Your thoughts?
Peel yourself away from your habits and create something new.
"Instead of...," does not exist.
Don't run too quickly from discomfort. It's holding your joy. And your freedom.
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Sometimes it's really hard to say goodbye.
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Affinity Dissonance
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After the Salad
I dream of salad bars; spinach and red peppers and pickled beets and croutons, chunks of feta cheese and marinated mushrooms and a variety of creamy oily dressings. I think salad bars may be gone for good. It seems like a bearable loss, for sure, considering what others are losing and considering the losses all of us are sustaining: a sense of the inevitable, the natural, the normal and the belief in a future that bears resemblance to a past.
Still though, I think of the salad bar and crave its easy luxury. Veggies plucked from the ethers, chopped by fairies. The dressings poured magically into labeled cruets. The waxy, cardboard to-go boxes, stacked and waiting for the likes of me. All of the salad bar’s offerings somehow filled and refilled, and the surfaces wiped clean so that I never once had to think about the kind of labor that goes into a system maintained by many for the ease of some.
These days I make salads at home, clumsily and with very little grace. I have to concentrate hard at the market to remember to buy red peppers and feta cheese. I don’t much like chopping vegetables, so my salads look sloppy and rushed and sometimes I eat open-faced peanut butter sandwiches instead. I think I am starting to understand the immutable correlation between engagement and reward. I understand so much more now.
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Who domesticated who?
Your thoughts?
Recalibrate your idea of ownership.
Your thoughts?
Fully inhabit your sighs.
Try not to shame your judgmentalism. Try not to judge your shame.
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You're Doing Such a Great Job!
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No Longer Painting a Self-Portrait of a Fat Weirdo
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Saint Audacia
She uncoiled from her spinal roll and stood a moment in silence while he watched. “Audacity lives in the middle of my chest, maybe in my sternum,” she said, delighted with her discovery.
He blinked once, twice, shaded his eyes with one large hand and then rubbed at his eyes with his thumb and middle finger. It was his version of an eye roll, and she was used to it.
“So, what are you learning about all this? What does it mean for your practice?” he asked, edgy with barely veiled impatience. He was trying to intimidate her back into their shared reality that was mostly his.
She stared at him now. She wouldn't be dissuaded from her strengths. “I’m learning where my audacity lives and how to access it.”
Now he puffed his cheeks and exhaled loudly and lowered his head.
“Let me show you,” she said.
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After decades of longing, I discovered the perfect Medieval peasant frock, in my size. It sat in my shopping cart until I was able to get Free Shipping.
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Justice, for Only $8.95!
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Everything is Coming Apart
Without a trace of regret, she walked away from it all: the overpriced condo where she’d toasted her liberty after the divorce; the banana-box full of journals she’d been filling for more than 40 years; the framed portrait of grammy and grandpa, stern and sturdy in their Sunday best, and the snapshot of abuelita, barefoot and smiling on her front porch; the woven placemats she had ordered on Amazon and the blue and gold Pyrex baking dish mom had always used to make that apple cake; the chandelier that hung over the dining set and the stubs of used candles she'd been saving for years, just in case plain white tapers ever became inaccessible to her. She was, after all, her grandmothers’ granddaughter after all.
The dogs made it out just fine, though, and together they watched it all burn from a safe distance.
Trust in the power of rest.
Your thoughts?
