littlecolourfulteacher

littlecolourfulteacher

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the work of grace

December 27, 2017 , , , , , , ,

I feel like I’ve travelled the world twice over in terms of my moral compass lately. It always happens at the end of a long year, the moment I get off the treadmill and the spinning stops, and my heart recalibrates and I find equilibrium, it happens. That stomach-flipping wondering the borders on aimless wandering, except that I’m stupidly busy with family + Christmas + holidays. I always think I’m MORE fine than I am, so utterly happy to be on holidays, and then it HITS. It’s like going off sugar + caffeine, those first few days SUCK. I’m antsy and unsettled. Even though I have plenty keeping me busy, there is nothing keeping me from ME, and for the first time in 10 weeks, or even a full year, I really have to face myself.

Mostly, I like myself very much. I work hard to live joyfully, authentically, work hard, and to be grateful and humble in my footsteps. Colourful, but humble. But for some reason when I’m not intensively planning, conducting, and teaching, and I have to sit still with the reflections of the year, the first few days are always intensely challenging. I feel like I’m in a total tailspin as to how I anchor myself, how I spend my time, what is important, what I need. Then day by day, I rediscover what is required.

All the things connecting with good physical health I have no problems with; good diet, sleep and rest are all easy for me, and I am lucky in this capacity. But I find myself emotionally a little stiff and sore, a little awkward and strange, even though outwardly I am so joyfully happy and there are celebrations all around me.

The most ridiculous things get under my skin; things that NEVER bother me all of a sudden do. What did that comment mean? That’s a ridiculous post. And the most ridiculous of all; why didn’t that get more likes?! This NEVER, EVER bothers me and I am so utterly and completely happy to stay in my own lane for the other 51-and-a-half weeks of the year that to even feel like this seems so ridiculously petty to me. And yet I dive, and I find myself stuck, and in the process of having to unstick myself.

And I find, unequivocally, that “fast-emotion”, like fast-food, doesn’t cut it anymore. I need to the slow rise of hard-won love and grace to feed me deeply. I need to lean into every single one of those emotional cuts and sores that have long since scabbed-over, but I haven’t really taken the time to examine. I need to lean into wonderfully healing conversation. And I need to to COURAGE [verb]. I need to practise “couraging” every single day, in ways that I haven’t needed to when the work-hum is buzzing loud in my ears.

The thing is, it’s easy to feel validated when you’re working hard. It’s easy to hide behind work when you are seemingly working hard. It’s much harder to hide when there is no work to hide behind.

So you sit, with all the scars and disappointments, and you look at them. You sit and hate them for a bit, and engage in time-wasting and soul-sucking staring matches. “Why isn’t anyone calling?” to, “Why do I have to be the first one to organise everything”, to the classic, “That was awesome, where’s the acknowledgement and thank you?!”

You remember, so abruptly and haltingly, that you are indeed NOT perfect, and that elevated sense of self you had while you were in The Hum of Work needs to be shelved for the time being. You learn that slothing it for the whole day makes you equally as unhappy as counting all your faults.

The compass regains, the equilibrium slowly rises. And you find little whispers a creativity in mind, heart, and self slowly creep forward, and the need for approval melts away, the jabs against pride and ego become mellowed, and you face things that you had no idea how to face a few weeks back. You ask the hard questions in the safety of love and time. You may not have all the answers, that’s okay. But you dared to ask anyhow. Your ability to sit with pain and discomfort, like an unwanted guest, rises.

The lane that you were walking on seem so much more like home. Your home. You’re at ease with yourself and the smell of your own weirdness. Without being glib, you are sure and real again, and that old light from inside you starts resonating.

Suddenly you are more YOU than what the world thinks of you, and grace, in all its wondrous ways, has worked its healing magic.

Thank you for the struggle of living, and the exquisite joy of life and grace.

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