How to fall softly
I'm finally coming to a place of Acceptance and it feels like the final stage of falling- the childlike cry, the pain in acknowledging what just happened, picking yourself up to keep on walking.
I am so happy you’re here. Thank you for continuing to open these emails and read my work. It truly means the world to me. If you missed it, I’ve been writing a lot about this 90 Day Magic Workshop. I’ve culminated 7 years of time management experiments, values exploration, energy cycling, and methods of getting into the creative flow into this workshop and I am so excited to bring it to the world.
We kick off September 1 and I am eager to get a few more people signed up!
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Ok, onto the Juicy Post for the week.
Thank you for being here. Onto the writing.
This morning I took a walk with my partner, like we usually do. The only difference was today we are in Austin visiting my little sister who had a baby in June. It’s been such a beautiful “coincidence” that we are in the same state, just three hours apart, me in Houston supporting an 81-year-old woman after her stroke, her in Austin, ushering in a brand new life- bookends of caregiving. Our 8 year age gap often puts us on opposite ends of an experience, mirroring back to each other the start and end of milestones. This is by far the most poignant example thus far.
Our morning walk was beautiful. Not-so-hot-take: Austin is so much prettier than Houston! The morning light streamed through the trees, the ducks held a staff meeting, the water was algae-riddled but still lovely, the green water scum somehow adding to the last-days-of-summer vibe. A mile into our walk, I rolled my ankle, HARD. I was craning my neck to read the small text on a mural. I didn’t see that water runoff had created a tiny ravine on the side of the trail, my ankle went right, my foot went left. I fell in slow motion- enough time to tell myself, “you’re going down. Just do it as softly as you can.” Left knee down, forward slide, not too much pressure on the hands.
A sweet (very hot, very gay) man stopped in his teensy tiny shorts to tell me how to stretch it, how to make sure it didn’t swell, etc. Put ice on it immediately. “Thank you, my partner is right behind me.” Whit let me sit in the dirt as long as I needed. Then they helped me to my feet. When I was standing, arms draped over their shoulders, I let out a childlike cry. I was in pain, yes, but it was more the shock of falling, and I needed to cry to complete the cycle, to emotionally close the loop on this event. Letting out the sound of pain allowed me to move on and walk the mile back to our car. The cry let me accept that yes, I fell, yes it hurt and it will hurt for a few days, but looking in my partner’s eyes I knew I didn’t have to do it alone and they would help me through it. Because I could cry, I could complete the cycle. I could move on to acceptance.
I’ve been thinking a lot about Acceptance lately. My sister came to visit us in Houston last week and seeing my partner hold a baby for the first time was overwhelming. Introducing my sister and the baby to Carolyn, my partner’s mother, brought up so many feelings that I couldn’t really place. At first I thought I was having second thoughts, “maybe we should try harder.” Then my own internal eye roll, “oh, god, here we go again.” I have a general rule that I will try something three times, three different ways and if it doesn’t work out, it’s not meant for right now, or maybe not at all. I reminded myself in the moment that I could enjoy the baby snuggles now without needing a biological baby myself.
There has been nothing in my life so bittersweet as the people closest to me having children of their own while I have continued to flounder around inside my own big questions about parenthood. Luckily, very luckily, my taste buds have acquired an appreciation for all the flavors life has to offer.
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