… what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life? I just got home from a book reading. Actually, it was more of a mindfulness workshop, but I didn’t know that when I decided to go. The author included lots and lots of mini meditations in her lecture. And one of them focussed on this simple question, taken from a poem by Mary Oliver called The Summer Day.
The last few months were a bit of a mini earthquake for me. The big earthquake had already happened before, when I lost all that I had held dear, my marriage, my emotional home and my job satisfaction. The mini earthquake came as an aftermath of what had happened. It’s all the realizations I have had since. And they are no less disturbing than the previous events. The only thing that’s “mini” about them is that they are not easily seen on the outside. As they happened on the inside.
I’ve been ruminating a lot lately about my need for a career change and the fears going along with it. It hasn’t served me well. The rumination I mean. Not the realization that I need to change careers. In fact, ruminating about it has amplified my fears instead of calming them, reminding me of a poem I once read about bad habits: There is a hole in my sidewalk.
Today I feel utterly depleted. I spent the whole of yesterday ruminating about what to do about the realization I had come to in my last blog: that I need to leave my job. Since then a fierce battle has been going on inside me: Fear and anxiety have joint forces and are building a huge, seemingly insurmountable wall, with chain-link wire and bottle shards cemented on top of it, around the tiny seed of hope and trust that, if I really did leave my job, everything might just fall into place.
I never thought of Elizabeth Gilbert as an inspirational speaker. Yes, I read her book “Eat, Pray, Love” and liked it. And yes, I also watched the movie and thought it was a fine thing to enjoy with a cup of tea and then get on with my life. But the whole hype about her, how she had become famous and all that had somehow bypassed me. Until this morning. When one of things she said hit straight home with me.