance because essentially, it’s surrendering to what is, which allows something else to emerge.
There’s a story in the Mahábhárata about surrender that I don’t particularly love but illustrates surrender beautifully. When Duhshásana was pulling the sari of Draopadii, she was tightly holding the cloth to her body with one hand, beseeching Lord Krśńa with the other. “Oh! My Lord, save me!” But he didn’t come forward to save her. When Draopadii found no means of escape, she then released her hold on the cloth and appealed to the Lord most piteously with both hands outstretched, saying, “O Lord, I surrender my all to you. Do what you think is best.” And then the Lord immediately rescued her.
When I can accept something fully, that’s when something greater, larger, more magnificent can step in. It’s essentially what I wrote about last week and having my life belong to love. When I first accept what is, I’m receiving what the Divine Beloved wants to bring into my life. I may not like it in the beginning, the water may be choppy, I may throw up from seasickness, but at some point, I’ll look back and say, “Oh, I see. You did that for my benefit.” But key to that process is first, accepting.
I dream of a world where we recognize for anything to change, we must go through the process of awareness, acceptance, and then action. A world where we understand to accept something is to receive it with care. A world where we allow ourselves to move with the flow by entering the stream of life exactly where we are, right now.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
One of my soul sisters sent me a birthday card that says, “This card is decorated with matter-of-fact boldness and fierceness, and so it is especially suited to you.” Her words keep ringing in my ears because I don’t feel particularly bold or fierce and I have trouble embracing those descriptions because for much of my life, the word “too” has been attached to adjectives describing me: too sensitive, too intense, too much. Some parts of me want to shrink and play small in order to stay safe. If I hit a certain threshold of boldness, fierceness, and intensity, I want to reel it back in but I’m not able to do that anymore.
My body is making it clear that I’m expanding my threshold, that I can’t keep holding myself back. And in the external world, I’m receiving affirmation that living boldly is a good thing. This weekend I went to “Let’s Glow SF,” which is a festival that projects visual art onto the side of buildings and plays accompanying music. These are 285-foot projections of penguins and ships and geometric shapes. These are unapologetic pieces of art that are made to be noticed. I didn’t hear a single person say, “I wish they were smaller.” Instead, every person appreciated how big and bold the art was. We all oohed and aahed at how cool it was to see art of this magnitude.
The colors! The beautiful boldness! Photo by Claudio Fonte on Unsplash
Another affirmation about living boldly comes from one of my non-blood nephews. At almost 20 months, his favorite expression at the moment is, “More, more.” Stirring tealights in a metal bowl? “More, more!” Having a dance party in the living room? “More, more!” If it’s not’s bedtime or something harmful, the adults in his life are acquiescing to “more, more.” As someone who’s used to “less, less,” it’s astounding to give and receive “more, more.” It’s sweet to watch the fullness of my nephew be celebrated. Witnessing him, I see that the passion and excitement truly are a part of his makeup. What if the same is true about me?
In my spiritual tradition, we say everyone is born with certain inborn traits and characteristics. It’s how we’re made, if you will. The environment also shapes us so this isn’t a “nature versus nurture” thing, more like a “nature and nurture thing.” How this relates to me is that I’m not “too” anything. I’m just right because I was born this way. I’m a highly sensitive person and that means I’m attuned to things other people don’t notice. I’m a passionate person and that means I love deeply. I’m a direct person so nothing is hidden with me.
I won’t qualify those characteristics by saying they’re good or bad because the truth is the answer varies depending on who you ask. Some people will think I’m “too” whatever. But others will think I’m not “enough” whatever. The more important question is how do I feel? How I’m feeling is that I want to be my full and true self. I want to be more of who I am without self-imposed limitations. I want to be like the artwork I absorbed this weekend and my nephew who’s a delight. I want to be the person my higher power made me to be, and that includes someone bold and fierce. And I want that for you too.
If voices tell you you’re too much or not enough, I encourage you to question whether that’s true. Is it the capital “T” Truth or is it just someone’s opinion? Would someone else think differently? Could you, too, embrace the fullness and authenticity of who you are? If so, I’ll be over here cheering you on.
I dream of a world where we allow ourselves to be who we are. A world where we recognize people will always have opinions about how we should act but that doesn’t mean we have to pay attention to them. A world where we express the fullness of ourselves because we understand we were made the way we are. A world where we allow ourselves to live boldly and fiercely.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
I heard a line from Leonard Cohen’s poem Good Advice for Someone Like Me the other day: “If you don’t become the ocean, you’ll be seasick every day.” Wow. I’m pretty sure I can end this post right there and let you meditate on his idea.
I can confidently say most of the time I’m metaphorically seasick. I’m worried about an upcoming potluck, getting more clients, or if I’ll ever figure out what’s happening with my health. I wouldn’t classify myself as anxious anymore but I also wouldn’t say I’m serene. I have moments of going with the flow but most of the time I’m cussing out God and proclaiming how much I hate It because things aren’t going my way.
Cohen’s line reminds me of surrender, which means to stop fighting. It’s when I’m fighting life on life’s terms that I get into a tizzy and metaphorically seasick. It’s when I’m not accepting what is that I feel anxious. There are some things I don’t think anyone should accept – injustice, inequality, and any of the -isms such as racism and sexism – but the smaller things, the reality of my life, I’d be better off leaning into.
The peace! The tranquility! Photo by Biel Morro on Unsplash
I often joke that someone should make me the general manager of the universe because I have some GREAT ideas but alas, that’s not my role in this lifetime. In this lifetime I’m learning trust and surrender. I’m learning that the universe loves me and wants me to be happy, joyous, and free. I’m learning to let go of my attachment to how things should go and accept how things are going. Does that bring grief from time to time? Yes, it does. Am I feeling my feelings about it? Yes, I am.
What I’m learning here, in essence, is how to dissolve my ego, my little self, and merge it with the big Self. My spiritual teacher says, “If a salt doll goes to measure the sea, it will melt into it. Neither can it measure the sea, nor will it ever return; its existence will merge into the vastness of the sea, releasing it from all cares and worries. If one wishes to take the form of the sea, one will have to become the sea itself; there is no other way.”
I am becoming the sea, I am becoming the ocean. I’m recognizing not only does a higher power exist outside of me in the form of energy pervading the universe, but it also exists inside of me as me. From that framework, it’s easier for me to trust and surrender because um, hi, of course my deeper self wants things to work out for me. Of course my greater self sees a broader perspective and understands why it’s better for me to turn left when I thought I should have turned right.
When the Divine Beloved exists within me, as me, it’s easier for me to surrender and let myself become the ocean instead of bobbing along the surface and getting seasick.
I dream of a world where we let ourselves become the ocean. A world where we dissolve our little egos and surrender to something vaster than we can comprehend. A world where we accept life on life’s terms when appropriate and stop making ourselves seasick.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
With flowers bursting into bloom seemingly overnight, it seemed fitting to recycle this post from June 2018. Enjoy.
If you read my blog regularly, you know that patience is not my strong suit. I want things to happen quickly like a thunderstorm – swift and noticeable. Instead, things happen like a seed planted in soil – slow and subtle.
Here’s a true story: In January, I planted California poppy seeds. In March, everyone else’s poppies started to bloom. Mine did not. I checked my poppies frequently, searching for signs of buds. Each day I stared at verdant green leaves, but no hints of orange. Finally, in about mid-May, the first bud appeared, and then suddenly, a flower. It thrilled me to see orange after so many months of waiting. I beamed from ear to ear and pride swelled within me. But note, it took months, MONTHS, for my poppies to catch up to everyone else’s.
Right now, I feel like those poppies, behind the times. Many of my friends are progressing in their lives. They’re buying houses, getting married, having babies. Things are not perfect – I am privy to their challenges as well as triumphs – but big milestones are happening in their lives. The same is not true for me. Instead, I am a poppy plant with no hint of a bud.
A part of me thinks something is wrong that I’m not cycling with my peers. I’m not blooming while they are. However, I’m reminded of what my spiritual teacher said regarding movement. Movement is systaltic, like a heartbeat. Do you know how a heart pumps blood? I learned this ages ago in AP Bio. A heart is like a syringe – it fills up with blood, pauses at fullness, and then pushes all the blood out. In all of life, we experience this cycle. It’s the natural order of things to expand, pause, and contract.
I think I’m still in the expanding phase. I haven’t reached fullness yet. I’m still pulling nutrients from the soil. When I look at those around me, it’s hard not to compare myself with them. I know, I know, comparison is the thief of joy. I know compare usually leads to despair. I know I’m not doing myself any favors by comparing my life with anyone else’s, yet, I’m doing it anyway.
Instagram makes it hard not to think everyone else’s life is so much cooler than mine. I’m envious of what they have. But when I think about my poppies, when I think about life being systaltic, I feel a smidge better because I’m reminded I am in my own cycle. It may take longer for things to bloom, but that doesn’t mean they won’t.
I dream of a world where we remember we each have our own cycles. A world where we realize sometimes things happen quickly and sometimes things happen slowly. A world where we realize there’s not much we can do about timing other than to take the required action and let go of the rest. A world where after waiting and waiting, then there’s a bloom.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
Lately, when I look at my body, I notice it’s the road map of my life. I see the scar on my right arm from when a swing collapsed with me on it. I notice the poison oak scars on my left forearm and the discoloration under my chin from car accident number one.
Normally I’d recoil from these marks, do my best to diminish them, cover them up, but at the moment, I’m looking at my body with fondness. It shows the story of my life, literally. My body demonstrates events that happened to me, memories I will always keep.
In our youth-obsessed culture, we strive to be unblemished and wrinkle-free. We see that as a sign of beauty, something to aspire to. But right now, I’m appreciating the evidence I’ve lived. Tomorrow I may wake up and scrunch my nose in protest of my scars. I might smear on creams and lotions to give myself a more youthful appearance, but today, I’m marveling at how I wear the story of my life. And if you’ve lived long enough, you are wearing yours too.
I love this lady’s hands. There’s so much here. Photo by Eduardo Barrios on Unsplash
Your body is a vessel not to be controlled but cherished. I know, for some that’s easier said than done. I get it – I’m subjected to the same messaging as anyone else, but for today, there’s something sweet about tracing the lines of my body and recalling this experience and that. In some ways I feel like a soldier recently returned from war, recounting what happened. You can do that with scars. There is often a story to tell.
There’s an honor to be in this body, to show the evidence of a life with trials and tribulations. There’s physical evidence that I’ve been through things and I’m still here. I’m proud of that.
At 37, I’m still young, but I’m not that young. No one would mistake me for a metaphorical spring chicken. And yet, instead of hiding my age, I’d like to approach each passing year not chasing my youth or lying about how old I am. I’d rather appreciate my age for the unique beauty it gives me. I didn’t think I would ever say that but here I am. Instead of fighting my body, I’m appreciating it for every scar, wrinkle, and fold. This body has been through so much and I don’t want to keep pretending otherwise.
Today anyway, I’m valuing this physical form for the way it currently looks and that to me is a miracle, one that I want for you too.
I dream of a world where we appreciate our bodies as they are. A world where we find our various scars exotic and beautiful because they reveal the road map of our lives. A world where instead of trying to reclaim our youth, we embrace the bodies we currently have with pride.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.
Right now I’m participating in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), which means I’m aiming to write 50,000 words in a month. For the uninitiated, that’s a novel the length of The Great Gatsby. It’s approximately 75 pages single spaced in a word processing document. I’m pretty sure this new novel I’m working on is the worst piece of writing in the known universe, but I’m pressing forward.
The advice for those writing during NaNoWriMo is to tame your inner editor. Instead of hitting the “delete” key when you think something sounds awful, just keep putting words on the page. Let the writing be bad. There’s something liberating in indulging in that mentality. To revel in it. To acknowledge, “I know this can be said better but I don’t care.”
As someone with a history of perfectionism, it’s difficult for me to stop judging end results, but that’s what I’m encouraging myself to do right now. I’m acknowledging the new novel is bad, that it will likely change a lot before I’m finished, but I’m letting that be OK. I’m not nitpicking myself in the moment and instead giving myself freedom to relax, to explore, to try new things on the page. It’s fun!
Some things will cause you to shake your head they’re so bad. Photo by Kyle Glenn on Unsplash
I notice this principle, “Let it be terrible,” applies not only to creative projects, but also to the physical body (sometimes). Headline, I’m fine, but on Saturday night I was in a car accident. While driving through an intersection, a car ran a red light and hit the driver’s side of my friend’s car. We swerved to the right and the impact jostled me so I banged up my elbow and knees against the console very, very minorly. It’s my right shoulder blade that hurts this morning from the whiplash.
I took out a tennis ball and massaged the shoulder blade but it still hurts. I don’t think anything is dislocated; it just hurts. Because I was in a car accident. And instead of rushing to fix it, change it, solve it, I said to the pain, “I’m here. I’m listening, body.” I’m letting the pain be here, I’m letting things be terrible because sometimes that’s all we can do. The body heals on its own timeframe and that doesn’t necessarily mean something is wrong.
It reminds me of this NY Times article I read a few years ago where an American woman had a hysterectomy in Germany. When she asked about painkillers post-surgery, her medical team said she’d be given ibuprofen and that’s it. When she talked to one of her doctors about it, he said, “Pain is a part of life. We cannot eliminate it nor do we want to. The pain will guide you. You will know when to rest more; you will know when you are healing. If I give you Vicodin, you will no longer feel the pain, yes, but you will no longer know what your body is telling you. You might overexert yourself because you are no longer feeling the pain signals. All you need is rest.”
It confounded her, but it turned out her doctors were right. She didn’t need painkillers – she needed rest and patience. She let things be terrible, she let her body feel terrible, and that was her wisest course of action. For this month I, too, am letting things be terrible in more ways than I anticipated, and that perhaps is a greater accomplishment than writing the worst novel the world has ever seen in the course of 30 days.
I dream of a world where we let things be terrible sometimes. A world where we let our creativity flow without any hindrance. A world where we check our self-editors at the door. A world where we let ourselves feel pain when it arises because it provides us with important information to guide our lives and direct our attention.
Another world is not only possible, it’s probable.