Nine point nine, nine, nine… I’m on my way to ten! Ten here I come!
Instead of having a storm of billions of thoughts swirling around in the air and past me, some soaking me head to foot, only being able to make use of them if I open up to the heavens and say “Ahhhh” or wring out my shirt into a cup, I now have a defined place and time to take my vessel over to the river and scoop up all that I need for each day. It feels better than great!
I took to heart the conversation with Michael at the start of the week and began my practice of expanding my trust “to infinity and beyond” by challenging and dismantling some physically based fears. We went out to cross country ski directly after the call that morning. Gone was the knee deep powder of the Friday before. The weather was significantly warmer and the snow had melted a little, refreezing overnight. In its place a thin crust and slick surfaces where any type of trail had been forged over the weekend.
“It’s icy and too steep,” (think bunny hill minus most of the slope angle) “and I’m afraid I’m going to fall,” (somehow I survived the other falls just fine) “…and hurt ____” (fill in the blank with a list of any / all prior medical conditions like broken ankle, knees with little and no meniscus and continue on from there). I was listening to the inside of my head prattle on when my daughter (admittedly shorter and closer to the ground) whizzed moderately past me exclaiming “Wheee!” and piled into the snow bank at the turn with a small “ouch” and a big “That was fun!”. As I had just been engaged in adding “landing on my camera” (thank you Canon for making such sturdy pro and semi pro models) to the list of potential injurious misfortunes it gave me pause to think.
It was then that I arrived at the moment in time where this modus operandi couldn’t squeeze into who I am anymore. I was blazing what I thought was a cautious (laborious) and unpredictable zig zagging trail through the deep ice encrusted snow and occasional unavoidable branches (ouch) in an attempt to control my descent and finally had had enough of it. I waddled sideways to the trail, took a few deep breaths, bent my knees really deep like I would on a horse over the top of a big jump (comfort zone) and pushed myself and all the chatter over the edge when I was least expecting it. Down the icy hillock on the trail I went (even made the turn). “Wheee.” I survived. And, okay, I thrived. As a result I have taken this new way of being into the rest of my view on life and so far so grand.
After all, how many times do we get to pay for our ticket and actually steer the roller coaster? Pretty cool. Thanks Michael.
Hugs to you all, ~ M