Getting Out of Bed: Some Healing the Heart Stuff
I lay in bed one morning struggling to get up - as I do most days lately - and trying my best to kick my butt out of bed, I rolled over and grabbed a reporter's notebook on the bedside table and wrote this command to myself. It took about four times reading it aloud before I kicked off the covers and got moving. It was a Saturday and I got myself to beach yoga and then home to put away boxes and meet some hockey mates for some sun and fun, food and beer.
It shouldn't have been such a struggle - I mean besides the boxes, what's not fun? It wouldn't have been a struggle a year ago.
I was always an ebullient, exuberant kind of person in the morning - excited for the day usually, happy to be alive and all that. And even on tired days, I was at least responsible and focused on work or going to yoga, running, walking the now exdog, getting K up for school. And even before the now exfamily, I was that dreaded "morning person."
Now as I question my very being and my place in the universe, I struggle to get up and get going. But when I do, I am fully in it - or I try hard to be. Some days it's faking it until I make it kind of stuff - smiling on the outside but gray on the inside. Living on this island helps - I want to be out on the water, on the beach, in the sun. Good friends help. Learning something new - connecting a refrigerator water line, putting in a faucet (blog to come!), discovering a little owl has moved in outside my living room window - these things help.
I hit snooze at least 12 times this morning.
Go Go
You'll feel better if you Go.
Go.