gettin' down to The Git Up

I don’t know what it is about choreographed dance. Line dance. Group dance. Songs like this. I don’t know what it is, but I come ALIVE with this stuff. I feel actually good. Great. Hopeful. Like life is so, so good.

People enjoying themselves. Laughing at themselves. Enjoying one another. Moving their bodies. Smiling and feeling sure and silly and free …

And I feel almost ridiculous saying all that. But, if I’m being honest, it’s always been a true thing for me. Most of my best memories are on Cowboys’ dance floor. I kid you not. I imagine it must be what it’s like for musicians when they sit down with others for a jam session. It feels like human connection and like something bigger and better than ourselves.. It feels like possibility. Life hums. Vibrates.

For me, it’s something approaching a concept of Heaven I could actually look forward to …

So, I’m gonna grab my baby girl and we’re gonna dance in the living room to this on the daily for a while. We’ve already been at it. She lights up. Which makes my heart leap. Maybe she’s got some of her momma in her. And, if it’s this part, I’m gonna help her enjoy it as much and as long as is possible.

Love.

2 weeks old

It’s all still hard, but it’s getting better. Whether that is because of the human ability to adapt to new circumstances or because it’s legitimately slightly easier two weeks in than it was at a week and a half in, I can’t honestly say .... but it’s a tad bit better.

And she’s still adorable. And warm. And squishy. And when she falls asleep on me, immediately after nursing? There’s very little in the world that feels better.  

But she’s been air-side for TWO WEEKS. It feels so much longer and like it’s flown by at the same time. If this is any indication of how fast time will move through her childhood, I’m terrified and sad ... I don’t want to miss it. I want to cherish it. I want to be transformed by the pure joy of it. She’s precious and I never want to lose sight of that ... in fact, I want it to be so real for me that I can’t help but transfer that truth to her ... that she’ll believe it about herself and act and feel accordingly. 

I’ve spent a lot of time holding her and praying over her this past week - for her protection and health and wisdom and salvation and sanctification and innocence and confidence and mental health and relationships ... and I just get the sense that God and I are going to be talking a lot more simply because she exists. 

That’s not a bad by-product of these hard and sacred times.  

Love. 

UPDATE: It’s a few hours later and I’m on the edge again. A little resentful, a lot lonely, a whole lot more insecure - about my mothering, my instincts, my future ... and it’s feeling really heavy again right now.  I’m tired with no good sleep in sight. I can’t poop or sit comfortably like I could just two weeks ago ... and it’s crazy how body discomfort can really mess with a mind (see previous post at 37 weeks, ha). 

So there’s that real life. 

Love. 

my kind of sunday

Currently: I'm sitting on a beach chair in my open garage, overlooking my freshly cleaned car on the driveway, listening to Brad Paisley sing about inner tubes and trailer hitches, sipping a Jose Cuervo margarita out of a plastic cup and reading a 10-page paper from 1980 on Gestalt Therapy written by Gertrude Krause. 

Currently: I kind of like myself. And my life. 

#feelthegood

on quitting the comfort zone

I have NEVER wanted to do public speaking.

Actually, that's not true, I HAVE wanted to it. I've wanted talking to a group to come easily and naturally, fluid even. To exude confidence in self and topic? I have wished for it. Like most introverts, I've had my moments of wishing I were an extrovert, jealous of those who can command an audience, certain that life would be easier if I, too, could always know the exact thing to say in the best way at the perfect time. Oh, to not be too terribly introspective and awkward .... 

But, alas, my lot in life is that of an introvert and my greatest fear (after spiders) remains putting myself out there and doing any and all versions of public speaking. I don't want to do it. I don't dream of succeeding at it. I've accepted my limitations. And I don't want to do it. Ever.

I want to do other things. Travel. Write. Concept. Play. Earn. Love.

I'm just not sure I get to do any of the other stuff if I don't grow some balls and step out of my box and quit the comfort zone. I have to kick the downsides of my introversion to the curb. I have to stop my clamoring for low-profile. I have to quit being timid in my uncertainty. I can't continue or succeed with a sense of low self-worth and diminished self-confidence.

“Life begins at the end of your comfort zone.”

— Neale Donald Walsh

So, Monday evening, I'm going to go speak to a group. I'm going to speak about myself and my profession and my thoughts on being about the business of change. And I don't want to do it. I've been a basketcase in prep for the past several days. I'm terrified. The shame tape is playing, repeating just how certain I am that what I have to offer isn't good enough, clear enough, etc. That terrifies me. But, I'm going to do it. Succeed or fail, I'm going to do it ...

Because I want to do other things.

Wish me luck? :)

LOVE.