The lust for hibernation, sticker reluctance, and making love to Santiago
Thought Cookie, Edition 4, Volume 2
Thought Cookie, Edition 4, Volume 2 (<- That means it’s a new year.)
230 Words of This and That
Remember Dec. 29 when I last wrote to you, my loves? That was 13 days and a whole other world ago. The way we’ve been living the last 10 months should have been a constant reminder things change like newborn diapers -- and often smell the same. Irrevocable shifts happen in a matter of seconds, in the time it takes a battering ram to shatter a window. Since we are alive (a blessing!), we are witnesses to this (a mixed bag!). As it turns out, being a witness to madness is immensely draining. So I didn’t start the new year with composed wholeness and aplomb. Maybe you did, too. I began again with reticence, reluctance and a strong desire to take up like that queen of the forest, a sleepy grizzly mama bear, in the dogeared book I used to read to my girls, Bear Snores On. Emily snores on, friends and loved ones snuggling in beside me, because my heart is so achy and my hopes are so battered and my faith is a bit adrift right now. And yet, the only thing clear is that I must continue on. I’ve resolved to continue on. Not in slumber. And not in complete, high-alertness. I’m working to balance the teeter-totter on the spot in between. Something messy but not completely disheveled. Something steady and trudgingly, and moving. Slowly. Forward.
Reminder from the soul of truth: Witnessing a world, a culture, a community, a government rocking unsteadily on its access is not only troubling, it will wear your soul down. To go to sleep, literally or figuratively is always a temptation. And we do need to rest. We also need to pick up what resolve we have and give ourselves permission to stumble on.
Takeaway: If you have the strength to take one step, take it, even if it is unsteady. Even if you have decided the next step is impossible. Even if the ground is sloppy. If one step is all you can manage in a day, in a workout, in a relationship, in your self-compassion, take it.
I received an Amazon gift card recently. I did the predictable thing which is that I bought books. And I had a few bucks left. Calling to mind a passing comment an acquaintance had made about a month earlier about adding stickers to her work journal, I typed “stickers” into the search bar. I bought a package of sunflower-inspired awesome stickers. Once I got them, I was delighted. I looked through them, then did what some odd inner programming has conditioned me to do: I tucked them away. A few days later, I caught myself in the act of sorting through the stickers, admiring them and then deciding they were too cute to use. “Baloney!” a brighter part of me screeched. “You use those stickers now!” The screecher was spot on. Since then I have been forcing myself to stick those stickers on papered flat surfaces. Do you do this? I call it delaying joy. And I’m working on undoing that boring conditioning. And I’m buying more stickers. Come along! (And if’n you would like to share your way of loosening your joy, please do, that’s why comments were invented!)
From my bookshelves
It’s time again. To visit with Santiago, to step into his dusty shoes and to experience a magical, sensical tale that has made an indelible mark on my heart and soul. As I cracked the spine and selected a new colored pencil to make my notes (so I could watch myself respond in different ways) this gentle quote reached out and grabbed hold of my battered heart and asked to be shared with you. Make love to this book, friends.
If Thought Cookie has comforted you in anyway, if it has paused you, if it has whispered something soothing to your creative, kind soul, would you consider sharing it? And if you are moved to read more, please visit my full website. I’ll drop you another love note on Jan. 26.