Fire Drill

In terms of self-care, I’m crawling right now.

An hour of yoga feels like too much.

A complete cleanse feels punishing.

Writing everyday feels like a chore.

So, I’m crawling.  I can’t seem to find my way to the mat, but I can light a candle and try to just breathe for 10 minutes.

Which is what I did at 6:30 this morning.  Sitting on a pillow in my hallway, watching the flame aggressively flicker, when suddenly…

The fire alarm went off.

My husband jumped out of bed, still half asleep and cut his foot.

My son shouted, “Mom, what is happening?”

“I’m trying to mediate!” I barked back, over the blaring alarm.

“Well, it’s really loud and it’s really early.”

I laughed.

My husband found his way back to bed.  My son stopped asking questions.  I opened a window and went back to my pillow.

The alarm stopped.

The flicker calmed.

The birds sang.

The distant traffic sounded like the ocean gently rolling off, and then back on the shore.

And then, just mere moments after the great commotion, I felt it.

The invitation to begin again.


PS – The view out the back window I opened to let the commotion out.




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