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The lesson of now

I woke up on Tuesday in “back to work” energy. It felt jittery and jumpy. Certainly not energy from my highest self, but instead belonging to parts of me that are plugged in to clients, calendars, commitments, capitalism. All the c’s.

It was early, still, and dark outside as my husband and I took our dogs for their morning walk. As I approached the end of my narrow street, a truck with its headlights on full glare lurched around the corner and I panicked, losing my footing and stumbling on the uneven pavement. My ankle twisted out of shape, sending spikes of pain shooting up my leg.

I felt the urge to carry on walking, to press on with my plans to go to yoga class and “hit the ground running” on my to do list, but my ankle lodged an immediate and painful protest. I could keep pressing against my instincts, or I could tend to the injury, at the same time allowing myself to go slow, as I promised I would this first week of the year, but had already forgotten in the flurry of “let’s go 2023” social media posts.

In nature’s calendar, this is a week in winter. Nature has no idea that our calendar says it’s the week of setting resolutions and bouncing off to the gym and creating inspirational “word of the year” reels. If it did know this, nature would certainly laugh at us. And perhaps this rolled ankle was her way of laughing at me, or at least giving me permission to stay in stillness and contemplation a little longer.

The actions we take in this season— or don’t take— create the stability— or lack thereof— for the seasons which will follow. A message I received in my mediation this morning: Don’t be in such a rush to move on to the next thing that you miss the lesson of now.

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