The first thing I had to do today was apologize to my kids for being horrid. They were being rather horrid, themselves, but, being the great kids that they are, that means they were pretty much just being kids.
The next thing is to accept that this ride that started out exciting and fun, with me racing back and forth and up and down, has gotten the best of me.
Maybe I should register the fact that I feel breathless and tight all the time, and accept that I need to take a deep breath. Really deep. Deeper than hurried morning breath-work. Deeper than a flash prayer. How can I open my lungs that much?
I affirm for myself that I am now choosing. Choosing to slow down again, very slow. Choosing to slake my own thirst before pouring water into all the glasses I have invited others to hold out to me. Choosing to listen, inside, about every step I take, one at a time, and see where that takes me.
I have experienced this process enough to know already that this choice I am making is the most crucial step, that thanks to it I will find stepping stones across the stream and feel fresh breezes under the beating sun.
Almost, I am almost tempted to ask that question that holds veiled judgment: Why do I have to learn this, experience it over and over and over again? But if I do, I will be distracted from my choice and continue running that crazy race.
So I don’t ask, just sit in silence.
Until Golondrina comes up behind me, in her piping voice says, “If you’re exhausted, you need energy, so do you want me to give you Reiki?” and she puts her warm, powerful little hands on my head.