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. 

I think this is my third post now about receiving. I keep learning how important it is.

This time last week, a very special rabbit named Cosmo died. He was 9 years old. He’d been sick multiple times, and this time, he didn’t come out the other side. 

At 6 months old, he was a feisty and fearful little escape artist. He was found abandoned in a New York City apartment building cowering in the corner (his favorite place to cower).

I took one look at this terrified little creature, hiding at the back of the cage in the shelter, having clumsily bolted behind his box of hay, and said, yes, that one.

He was with me for 8 and a half years. All this time, I thought I was taking care of him.

2 weeks ago, he started sneezing.

I was leaving for Mexico in a couple days and the boarder was going to bring him to the vet that same day. But he was getting worse leading up to my departure.

The night before he died, I watched him eat and struggle and sneeze. I sobbed, and occasionally laughed at how weird and gross his mouth sounds were.

I hoped it wasn’t the end, but I knew I needed to be with him and express what I needed to in case it was.

I sat on the floor next to him and thanked him for the time we had spent together. 

I thanked him for his presence in my life. I thanked him for moving across the country with me. I thanked him for getting me all the way to Oaxaca and back. I hadn’t planned to take him on that trip, but he needed intense care to remove an abscess. I had to do warm compresses twice a day and squeeze puss out of a tube coming out of his cheek. Then after several weeks, remove the tube myself. It was disgusting.

But those moments, where I got to care for him so intimately, were some of the most meaningful. They were an initiation into a deeper mothering than I had ever experienced.

I noticed myself wanting confirmation that I had done a good enough job. Feeling guilt and self-doubt over the times I wasn’t there or didn’t know what was best. Recognizing that, I emailed my own mother, letting her know she had done her job well, that I was a complete person, thriving and standing on my own two feet. I forgave her, I apologized, and I offered permission for her to release any fear or doubt she may have been holding.

I turned back to Cosmo, having released what I’d been carrying in both directions, as the mother, and the child. I looked in his eyes, my heart open and free, and just listened. 

The air between our eyes warped, like how the air warbles over a flame. Two distinct pulses. I recognize this as energy moving between us. He shifted into a different posture. 

I knew intuitively that he had received what I expressed, and he was now giving something to me. 

Because his nose was stuffy, I could hear each exhale. The rhythm was consistent and specific. He was using his breathing to soothe me. 

From his sweet little furry body, he was beaming his breath and attention, creating a frequency of love, assurance and nurturing. FOR ME. 

I was stunned.

Trying not to assume I knew better than the wisdom of nature, I laid down, closed my eyes and accepted it.

His breathing maintained its rhythm, steady and uninterrupted, as if to say, yes, it is still okay for you to receive. I am here.

I let his energy flow into my body. It felt like magic. It felt like mothering. It felt like love. 

I felt my body progressively relax. Starting with my heart, softening and washing over me in waves. Relaxing my own breathing and my chest, then my throat, my neck, my mouth, my jaw, and releasing tension I’d been holding for as long as I can remember. 

I felt cold air in parts of my nose that had never been open. I cried, humbled by the power of this deep, instinctual wisdom. And his generosity in offering it to me. 

When I got caught thinking “How did I not realize this the whole time” or “I don’t deserve this,” it disrupted the connection. And he simply kept giving, so I let it go, in honor of what was unfolding beyond my understanding.

Putting down my doubts, my stories and my fears unlocked a deeper connection to this being and the insane magic of this weird, wild world. 

Cosmo, I love you. Thank you. I will continue to receive. And I will share your magic rabbit medicine.

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

?

What if 

I let go of the thought

that perfect is out there,

somewhere else.

?

What if 

I have everything I need,

but never stopped

to check.

?

What if

I bathed in the warmth

of what’s here,

right now.

Here, my inner richness sits,

while I search the whole world

for the treasure I’ve painstakingly carried

every, single, step.

The gold inside

waits patiently to be discovered

the moment you open the door.

An ocean

waves, and waves, and waves,

knowing someday, you’ll come home.

Your hands reach out

to hold you.

Your heart bursts forth

to feel you.

Your eyes long to close

so you can see.

Okay, so that’s the poem I wrote for this week. But here’s the very first thing I wrote:

“Oh god, what am I thinking, I need to get into flow, how will I do that, just keep writing. Listen to something that will calm me. I feel really good about being here. I have some anxiety.”

Sometimes, there’s more to clear out before inspiration strikes. But today, this was enough. Every time I sit down to write, I’m afraid that nothing “good” will surface. But, 9 times out of 10, patience yields something I’m proud to share. If I can stick with it through my mind doubting and struggling to adjust its rhythm, I can find the flow. It helps me to think of it this way, to remind myself that my job is not to try to write. My job is to stay open long enough for my thoughts to get out of the way so something more interesting can come through. Of course, I put my brain to work finding the right words, and shaping what comes out. But if I let it get too involved, it strangles the magic. Here’s to the mindfuck of trying to not try, just the right amount.