At this stage in my life it makes sense to look at what I get to do rather than what I have to do. That slight shift from I have to-to I get to do-is subtle and big. My posture shifts. My head leans back. My chin lifts. My shoulders roll back and my pelvis tilts. My core muscles engage. My whole body feels like it has lifted. I feel my muscles squeezed. The tension in my lower back relaxes. My brain goes “Duh. Your bones carry you. Not your muscles.” Effortless. Ding. Ding. Ding.
And yet I hear my self breathe out through my nose, like I was holding my breath. Holding. Holding my pencil tight. This grip in my jaws, clamping my mouth shut. Grip in my fingers. Grip in my toes. Holding the pencil tighter does not loosen my handwriting. Holding the pencil too loose isn’t improving my handwriting either. Actually slowing down a bit and opening up my letters. Offering some breathing room. Breathing room. Spaciousness. Space in my mouth. Space in my grip. Wiggle room in my toes. I roll my eyeballs up to the left. I roll my eyeballs up to the right. Wiggle. Roll. Space. Widen my groove.
I get to widen my groove today. I get to -is an adult place. And adult privilege. I get to be spacious today. Today there are no pressing appointments. Nothing is pressing on me today. I get to pause and reflect today.
I get to observe what catches my attention.
Instantly work comes to mind. I get to practice my medicine. Uggah. Work. Work. Work. Work is not my God. I do not worship work. I am worthy, not by production. Creating order and beauty is worthy. Producing smiles. Producing space to breathe. Producing open space for reflection. I get to pause. I get to rest. Rest is production. I have been competing with my beloved partner. I will never win. I will never be a male. I’ll never have the body mass of a male. I am a female.
Ohhhh. I get to be a female this lifetime.
The privilege of being a female. The privilege of being moved by the moon. The privilege of being sensitive. The privilege of being this intuitive and empathic. I am privileged to be this connected to nature. I get to co-mingle with birds around. me. I get to smell the fresh air around me. I get to be held by the nature that surrounds me. I get to be here. In Oregon.
I get to write with my dearest ink blood sister. I get to be alive right now. I get to write in this cozy room that is me. My colors. My textures. My shapes. I get to snuggle up in this couch and write my thoughts with this Scooby Doo pencil in front of a heater.
I’m content. Everything around me is functioning. Nothing is broken. Nothing is stressed. All is well around me.
I get to garden this week. I get to tend to my sanctuary. I get to clear out the dead and make room for new growth. That is my focus this week because I want to. It brings me joy to touch the earth that holds me. I am renewed when I spend time connecting with my environment.
I get to commune with my dear friends-the plants and insects and nature spirits. Yeah. They’ve been patiently waiting for me to hang out with them.