Updated: Aug 24, 2020
There's something comforting about inventory. Is there? Really? Counting what we have, recognizing what we need, tallying, recording, assessing? Is this comfort? I don't know. Maybe.
I think I do it all the time. Unconsciously. I notice how I make those mental notes: "Oh, milk on my next shop, down to three eggs, could use peanut butter." I forgot the peanut butter, this irritating realization hits me when I find myself at the car.
I've started walking. My feet hurt. I am recalling a time, 20 years ago, training for a marathon and meeting my group every Saturday for six months to walk for HOURS. They told us to buy body lube, "Glide" I think it was called. We were to rub it on our inner thighs, inner upper arms and anywhere we might chafe, have friction. Do I need it now? Is this a type of inventory? I have been walking for three months, 30 minutes a day. Eight days ago I increased my time to an hour minimum and some days I walk for almost two hours. I have done that three times so far.
I had pain before. That's why I started walking. I stopped teaching/practicing yoga in Sept 2017. In a stretching and lengthening way, I am no longer flexible, my body is unknown to me now. Covid-19 has boosted my baking, so there is the added indulgence. Lots of good has come from my limbering cease, primarily I am less stressed. With less mandatory doing, I created the space to be in my body without moving it. This has been helping me to assess what's what. Is this inventory? Emotions in particular. I think I used to hide them in my body, stuff them away and then yoga myself around them. It became a rationalizing action, through movement I looked healthy, I used it to unconsciously justify the bury.
Discernment comes to mind. Pay attention to routines, "unpack" them now and again. A friend suggested that I ask myself: "Is it easy because it is familiar? Is it hard because it is unfamiliar". The trick (I think) is to be willing to look. Choice. I can choose what to do and when to do it. How about just not doing what I don't want to do. (I made that a statement on purpose). If I give myself the option to do it later, my whole body goes soft. There are times in the day best suited for certain tasks...I KNOW THIS...and I can take full advantage of my MOOD. I got out of bed today because I wanted to go for a walk and meditate...not do the dishes.
My trouble lies deeper, hidden in an uncomfortable place that is too hard to acknowledge. An unrecognized buried ache, something that is not easy to discuss. Worry is here. Part of the "What's going to happen?" epidemic. I do not want to be swallowed up by nonsensical dribble. I am good at that. I cannot "tell" the future, I have no idea of what is to come. (Do I want to know?) Everything changes, often. So what gives? Just because I may lose some familiar, why do I assume I will gain horror, like great personal loss and financial ruin? Why do I go there? Why can't I imagine tremendous gain and fortune? That could be fun! Maybe that's the song I need to write. A lovely and nourishing tune, a melody that swells into the space provided, expanding me to new heights. If I can allow myself to cherish and appreciate this place of 'not knowing' perhaps I could generate welcome for that which I have not yet met?
It feels like I took a three year pause to come home. In this space I found meditation, swimming and genuine relax. I made room for being.
And now my feet are throbbing. I want to call one of my marathon buddies to ask if this happened back then? Did we ache? I remember taking hot yoga classes to compliment all the walking/jogging and that is clearly not part of my current plan. I will not stop walking. Every morning I wake up eager to start. The whole experience has been such an awakening, to see the natural beauty around me, feel the elements and transmute my thinking. One step at a time.