Waking Up

Another free-write.

Each morning I wake up and make my coffee. Then, I go sit for a moment. I can’t really meditate so I don’t ask that of myself anymore. I just sit. Still. For a bit.

Sometimes I put moisturizer on my hands, massage them and smell the vanilla. Sometimes I clang a bell and try to really listen and follow the sound for as long as I can. Other times, I take my time petting my dog and my cat, and watching them play or posture.

Sometimes, I simply lean against my old radiator and let the heat warm my back. This is my only resolution this year.

I will wake and sit.

I will do this before I get on my cell phone, before I tweet or check messages, before I start a to-do list, turn on the news, or worry about the weather.

I will take a moment before I decide how behind I am on my thoughts, my chores, my life.

Sometimes this is my only quiet all day, and these sacred moments of stillness, are not always joy.

“I’m so much crankier than I’ve ever been,” I tell my therapist. I’m not sure why. The only thing different is that I’m sitting still in the morning. That’s it.

And I’m cranky, crabby, even angry.

“It’s so fucking hard,” I tell her.

“What about it is hard?” she asks me.

So often I’m in motion, in action, in planning or in thought. I tell her this. It’s not like she doesn’t notice. I’ve told her sometimes I can’t stop talking, can’t stop thinking, can’t stop doing. I ask her to promise to interrupt me, to question me, to engage me so I don’t go on, and on, and on in a way that is really going off.

When I sit, I notice how tight or tense or sore I am, how tired.

When I sit, I realize, once again, I didn’t go to the gym yesterday or eat enough broccoli or have a meaningful conversation with my daughter.

But I notice myself noticing and trying not to be eaten alive by regrets. I try not to let my mind turn into a disciplinarian. I’ve added a pile of poetry books because, for me, poetry is what I think prayer must be for others. Poetry is what feels pure and sacred for me, it’s where someone takes care to capture life in the act, someone takes pause long enough to honor some idea, memory, observation, and give space just for that.

I’m always better for new thoughts, feelings, words to add color to the mix of my gray matter.

Sitting still before running at the day helps me dive deep within and move beneath the busyness – at least for a few moments.

Sometimes, what I find is fun, easy, or blissful. But that’s not the point. It’s just being still enough to be true and honest with myself and soak in the fact that it’s a new day. To really remember life is not a hamster wheel and I’m no longer being chased. I can learn to allow myself to be more still, with practice, and new habits.

And I’m better (eventually) for being in touch with myself, with quiet, and with sacred solace, for reminding myself that I’m safe and here now, and can be with myself and my body without fear.

That’s how I’m learning to wake up to my body and a world more wide than I’d known.