I am in a writer's group. We support each other. One way we support is to set goals on Monday and report in on Friday on how we did and what rewards we gave ourselves along the way. I was doing reasonably well with this, and then this happened with my feet. I've been finding it hard to meditate. I sit with being a great deal, but not with what I call and feel as full-blown meditation, and so, as you see, judgment has settled in. I'm not meditating well enough. In addition, there are no walks, no hikes, and I see how that is essential to lighten my mood and firm the flesh I'm currently given.
Nevertheless, I've felt I was doing well, and finding all the gifts of being still in my home with everything and everyone coming to me. The trees are here, the birds, and people, too, but I realized this morning maybe I've been too stoic. This morning a friend touched me with her words, and I cried, and cried. She pointed out that maybe I could recognize I am "doing" enough. I am being enough. Maybe I could ask for more hugs, virtual or in-person.
I sit with that, tenderized. I look up and see two squirrels chasing up the trunk of the redwood tree and then onto a branch and into needles beyond what I see. I notice blue sky, a patch, a path, through the maze of needles. What do I miss? What do I not see? Ah, movement. A jay.
Might I be kinder with myself on my definition of "enough".
Isn't healing enough? Yes, and I am healing in more ways than just my feet. I am softened in reception.
Years ago I took a class with a wonderful man, a Jungian psychotherapist. The idea was to help us individuate, to find our wholeness. We drew our own mandala, and looked at balance in our lives. The teacher had experienced a stroke. He wife dropped him off at the door of the classroom. He entered slowly and with care. He spoke of how it was a huge deal for him to dress, arrive, and teach for an hour. How did he do it? Five minute goals! At the time, I was young and healthy. I rode my bike over the hill from Mill Valley to Corte Madera to College of Marin. I appreciated the idea of five minute goals, and it has stayed with me, and popped in here and there, again and again. Five minute goals. With that, there is always something to celebrate, or not, but at least something is clear, some noticing of what we are doing as we navigate our journey here.
I keep wanting to satisfy big goals, and maybe I don't even know what that means. What I do know is it leads to dissatisfaction in that I lose my ability to know and celebrate enough. This moment could not be more complete. Birds are singing. An insect just flew by. My feet hurt only the teeniest-tiny bit and even if it were more, I am alive. I am here. I toss a rock into my pond. The ripples wrap around me like hugs! Enough!