One week in and social media free. I’m liking this.
The withdrawal symptoms have lessened. The insatiable itch to check what’s going on in the outside world whenever my inner world is shaky has subsided.
I feel a lot more steady and clarity is beginning to emerge.
Let me back up a bit.
Two months ago I felt like I was having a midlife crisis. It felt like nothing was working and I had no clue what I wanted.or what direction to go in next. I was taking loads of action for the fish farm and The True You Project, because, as Action Woman, that’s what I do best. But the money wasn’t coming in, and I didn’t know why I was taking all this action any more.
OK, I kind of knew why: Obligation. And because I had gone down those roads for so long, I felt I couldn’t turn back.
That wasn’t the only action I was taking. Since there wasn’t any, or at least a sustainable amount, of money coming in, I was also working weekends at a restaurant waiting tables and dreaming of a simple life where serving nice people, nice food, in a nice place, was enough. Everybody’s smiling, the bills are paid, and I can write and create on the side.
Except would that be enough? As attractive as it sounds, that didn’t feel right either.
And let’s not forget that I’m 37.5 and there’s no kids in sight. I thought for sure by now there’d be diapers to change and toddlers to chase after. Or at least a bump to rub? Maybe even a dog and a house with a white picket fence? For sure I never anticipated this childless pebbledash bungalow that has permanent diesel stains on it from the fumes of all the cars and trucks that whiz by our house at 60 mph even though it’s a 30 mph zone. I can hear them in my bones and I don’t like it. Their tremors remind me of a life that I’m not fully satisfied with, and I don’t like that either.
Hence the crisis.
Fast-forward to today. It doesn’t feel like a crisis anymore. You know why?
Action Woman has traded in her superpower. She is now Queen of the Pause.
I’ve slowed down everything, to the pace of one big drip.
Instead of scurrying around, trying to make up for what feels like a 6 month catch-up game for the fish farm, I’m stepping back and responding to what is.
Instead of trying to carve out the path of The True You Project with a garden spade, I’m letting the waters that are already flowing, run their course, and finally floating along with them.
I am still waiting tables, and enjoying each divine encounter that I have with nice people, eating nice food, in a nice place.
Do you know what I found in all of that space? Something that feels slightly forbidden. A Pandora’s Box inside of me that’s been holding my deepest longings and desires.
I’ve carefully tiptoed toward it, enamored and curious. And slowly, very slowly, I’ve started to open it. Slowly, because, afterall, I wouldn’t want the screaming chaos that I’m pretty sure has been locked away inside, to be let out too quickly.
But then, as the box starts to crack open, I wonder if perhaps I’ve got it all wrong. What if, instead of that box housing my misery, it is housing my delights? What if, by keeping that box shut tight, I am actually creating my own misery?
What if, in being taught to be grateful for what you have instead of reaching for what looks delightful and intriguing, that forbidden and dangerous fruit, we’ve denied ourselves our deepest longings and cravings? And in trying to keep ourselves from reaching for that thing that just might fulfill our soul’s desire, we get damn good at keeping ourselves busy. Stuffing our lives, sometimes our faces, with anything and everything that will silence the empty echo of our hearts.
Including social media.
This week has sealed the deal. Or actually popped open the seal of my own Pandora’s box. It’s contents feel familiar. The wind must have blown the curtain back just enough for me to make out a soft aura of deep purpley blue. And the thing inside must have cunningly stretched and popped the lid open just enough for me to catch its yellowy-orange glow.
The heat of excitement would rise within me. I’d feel energized by my full heart. But then I’d turn on my phone or open a browser, and the noise of all that I’d encounter would bring me crashing right back down. The lid sealed once again, the curtain stiffly hanging. And so I’d continue on with what I was doing, without blowing on the embers of my soul.
This week I had the space to blow. It was only a few puffs here and there, but enough to let a few embers catch flame and burn bright for more than 5 minutes at a time.
There is a part of me that wants to tell you what is catching fire. And there’s a part of me that is worried it’s too soon. What if I tell you and then the flame dies? What will you think of me then? Back to the old start-stop Kendra who can’t seem to stick with something long enough for it to actually take off.
Here’s what feels different this time though.
I had a conversation with my Self earlier this week that basically kicked my ass.
I was told by my Self: I am allowed to dream big. I am allowed to desire and be turned on by all that has been stuffed away and trapped in that box. Those are gifts are for me, and me only. So be a courteous guest, take off the friggin wrapping paper, open the box, and let them into your life!
And here’s the big BUT.
I CAN NOT receive them from a position of Doing.
I MUST receive them in a position of Rest.
I am the conduit, not the Messiah.
I am the vessel, not the Light.
I am the human, not the God.
My mission, should I choose to accept it, is for me to be me, and let the Messiah, the Light, the God, be just that.
AND, I must keep them on speed dial, because TOGETHER shit happens.