When you’re done chucking at that Seinfeld reference, here’s a prayer:

May I be an easy vehicle for laughter

May I be smooth passage for tears

May my heart beat with all that is

I have a lot on my plate this week.

Looking at my calendar, my shoulders start climbing toward my ears and my chest tightens.

I’m tensing up because I assume it’s going to be hard. 

What I see is that it’s going to be full. 

Hard is not actually a requirement. (Unless I’m trying to PROVE I’m good enough because someone modeled an idea of “hard work” that I’m trying to live up to [cough] Dad…)

I’m done prioritizing some dumb Dad story over enjoying my life.

I want ease.

I feel the power of just speaking this into existence. But, how do I actually live it?

Create ease in my body and mind right now.

Create ease in my body and mind while I work.

Since I’m writing this blog now, I’m going to start with ‘while I work.’

I decided that what will best support my ease is to dive into this blog, so I dove into this blog. I started by telling myself, “let it be easy.” It does not have to be grueling or self-punishing. Let me repeat that. It DOES NOT have to be grueling or self-punishing.

As I sit here and type, I’m going slow, breathing, and staying with my body. I’m noticing when tension creeps in, and relaxing BEFORE I continue. 

I also notice my desire to be perfect and sit here until every word is right. My perfectionism won’t rest (ever) and wants me ground down into a pulverized piece of dust, water-deprived and head aching. Thing is, I don’t want that. And I’m the big boss. I wear the leopard print shorts around here.

So I’m just going to witness that part of me and let it sit next to me while I do things differently. 

I write down what’s coming, let it flow “good” or “bad,” and trust that time will be my friend and collaborator and when I come back to edit. (I’m here in the future, editing, and I was right.) It will be clear what is important and what is not.

When I feel complete, I soothe that perfectionistic part of me and tell it, “You can trust me. We’re done for now. We’re going for a walk and we’ll come back later.”

So that’s bringing ease into doing the work. Now for the right now. This one’s for you, version of me looking ahead at the calendar.

I’m often tempted to cover all my bases and prepare and think of every possible thing that might happen or what I might need or what that person might say, or, or, or….

But when the moment actually comes, it never feels like I predicted. Something I was excited about disappoints me. Something I was anxious about actually felt okay. Some random thing I could never have anticipated changes how I see and do everything anyway.

It’s not useful to spend the currency of the present trying to predict the future. 

Part of making things harder than they need to be is drawing the “hard” toward us, into the present moment.

Why do we try to predict the future anyway? Because WE WANT TO FEEL EASE NOW. The irony! (Go ahead, let yourself laugh at how silly our minds are sometimes.)

The more I focus on the future and try to pin my security to that, the more I’m actually pushing my security away. The emotion I want to feel, can only ever be felt NOW! When I’m feeling it! 

So, instead of trying to feel ease by fixating on the future, I have to relax and allow ease. Right, the fuck, now.

Here’s one way. I name something in my life that I trust. (I am a creative person. I have things to say. I have done hard things. There are people who love me. I am safe to sit here and just breathe.) These things aren’t going away. I let myself relax into them.

How does trust feel? 

I can exhale. My focus comes back to my body, in the present. My shoulders start to drop. I feel solid. I’m breathing more easily.

So when I notice my body start to get tense or anxious, I practice feeling trust. I bring that into right now. That way, when life comes, I can meet it with ease.

The future will come in its own time.

It’s okay to feel good now. 

Yesterday was the new moon. This is the phase when the moon is completely in shadow, invisible from Earth. So it’s darker out, which means a time for going inward and letting the inner voice speak.

I love noticing nature’s rhythms. It’s freeing to let go of my agenda and lean into this larger force.

So I did a little ceremony to invite in the energy of the new moon. First, I prepared my space. I turned off most of the lights and lit candles. I put this song on repeat. I tidied up anything that caught my attention. I got myself a glass of water. I made a little altar. A quartz crystal (representing air), a candle (fire), an abalone shell (water) and a lemon (earth).

Curating the environment gave me time to ease in and go deeper. (Like setting context before sharing a poem.)

I did all of this prep, not knowing what would happen. I didn’t set out to write a poem. I just got in the zone, and trusted. Sometimes, I get nervous without a plan or a structure. Okay. That’s there. But I just leaned in - that’s the essence of the new moon. And this came out. And it felt really good.

savor this frequency

the space between

being

hearts silent

connected

retrain my diaphragm

to breathe smooth 

to hold steady

when it wants to slip away

to sip slowly

when it wants to grasp for air

the other muscles

iron out their nervous wrinkles

clear

the darkness

lights a new path

hovering over the old

free to make a different choice

can it be easier?

can I let myself be led

by a softer voice?

one that can’t be heard over the din

of traffic

or reality tv

one that can’t compete

with jagged self-doubt

finer than the comb of “what should I do?”

grander than what’s possible to understand

sometimes

the curtain just opens

and the nakedness of now is center stage

every other voice falls away

nothingness

embrace

Joy. Ease. I had major breakthroughs with them this week. There were still parts of me holding onto fear that I’m not doing my best if I am living my joy and living with ease.

The truth is: BECAUSE I’m living my joy and living with ease, I embody my purpose. I know because I FEEL IT. I am exactly where I need to be, doing exactly what I need to do. There is no question.

channel a poem in 2 minutes

i said

is it possible

could it be any good

is there any point doing it

is there any point brewing it

without sitting down and stewing in it

AH! I caught you! part me that shows up no matter what

first guest to the party

mr why bother

the impossible imposter

i could give myself all the time

and i’m greeted by the same guy

i will ever be enough

so why not, open a portal

in the time it takes to take a shit

take a little word shit

sit on the typing toilet and let it ride

you can push or just let it slide 

let it go

let it flow

after all, you’ll never know

who might read it and think

ha! i’m glad this little turd exists

my day is a little browner for it

no need to edit, no need to stare

just wave goodbye

as it takes flight

and feel the way it feels

to just be light

I’ve been thinking a lot about how I wake up in the morning. Sometimes, I’m energized and excited for the day. Other times, there’s no amount of snoozing that can satisfy me. As a socially anxious kid going to school, or when I had jobs I couldn’t stand, I’d wake up with enormous dread and anxiety. Some mornings, I still feel the echoes of those emotions. My body remembers waking up into a life I hated. Now, each day, I am practicing waking up gently and giving my body space to acclimate, ease the transition, and imprint how I want to live. Here’s a poem about that. It’s called “Breakfast.”

What do we feed ourselves

as we warm up to waking?

Consciousness flips on, 

percolating like a coffee maker.

Bringing thoughts, 

sensations,

emotions,

fears.

All surfacing

over the embers of fading dreams.

Observe the texture of this tender moment.

Sometimes, my skin has melted into the sheets.

Deliciousness seeps 

into every pore.

Other times, 

my mind is a slip ’n slide. 

What seeks to be freed 

comes barreling down that bright yellow stripe between death and life

like a kid on the first day of summer.

A vivid rebirth, 

each time I open my eyes.

Just allow

each 

cellular 

stretch. 

Go slow, 

we’re remembering how to be alive. 

We’re learning

and learning

how to gently awaken.

How to move

with respect

for the pilgrimage we’ve taken.

Rock me awake 

like a lullaby, backwards.

Treat each crumbling eye crust like gold 

from the mines of deep rest.

Let the body tell the story of where it’s been

and where it’s going.

Ask it softly,

What do you want to eat?

What do you want to weave?

Show me the mark you want to leave.  

Paint me a memory

that feels

like ease.