Promise #86: Wish more, fret less

standing on the edge of monday (read: 6:30 am)

wishing the universe could deliver:

five more minutes, a hotter cup of better-tasting coffee, maybe just another Sunday

knowing monday’s uncontrollable suck and blow is just thirty minutes away

it’s a cross between a dyson and a plunger

inhale exhale inhale exhale

the most you can do is sink your soles

a little deeper into the earth

and have faith

even the most delicate roots are fiercely strong

intertwining amongst themselves, rock, debris, anything that’s there

it’s always enough

to keep you firmly grounded

while you let your mind wish its way through five days of hot air

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I’ve been enjoying (like really enjoying)

365 altars at Barefoot Heart and Words Dance as of late.

Go check ‘em out + enjoy.

Promise #85: Be one with the jury before you’re one with the judge

Jurors are obligated to consider all the facts, to listen without prejudice, to deliver a verdict beyond the benefit of doubt.

Judges are obligated to make sure all witnesses are heard, welcome credible evidence and interpret the law so that the jury can deliver the verdict beyond the benefit of doubt.

Which is why if you’re faced with the need to judge anything it might be better to jury through all the facts before you grip a gavel and call truth to order.

Promise #84: Strain for less, not more

For all the joy a new year brings, there’s an undue amount of stress, too. That’s because we’re all so tangled up with the pressure and hoopla to make a resolution.

Imagine if we shifted the entire discussion to December 31, 2012? There would be a lot less chatter and it would be much more meaningful. The resolutions that didn’t stick wouldn’t matter. The resolutions that did stick would.

Our shared experiences about the real transformation a resolution makes (after all, that’s the intention) might be slightly more inspiring than a discussion about the transformation we hope it will make. Not that there’s anything wrong about a discussion regarding hope.

Last year I ranted about this, too, when I shared my resolution. Interestingly enough the resolution to just “trust myself” was one that stuck with me all year long. It whispered in my ear when I was ready to farm out a work project or two; it slapped me upside the head when my inner critic questioned my ability to get naked; it reminded me again and again to not be afraid to just see what might happen if I ________________.

I learned that this whole resolution wanderlust is deeply personal. It’s not about joining a gym or getting a new job or landing a deal. It is about finding the power within to produce the change you need, desire, crave or dream.

It’s about being patient and kind to yourself. It’s about making a pinky promise with your soul.

So whether you already staked your claim, or you already walked away from your stake, consider this:

why not spend the year straining for less

so you can get to the heart of your matter

and make it matter even more?

Promise #83: Pay homage to your angel

There comes a point in time when everything must land on a piece of barbed wire.

Me. You. Even a snowflake that’s fallen from the sky.

So don’t waste your time pondering the why or wondering the what if.

Spend it making snowmen and throwing snowballs.

Lay down on the freezing cold earth

and pay homage to your guardian angel—

outline her blessed figure in the snow.

After all, she’s the one who empowers you

to pull every barb from your being

before you melt

back

into

the

 sky.

Promise #82: See your forest for the trees

There is an entire place dedicated to enhancing clarity and understanding, peace and patience, kindness and gratitude.

Believe it or not, there’s no long line at the entry. There’s no need to make a reservation. There’s no admission fee. There’s nothing for sale. You can stay as long as you like. You can bring friends or go alone. You’re free to sit and think. You’re free to walk around, to run, to play. You can even just lay down and take a nap. You’re welcome every day, any time.

The air is fresh. The ground is solid. The atmosphere, embracing. It’s alarmingly quiet and quietly alarming.

And the best news is—it’s on the other side of your front door. Go on, open that door. Take a deep breath. Clear your head. Stand on top of the world.

Own. Your. Day.