I was thinking…

I’ve stood here before, looking into this same old mirror.

I’ve met many women here.

My mother’s daughter. My children’s mother.
A little sister. A wife. A partner. A quitter.
A geek. A friend. A misfit.
Someone who inspires. An imposter. A leader.
A problem solver. A disappointment.
Someone who asks big questions. A failure.

I often stand here, looking for someone else.
I look in that mirror and think “who am I? what do I want? what do I need? what matters to me??”

And I don’t know. I feel lost.

But sometime, as I wipe away the steam after my shower, I catch my eye.

I stop.

And I simply let all the stories fall away, dropping to the floor next to the dirty jeans and wet towel discarded there in a heap. Somehow, the water rinses off more than just the sweat and soap suds. I let it wash down parts of the “me” that I hold up to the world most days.

In this moment of honesty, I recognize that “I don’t know...” just means “I don’t think I can do that...” or “what if I’m wrong?”

“I don’t know...” just means “I’m afraid…”

What am I afraid of?

Afraid that I really am a failure. Or not good enough. Or that you’ll be disappointed in me.

Afraid that I really am capable of so much more. That I can do great things. That I can do what I dream of. And, if so, why haven’t I done it before now? What’s taking me so long?

It brings to mind the famous quote by Marianna Williamson:
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness,
that most frightens us.

What most frightens me? It seems easy to feel inadequate – and easy to find “evidence” for the negative stuff. But to feel powerful? Seems impossible, most days.

Truth is they both frighten me. And they’re both true. Perhaps that’s where freedom comes – from embracing these contradictions in my life.

Truth is that I’m ALL of those things.
And I’m still a worthy, capable, growing and changing human being.
I used to think I had to “figure it all out” and then I’d be okay…
Now I realize I’ll never figure it all out. Monks who meditate 365 days a year don’t have it all figured out. I certainly never will!

I’m beginning to feel like it’s okay to be on a journey, to take one thing at a time and trust in my own process. It’s not always how I want it to happen, but it’s happening nonetheless.

For this moment, I stand and look in the mirror and yes, I do know.
I know that I’m all sorts of things. And as long as I can embrace all of that and still keep striving to be better, that’s what counts.

For this moment, I can look at my weaknesses and failures and still believe in myself. I can be a little more patient because I know that I’ve already accomplished things that felt impossible before. I’m well on my way to being the mother that I want to be, that my children need. That hasn’t been a short or easy journey, by any means. And I’m doing it.

Likewise, as hopeless as it may feel in a moment, when I’m looking up at the mountain left to climb, I can look down and see how far I’ve come already – and have faith.

Indeed, this is the reward…

Sometimes I get so tired. There are days when I feel like I just can’t possibly keep going – keep trying to change the world, keep trying to get everything done for everyone and keep trying not to feel like I’ve failed when I can’t do it all or when I fall down… Sigh.

So, as I read the book “The Invitation” by Oriah Mountain Dreamer, the following excerpt resonated with me strongly. It contains good reminders to me – to remember that what I do (or don’t do) doesn’t define me. Or that I can live every moment of my life, experiencing it all without judgment. And (most important to me!) that it’s okay for me to stop and rest sometimes, caring for myself with at least as much energy as I give to caring for others!

Hope you enjoy!

It’s easy to lose sight of the divine in the partner who takes out the garbage, and easier still if he or she doesn’t. It’s hard to remember to look for and see the beloved in the parking attendant or the check-out clerk we encounter. We need shared gestures, small ceremonies that help us pay attention, that let us see and honor the mystery of the other every day. This is the commitment my soul longs to make to the world.

And I want to stop trying to do this.

It is not the being, not even the doing that exhausts. It is the trying: trying to be present, to be awake, to hold the whole world, to be better, more self-aware, more conscious. My hopes for us are real: I want to help create a world where the very idea of toxic waste would raise such a cry of anguish from the people as to make it unthinkable; where we would move, pulled by the heart, to care for the poor, the ill, the dying and despairing without debating whether they are deserving, without fear of contamination, seeing ourselves in each person.

But as honorable as these desires to make a difference may be, I know my motives are mixed. I am afraid that if I am not accomplishing something I will disappear. I will have nothing to offer you when we meet. I want to be able to be able to live for a day, a month, a year – even a life – that wouldn’t make a good story. If I have nothing to tell you when we meet and you ask me what has been happening, I want to be fully content with this. I want to be able to occupy my life to the corners and for this to be enough.

There are places inside me where the soothing balm of rest has never penetrated. I long for a small respite from the reaching, a moment of sweet stillness, quiet darkness, the great silence that can penetrate and loosen the small, hard knots of endless trying. I want to quit running from my own tiredness. I want to be willing and able to move only as fast as I am capable of moving while still remaining connected to the impulse to move from deep within, stopping when I have lost that slender thread of desire and having the courage and faith to wait, in stillness, until I find it again.

This is what I ache for: intimacy with myself, others, and the world, intimacy that touches the sacred in all that is life. This ache, this longing is the thread that guides me back through the labyrinth of compromises I have made, back to my soul’s desires. And sometimes I am afraid of my desires – afraid of what they will ask of me, what vision of myself or the world they will offer that may demand a sacrifice of my carefully cultivated way of seeing. If we are never consumed by the transforming fire of our desires, we risk falling in love with the sweet ache of longing, the daydream of “what if…” or “someday…”

The willingness to live our desires takes courage. So many times our desires have been used against us, used to sell us what someone else wanted us to buy. Moving towards our desire for deep commitment to Spirit, we have been sold blind obedience; opening to our desire to love, we have been sold an abandonment of self; seeking to embrace our desire for beauty, we have been sold everything from cars to clothes, exotic vacations to plastic surgery. We have been sold a lifestyle, when what our soul desired was life.

To taste our longing, to feel the ache, we risk finding our soul’s desire. We risk falling short of fulfilling those desires. We risk living our desires fully.