Growing up I sang the same tune every summer. Somewhere between the frantic energy of "are we there yet" and the lazy refrain only found in a child's backseat snores, you could hear me humming. ~ stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe ~ Every summer I learned it was okay to wade water and exhausting to fight currents and more rewarding in life to dive right in. They were invaluable life lessons, teaching me how to avoid drowning (if possible). ~ stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe ~ To develop our confidence, we called upon chickens - for nurture and protection and comfort eagles - to soar across ripples, through and around swim lanes, ignoring hard boundaries. rockets - for frequent reminders of the way we could burn or inspire in equal turns. ~ stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe ~ Since those summers, I've wandered this earth, flown through sun kissed skies, ran through concrete jungles, survived the cycles of my heart nearly shattering. ~ stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe ~ Who knew that song was more than a swimming technique and a gold star? That while exploring murky waters, it would save me from the depths. That when I plummet I know there will be an inevitable gasp of air when I resurface?
Let go of the things that no longer serve you. Let go of the people who no longer serve you. Let go of the memories that no longer serve you. Let go. Not all help or work must be done for others. Some effort must be placed into your home. They'll tell you otherwise but at times the greatest service can be self-love.
Cool, I'll just be over here trying to mop up my heart which is now a puddle on this dingy coffee shop floor. THANKS. APPRECIATE IT. ~ dial tone ~ Sorry, this is Brain. Given Heart is out of commission, I'm taking over. And using only the best logic, the best is a grand overstatement, I've been waiting for a moment to lead operations for a while now. First and foremost, Heart is going to remain on leave for a while until the rest of the bits are sure it's actually learning from breaking repeatedly.