The other day I had a dream. I jumped off something very, very high up in the sky. Maybe a cloud. Maybe even heavens. I jumped off right into an unimaginably deep, steep free fall. Without parachute, yet totally fearless. I just knew nothing could happen to me. But then, suddenly, out of nowhere, doubt crept it.
The other day I watched a YouTube video on being ordinary. Or rather, why we tend to believe we have to be extra-ordinary to be considered successful, worthy, or achieved. I’ve long felt that all this talk about how to find your purpose, your calling, your passion is creating a new kind of anxiety. The anxiety of not ever finding out what we are here for. It puts the pressure on. When it might be way more helpful to take it off. And just relax into ourselves.
… 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.