Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Beautiful as the day

And these are the everyday triumphs, the small victories:

When your nearly-7-year-old son throws himself on the floor sobbing at 9:00 at night, after too much arguing over why he has to clean up his room and what the consequences will be if he doesn't, because he's tired and hot and not the last in a long line of Impatient and Temperamental People, you take a deep breath and then you get some cold cloths and you help him into bed and turn on his fan and read him a story. And when he sobs very quietly that he needs some alone time and turns to the wall, you don't take it personally and you don't think (much) about all the things you still need to do before you can go to sleep; you think how proud you are of him for learning to ask for what he needs, and how lucky you are to have him, and you wonder when having a temper became a disease, and begin to wonder if being healed might mean just accepting who you are, who he is, instead of always fighting it. But for tonight, you just let it be, and you read the story.

When you begin to wonder if you will ever get your life together, your finances together, your body together, you give yourself a break and you set your mind on what you choose to believe. And you remember what that is, exactly: That you are fortunate, a child of great fortune. That your life continuously overflows with abundance, from sources both expected and unseen. That you are blessed with wonderful people and children and a healthy body and great love. You hold that in your heart and in your mind and let is sustain you. So long, that is, as you don't get the great idea to try to mow the lawn--the lawn that has been growing for 4 weeks while it gets its roots under it--with your push mower in the 100+ degree heat. If you were to do that, then you'd let yourself have a small emotional breakdown while you were laying damp and nekkid on the bed evaporating so as to recover from the heat stroke you nearly gave yourself. And you might have to have a little cry at that point, but that would be okay too.

You gently remind yourself that finishing a project is more productive than starting a new one to avoid the feeling of ... what? What are you trying to avoid? You sit with that one a while, instead of just running from it.

You breathe more, and drink more water and less vodka. You choose to believe the good in people, to smile more, to take a breath before talking or yelling or rolling your eyes. You choose to quit reacting to other people's reactions. You decide to have a cup of coffee, to make a bird bath, to let go. You might even decide to love the world, and to live in it.