I got nothing. These are the words that occur to me the past few days anytime I sit down to write. Life has been keeping me busy and blog-less.
As I type this, Aviva is upstairs in our bed reading her heart out at the top of her lungs. Greg sits three feet away from me at his laptop, part of his commitment to not letting email eat him alive. Pearl’s fast asleep in her crib. I can hardly believe Juke isn’t at our feet, groaning and whining dreams. Outside, still more snow is falling steadily but gently. A plow rattles down, then up, our dead-end street. I can see the neighbor’s upstairs bedroom light is on; in a few minutes, it’ll go dark, even as we click away way past our bedtimes.
We’re in the midst of some negotiations for a new office space for Spring Hill Solutions, Greg’s business. It’s exciting and nerve-wracking; once again, we’re going largely on made-up numbers, best guesses, and trusting ourselves and each other and, mostly, the Universe. It’s a leap, to be sure, from his current (10 x 10, no-frills, dirt-cheap) office on Church Street. It’s also What’s Next.
When I feel myself starting to panic or freak out, especially about money, first I breathe in and out a few times, remembering that the only real thing is now and here, despite what my mind would have me believe. Then I look around. Literally look around and within myself, take a tour of my life, in time and space. We are so blessed.
Where did I read or hear this, that everything – our choices, decisions, actions – comes from either fear or love? We choose love, time and again. Like anything can be, it’s habit-forming.
That doesn’t mean we don’t crunch numbers, lash out, or blow off meditating despite our best intentions. Last summer, a friend asked me what accomplishments or milestones felt most important to reach or achieve before I die. I remember thinking about it for a moment, not sure what to say. Then I told her, I just want to be able to say that I was awake.
On our bedroom wall hangs a hand-painted tapestry by a Vermont artist named Mary Hill. It was my Hanukkah gift to Greg a few years ago. Its earthy greens and browns surround three deep purplish-blue hearts, painted vertically. Below these is one simple word: t r u s t.
I take this word, these blue hearts, into my consciousness, through my eyes and into my heart, every morning and every night. They are, essentially, my only guides.
Photo credit: Frenchless in France.