One day at a time. One. Without worry or an unrestful eye on all the rest of the days that are likely to follow today.

This is not the first time I have been taught this lesson. This is, however, the first time I have felt the least bit successful in learning. I know what it is like to suffer because I am holding all of my days like hot water in hands that were never made for such a thing. I have often recognized this scalding even as I persist because I did not know what it was to let go.

Success feels different than I would think. There is no victory celebration, but there is also no feeling of exhaustion from having arrived too late. It may sound simplistic but all I have felt is ease. To be sure, the ease is largely due to the previous struggles, the wrestling of my will, the learning of foreign movements. And yet, I am surprised. There is a lightness to living…and I cannot help but greet it with just a little confusion.

I do not trust things that do not test me. At least, not usually. But this? This is breathing. How could I stop or protest without punishing myself? There is something stronger than relief here. It is rest or peace or something else. I wonder if this is just a season or if that is my distrust talking. I often make life so much harder than it has to be just by trying too hard. It’s kind of funny. I am sure that I will find myself back in that place, but I think I will spend most of the rest of my life trying to figure out how to make this ease flow into the working, planning, and sweating parts of life.

It has been a long journey and I am only just now beginning to feel like I have come home to myself. 

In between boredom and busydom

These days it is harder than ever to get out of bed. My apartment is a great first apartment. It holds myself and my materials just perfectly. It allows me to breathe and I almost always look forward to coming home. But it is not without its quirks anymore than I am. Some of them are endearing, like its will to grow a forest of tomatoes. With the change in the season, I have discovered that my apartment is a bit drafty--though not the draftiest I have known. Moreover, the pilot light in the heater has no desire to stay light. Inside my house is just as warm as outside. And while I am glad that this is true of my apartment in Portland rather than in Montana, I still find it difficult to want to leave my bed. Compounding this feeling is my lack of job, school, or really anything that could motivate me past the initial discomfort.

I am in grave danger of becoming bored. and yet, my body automatically wakes up at 7:30 am with nothing to do. This is a strange time of life. I want to leave and stay at the same time. I am both resting and wearying. My body is restless. It is hard to do manual labor everyday and then just stop for a month. Balance is such an elusive thing. My mind and my body are forever leaving each other behind. Are they supposed to be in step? Sometimes. In the very quiet in between places, I feel as though I have snuck up on myself to be wholly present. It is always a gift when I recognize it. 

It is hard, though, to remember that it is healthy not to be busy but just as healthy not to be bored. In this space before the panic of a new job, I am relearning how to take one day at a time--not because I can't handle planning the future or looking ahead. Rather, because the future is not here yet, is not mine yet. It is hard not to look for change so I can adapt myself around it and plan accordingly. It is hard for me to be truly present. I am so much more gifted with the future. Yet, I am coming to see that the maturity of such gifts comes in being able to stand in the moment. And know when to plan and adapt. For now, I am in the long in between. But soon, I will leave. My task is not to mentally leave before the rest of me is allowed to.