Home again
from Heart Talk by Cleo Wade
I haven't been writing much. Instead, I have been thinking about writing which is not at all the same thing. Or I start a post, delete all but one sentence, and then go stare inside of my pantry. I miss my friend Kristi's pantry. When we were little, I would sit on her cold Sausalito tile and reach first for the Crispex followed by a few handfuls of Famous Amos cookies. My apologies to Krisit's mom who had to deal with my voracious appetie and strange seating preferences. At Sally's house, I found the sink in her bathroom to be the perfect spot for my bony bottom as I performed dermatological procedures on my face.
After a summer of adjustments, big and small, I am still...well...adjusting. I am trying to pay attention, stay open, and be present with all of it. And it's not easy. Sometimes, my heart feels like it is flipping inside of my chest and I want to distract myself with the contents of the pantry again.
Our expansive, care-free, wild souls, the truest part of ourselves, created from stardust and time, don’t care about money, perfection and success. We have to stop trying to fix everything and that includes ourselves. This obsession with happiness is making us sad. Because we are not created to be happy all of the time. We are created to feel. And if we don't allow space for feeling and we are only distracting ourselves with the next thing we must eat or wear or do, that feeling has no where to go and it turns into something bigger, greater, and more demanding. You are enough.
This post I am writing, while not perfect, and certainly not my best, is enough. Striving can feel like we are lacking. Surrendering and accepting helps us to feel whole and beautiful just as we are in this imperfect moment. That we already have everything we need. We don't need to do anything else other than be with ourselves.
There is a lot of newness in my life right now. A new website (which may not sound like a big deal but to my technologically challenged self, it is), a new school for my son, a new house that we moved into over the summer, and most life-altering, a new life without my mom. I take great comfort that in the midst of all of this change and even when utter chaos occurs, that there is always home. And we will always find our way back here even when home looks different than it did before. We can be patient and silly and wholly ourselves here. We can do cartwheels, wear no makeup and spill beverages on the new carpet. We can be inappropriate and make mistakes and watch absurd things on T.V that make us laugh until we cry. And we can cry when we feel embarrassed, touched, or really, really, sad. We can curl up in our beds with our blankies, close our eyes and feel the familiar, the warmth, the beauty, the messy, the everything that is constant, true, kind, and ever present. We can always come home, To the one we create with our families, friends, and pets. To the one inside of ourselves. Home is there to receive us. Just as we are.
All is not lost. The door is always open and all is welcome here.