Say no to the rushing.

How alive are you willing to be? Anne Lamott

"Oh my God, what if you wake up some day, and you’re 65, or 75, and you never got your memoir or novel written; or you didn’t go swimming in warm pools and oceans all those years because your thighs were jiggly and you had a nice big comfortable tummy; or you were just so strung out on perfectionism and people-pleasing that you forgot to have a big juicy creative life, of imagination and radical silliness and staring off into space like when you were a kid? It’s going to break your heart. Don’t let this happen. Repent just means to change direction — and NOT to be said by someone who is waggling their forefinger at you. Repentance is a blessing. Pick a new direction, one you wouldn’t mind ending up at, and aim for that. Shoot the moon." Anne Lamott

I'm not waiting for the sun to come out before I take a walk.
Not holding out for the last five pounds to drop before I wear what I want to wear.
I refuse to be a prisoner of time.  The same prison that held me when I was deep into the throes of not feeling enough, not being satisfied with all the beauty that surrounded me - will not hold me any longer.  It's as though I've grown wings slight enough to slip through the gilded gate that made everything seem so perfect on the other side.  The choice has been made. I choose to say no to the rushing.  Time -your grasp is slipping, I see you for what you are. You are nothing.

It's only your eyes that need to recalibrate.
Only your heart that needs to breathe.  YES, your heart needs to breathe.

Stiff, inflexible spine...oh how you held me down.
Hardened, cold heart how could I have let you talk me into a bottle every night, with your empty promises?
Immovable, tired feet why did you listen to the lies?
Have you rushed through, worried you'll miss something? Striving to get ever ahead of the Jones' or whomever so much that you fail to appreciate what is right.in.front.of.you? Say no to that.  You have eyes, you have ears.  Use them for what they were designed for.  You know full well that alcohol dulls the eyes, ears, the heart.

And mornings need dimensionless room to grow.
Meals need eyes and tongues to taste.
Nature needs only your rapt attention.
Spirit grows with sleep and sprint.
I will not dampen any of these faculties with vacant promises from a bottle.  I choose ME.  I choose grass, blue skies and smiling.
I choose dreaming and running and happy.

Left in another space are the ghosts of who I used to be.  I leave them to disintegrate, thanking them for their service a la Marie Kondo.  Like a shell that has been left on the beach, still purposeful in that it reminds one of the passing of time, the death of time.

Stepping into awareness I cling not to old ideas of what society tells me is fun, nutritious or meaningful.

I get to decide that.
Not you, not them, not anyone else but me.

Life, I love you.  I finally love you.
How alive are you willing to be?

xo G