Is it a bad thing that I’ve started to watch the clock and wonder what time is too early to start drinking? I’m pretty strict about waiting till my husband gets home in the evening so I’m at least not drinking alone. But lately I find myself wondering if 3:00 is too early? Maybe a glass of wine or two with my salad at lunch? That sounds pretty sophisticated–although not as sophisticated as when I’d go for lunch at T.G.I.Friday’s with work colleagues and order a Long Island iced tea. (Really, that only happened once. Or twice.)
Sometimes Okay, frequently I find myself wallowing in retrospection and regret. And if that doesn’t sound unhealthy, I don’t know what does. It’s like if I just focus long and hard enough on whatever aspect of the past I happen to be obsessing about, I can magically transport myself back there and do things differently. And then when it doesn’t happen, I get even more regretful and depressed.
Then I have to try and pick myself back up by repeating all the mantras I’ve accumulated over the years, starting with the most recent:
Then I move on to:
You are loved. All is well. (Abraham)
This too shall pass. (Unknown)
Leap, and the net will appear. (John Burroughs)
It’s all a journey. (????????)
Rub some dirt on it. (husband’s Little League coach)
There’s no crying in baseball. (A League of Their Own)
Ball up. (tactful, loving brother)
Then maybe I’ll listen to my Abraham-Hicks CDs, or, alternately, Rush or Pink Floyd, and things either continue to deteriorate or husband comes home from work and we watch 30 Rock.
I think the real problem is that I’m simply not very good at at being Present. Oh, I like to talk the talk. (“How was yoga, honey?” “Oooh, transcendent. I was really in the zone tonight.”) But when it comes to walking the walk, I’m just not There. And I’ve been aware of There and studying There and trying to be There for almost ten years.
[At this point, I need to overwhelmingly, enthusiastically and lovingly thank my friend Shelly for introducing me to Mary Graham and the Creative Living Institute.
Shelly, Mary and CLI expanded my world and became a turning point in my life.]
Maybe this is all okay. Maybe working towards There is what life’s all about. Maybe I won’t ever get There. Maybe I will. But I do know this: beating myself up about every decision I can’t change isn’t going to help. Maybe if there’s one small gift I could give myself, it would be to love myself as much as or more than hummingbirds, flowers, sparkles on the water, moonlight, shooting stars, butterflies, autumn leaves and Carolina wrens.