On Friday night, I participated in my first dance recital in more that fifteen years. I would perform on occasion when my kids were little, and even sang in a band for years. Performing, while always a little nerve-wracking, was more exciting and fun to me until the anxiety weighed more in recent years.

So getting back on that stage, with its bright lights and an amazing group of women who were also willing and able to tap their hearts out was an amazing feat. I knew the steps, had practiced enough, and was ready.

What I hadn't anticipated was the surge of adrenaline and panic making it so I couldn't really move my legs that well. In the 2 minutes we were on stage I smiled, I turned when the group turned, I went in and out of my lines appropriately, but my feet did not really do the steps. The taps did not make the sounds I'd practiced, and my mind felt blank. 

The song ended and I came off the stage a little bit in shock and wanting to cry. But I did it, and focused on what...

A Saturday Sun Poem:

Thank you for the golden light
That allows me to remember:

the wind in my hair
the joy of laughter
the spirit of magic
the whispers of joy

Thank you for the warmth
That soothes an ache I can't name:

the longing of memory
the stillness of sorrow
the restlessness of heart
the passing of time

Thank you for the way 
you paint a picture of home:

the greens and blues
the subtle hues
of pink and orange
that pull me outward
when I struggle within

My therapist and I talked today about the OCD loop from last week. He had some new ideas about what I could try moving forward, if I was willing. Over the last two years, I've done some seriously good work to overcome many things that give rise to panic and anxiety, but I've not been willing to work on the food stuff. It is truly the biggest challenge for me, and I have to confront it regularly.

I have a running list in my head of the foods I won't or can't eat. (Having real food sensitivities compounds the issue) so it's often easier to list the things I will eat. I'll spare you the time and details for now, but let's just say that nearly everything I eat is pretty boring. Especially when one is eating the same thing for days...

We went back to the basics of psychology. Remember Pavlov's dog? Well, humans aren't much different. We are conditioned to respond to triggers, cues, and environments based on what has been paired up in our brains. How many of you hear a cell...

Earlier today, I was pondering the "what do I write about today?" question and took my own advice from a previous blog post and googled "journal prompts." It's a literal gold mine out there, people, so don't hesitate to look there.

One site I found not only has the daily prompts, but a space for others to leave their aha moments and responses, so if you need a little deeper inspiration you can find it there: https://grateful.org/practice/daily-questions/

I scrolled through the Grateful Living site and picked this: "When I view the time available to me with a sense of abundance, what arises?"

I chuckled at the concept of an abundance of time because it often feels like every moment of my life is spoken for--even though a lot of it is the stuff I have intentionally chosen to fill it with. Maybe you can relate? When the busyness of life gets to be too much, how can we shift our perspective to feel more abundant with time?

I think it has to do more with micro moments than...

Dear Procrastination:

I know we have been together for a long, long time. I remember vividly the first time we had a big fight. I was in 5th grade, and I had this glorious vision of the art project that I wanted to proudly display in the storefront window of our community's then lone mall. It was going to be pretty special for our class to get to do that. I wanted to create a real work of art, full of color and fabric, a design I could see so clearly in my mind's eye. But every time we were supposed to work on it, you'd show up and tell me stories, get me to talk to my friends, even line up the markers by rainbow color over and over... and then the bell would ring and I'd have nothing done.

Weeks went by like this, and on the last work day I stared at a blank canvas, a poster cut into the shape of a head and legless mannequin that I had nothing to dress it with but a few random pieces of string, and markers that I drew haphazard lines with in different colors. When it came time to...

I am showing up.

In whatever way that ends up being: body in process, tired mind, here.

Some days it's the bare minimum, but what matters is keeping our agreements to ourselves.

It's not about the number of words, or the magnitude of the message.

Today, it's about doing what I said I was going to do.

It's about being a writer who writes.

And I'm here. 

And so are you.

So maybe you can give yourself permission to show up as you are.

To just do the thing.

And then rest. 

"What message wants to come through today?"

I take a moment to ground myself, feeling the floor beneath my feet and imagining thick roots growing out from the soles of my feet and moving through the floor boards, into the Earth, as deep and wide as the tendrils wish to go. 

I breathe.

And breathe again.

With eyes closed, I turn my face upwards and imagine a bright, golden sun beaming its warmth on my skin. Shimmering light flows through the top of my head and all through my body.

I breathe.

And breathe again.

"What message wants to come through today?"

Rest.

Rest in the knowing that the Universe has your back, that your dream is not too indulgent or impossible, that you have all the time you need, and that choices will define your path.

Rest in the possibility of a Way opening up that you never would have imagined if you hadn't rested, realigned, and made space for what you needed when you needed it.

Rest in the beauty that lies before you: the song of a bird, the luscious...