What I need? Energy. I'm operating at a 60% of general 36-year-old capacity, I think. My muscles are constantly scrunched up from sitting for 8-10 hours a day; my eyes are blurry with screen time; my fight or flight response is now permanent and my jaw is constantly clenched.
Since I need to live to 100, I'm not thinking that's the way to get there?
I give in to perceived urgencies too easily. What if I don't to *that* email? What if I can't finish *this* quick side project? What if I step out for 30 minutes, and the world just ceases to spin, as it does when I stop to get out of the driver's seat for a bit?
My well-being is not at the top of my priority list, and it's my own fault. A bit of victim mentality - I exist to support everyone and therefore I cannot afford to support, to care for, me. Which is, of course, genuine BS. I'm afraid of hard work to restart my well-being and so I look for loopholes. That, of course, gets in the way of the live-to-100 plan a little, I suppose.
I should walk in the morning, and to do so, I should not waste sleeping time yet again on the internets. And here I am, though.
Monday, April 11, 2016
He laughed today
Just an hour ago, in my arms, he snorted, and chuckled, and LOL'ed.
And I couldn't help but think about the dark, long time when he didn't. A three year old caught in confusion and chaos and fear of adults figuring things out.
And then I didn't want to think of that any more, and I made him laugh more, hugging him, squeezing him, tickling him. Holding him.
Watching his face and suddenly realizing he's on a huge growth spurt. His face is more defined and grown; his features, no longer toddler-like; his attitude, more settled; his needs, more verbalized and formed.
I think of his heart occasionally and pacify myself by thinking - believing - he's OK, and everything inside him is ticking just fine. I think the Spirit groans with me in that moment, an unspoken prayer, a plea that I'm right about all this.
My son, my love. I don't do well at all times remembering to treasure your physicality, your rough hugs, your expressed need to 'spend time.' I will do better tomorrow, I promise.
And I couldn't help but think about the dark, long time when he didn't. A three year old caught in confusion and chaos and fear of adults figuring things out.
And then I didn't want to think of that any more, and I made him laugh more, hugging him, squeezing him, tickling him. Holding him.
Watching his face and suddenly realizing he's on a huge growth spurt. His face is more defined and grown; his features, no longer toddler-like; his attitude, more settled; his needs, more verbalized and formed.
I think of his heart occasionally and pacify myself by thinking - believing - he's OK, and everything inside him is ticking just fine. I think the Spirit groans with me in that moment, an unspoken prayer, a plea that I'm right about all this.
My son, my love. I don't do well at all times remembering to treasure your physicality, your rough hugs, your expressed need to 'spend time.' I will do better tomorrow, I promise.
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