I haven’t been practicing lately. I haven’t been writing. I haven’t been doing tai chi, or yoga, or reading for fun, or much more than getting up, freshening up (a maybe at that), and being a lump. Occasionally I turn into a rushed lump, trying to get to class on time – and not succeeding often at that.
I do realize that I need to not be as hard on myself as I want to be, right now. I have to accept that I have been sick, and not just for the last six days, but probably closer to three-odd weeks. I have to accept that I turned the snowglobe of my life upside down and shook, violently and energetically, until not only the glitter-y snow kicked up and over, but I dislodged all the pieces inside. And now I’ve got to get everything settled back down and in place, and it is, in a word, overwhelming to even contemplate.
So instead of contemplating, I simply sit. And I wait, although what I’m waiting for I don’t know. I do know that things won’t just happen, I have to make them happen. But it’s to the point where it’s so much to do and even think about, that I don’t know where to start, what will make a noticable dent that will give me the positive kick in the ass I need.
But I suspect that I should work a little harder to get into a few more patterns, re-establish some of those habits. Sitting, writing, creating, even thinking – I need to reconnect to the things that ground me and give me passion.