I attended Karen McMillan‘s Wisdom Tea this week. I prepared my tea ahead of time and found my way to a chair to sit and breathe. I chose to attend by phone so I didn’t have the distraction of the computer and all its shiny objects in front of me.
I am giving myself permission to slow down and attend to each moment.
I hurt my back about a week ago. I was stretching on my mat on the floor of my studio and listening to a creative podcast. I jumped up several times to write down some notes in my journal. My multi-tasking led to my injury. I am grateful for the gift of massage. I’m healing and playing with everyday moments one-at-a-time.
I am giving myself permission to play with a soft focus so I can relax into life.
Michael is at the oncologist office. As I write, I am wondering what news he will bring home. Surgery? Additional Cancer Treatment?
I am giving myself permission to worry a bit, to write, to be a bit antsy. Just breathe.
How can I play with being antsy?
Permission to bend like a small branch or ground myself with deep roots. Permission to change my mind; to use off-colored language, swear words; to use words that a nice girl doesn’t say. Permission to eat too many potato chips, record calories on an app, and then indulge by eating a pint of chocolate mint ice cream.Permission to prepare, savor, and sip a cup of hot, ginger-mint tea while listening to an audio that brings laughter because I have been there and because the woman speaking helps me give myself permission to raise my voice and sing my song. Permission to just sit and observe the shadows created on our deck when the sun shines on our porch rails. Permission to listen to the whining of multiple lawnmowers and cars driving by our home. Permission to not enjoy those sounds that mask the bird songs and calls and the quite I love. Permission to call out as Raven in 1000 voices-irreverent and trickster-ish. Permission to ignore the dust and listen to my love’s concerns. Permission to say something hurtful and make amends. Permission to cry at a scene while watching Pete’s Dragon. Permission to not explain why I am crying to my grandchildren. Permission to write and ignore my runny nose because I am in flow and I don’t want to stop to find a Kleenex. Permission to not be totally prepared but to go ahead anyway and do the thing… Permission to wait for inspiration. Permission to give all I can when I want to and to laugh at Twitter Profile Names.
Permission to not take it all seriously. Permission to create meaning for myself and inspire others.
Permission to reach out and ask for help and permission to be disappointed.
Permission to keep at it. Permission to realize that even the best of intentions don’t always produce the intended results. Permission to be okay with that.
Permission to stop when it’s time and continue if I haven’t said it all.
Permission to yell at the Catholic priest who yelled at me as a kid in the Saturday confessional.