I woke up yesterday hung-over. It wasn’t my finest hour but it’s part of the story. Coming off the glow of a really good day, I found myself laying in bed pushing snooze and feeling like life was a little less…shiny. I wondered why I even ended such a happy day the way I did. Then I realized it wasn’t worth my time to berate myself because the feeling would be there all day. And then I realized just one day earlier I committed to writing everyday for the rest of the year. I got up out of bed right then. Who was I to be a person to commit only to have it fall through the following day? It wasn’t going to happen. I had a greater purpose and so I went downstairs to get to it.
I was in the basement for at least 4 hours, fiddling. I felt better about the hangover; I felt better in general. Alcohol always has a way of bringing guilt to my mind and yesterday was no exception; though I found myself being a bit kinder to, well, myself. I found that the most I could do in the face of said reality was to get up and move on. So my gift was kindness, to me. It’s hard for me to give myself a break. I’m so used to being mean and unforgiving as a way to learn a life lesson. I trust that habit. I know it sounds messed up. You know what? It is. I found myself embracing the idea that, “What is, is. What is not, is not. No amount of wishing or wanting can change that simple fact.” I think I saved myself from a bad day and a bad pattern. Dare I say I let go and just went with life?!