I just completed a much needed and very inspirational phone call with my book coach. Hopefully she will not read this and see that already I am procrastinating about my next assignment. But I needed to express this, for myself and anyone else who can hear me. Thinking about Nothing is the most important thing I do each day. You may call it meditation, prayer, getting in touch with my inner self. All those labels apply to that time that is just mine, to let go and let life pass through the space between my ears. But lately, I haven’t been doing nearly enough Nothing, and it shows.
I’ve been very tense about everything these past few weeks: my daughter starting high school, which means soon she’ll be having all the experiences and adventures of a teenager and will come of age. Exciting and scary at the same time. And work, the day job, has been frantic. Lots of changes, some significant, some silly, like the fact that I’ve had my cube location moved three times in the past three weeks. I’m settling in, and it seems silly, but I began to feel like a transient, fun at first, but eventually frustrating and without stability. And my body keeps me guessing by the moment – hot flashes, muffin tops and excess facial hair all scrambled up in a soup of chaos. I feel like Linda Blair in The Exorcist these days, with no control over my body temperature or disposition. Just a puddle of cold, then hot, pea soup.
So the book, my new book that I’ve been working on these past two years was really coming along and then the work, the flow all halted, abruptly and with no warning. I was Trying to Get the Feelin Again like the best Barry Manilow fan, but nothing. Flat.
Even as I’ve attempted sleep at night (or early morning, thank you menopause), all I can hear is voices, loud ones yelling and trying to get their pointless points across to me as I lay there covered in sweat and unable to rest. I have no idea what they are even talking about.
Now I know what’s been missing. The fuel that energizes me and in spires me to live from moment to moment, savoring each breath without judgment or drama. Well, maybe a little drama for the sake of telling my story. Continue reading
I was flipping around the channels last night, the final Christmas specials winding down as the holiday came to an end. I ended up on an old Christmas episode of The Monkees from around 1967. It was a show that I had loved as a kid of 8 or 9 and it had Butch Patrick, the kid who played Eddie Munster on the also adored The Munsters TV show, as a guest. How bad could it be?
