Today I want to write about falling down.
I fell down ten days ago, struck with a sudden and severe case of vertigo that brought me to the floor, then kept me in bed, unable to lift my head.
When I was able to open my eyes, I scrolled through Facebook and watched a few videos. One was of a woman talking about giving herself permission to fall apart. Another was a Ted Talk about allowing girls to fail.
I’m an April baby. And I’ve always thought spring is a great time for a birthday. Who wouldn’t want to come bursting into the world accompanied by birds chirping and flowers blooming?
I think of spring as a time of renewed energy, purpose, and possibility. It’s a time to get moving again after the impatient, closed-in feeling I get as winter winds down.
I’m at the coffee shop, head down over my laptop, wearing a look of concentration that makes everyone around me think I’m being productive when, in fact, I’m berating myself for my absent-mindedness.
I left the house without my cell phone and had to drive back to get it. It was already an hour past when I meant to leave and I have no idea where that hour went. As I got back in the car for the second time in ten minutes, I looked in the rearview mirror and chided myself.
You sure are spacey.
My flight from Los Angeles to Chicago touched down just before rush hour, making the trip home last a solid eight hours (ten including the time change). It marked the end of a busy two days spent sharing one room with three 17-year-olds, navigating LA freeways while listening to hip-hop, taking college tours, visiting friends, and wedged next to a stranger devoted to friendly chit-chat. It was a wonderful trip, but it reminded me that there is one personal item essential to me (even when I don’t have time to unpack it):
Solitude.
So here’s a pet peeve of mine. I like to listen to Hay House Radio, but inevitably, when callers say to my favorite radio host (Alan Cohen) “I have a question for you…” they never ask a question! Instead they launch into a detailed story, while I wait and wait for the promised question.
I come from a family of gun enthusiasts. My younger brother is a firearms instructor in Iraq. My older brother, who lives in Atlanta, keeps a handgun tucked in his waistband. Even my 66-year-old mother is taking up arms, having just earned her permit to carry a concealed weapon in Michigan. Recently she held up her paper target for me to see: two bull’s eyes! Her exuberance seemed to expect matching enthusiasm from me.
My friend Rex got this sweet little puppy for his 10th birthday. His reaction? He put one hand on his heart, one hand on his solar plexus, and exclaimed in delight. This speaks so powerfully to the source of our joy, and I love that children instinctively honor this in their bodies and their energy. In December I will be focusing on children — what we can teach them about intuition, self-esteem, self-care, and loving kindness, and, maybe more importantly, what they can teach us!
I’ve been asked lately why the excerpts from my upcoming book have become erratic. Well, I’ve hit a wall, and rather than sit in stunned silence, I thought I’d offer this post as an update. There have been some pretty big bricks in my path. My dad died, and though we didn’t have much contact, …
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