Re-Entry

I have moments when I feel a tidal wave motivation to share my work and offer my hard-won experiences as stepping stones to encourage others along their way to a meaningful life ~ days and even weeks when the channels between the divine and the everyday are clear and wide open, uncluttered and light.

And then there are days when I feel like I have no business offering certain kinds of encouragement, that I'm crazy to think I could be an example for an integrated life lived in quiet certainty of the beauty in each moment, the perfection in each day. Days when I'm annoyed by my laundry and irritated at the tasks that so quickly mount up when I am away for just a few days. Moments when I feel the transition from thinking a wild idea could work to seeing all the ways the stars would have to align just so to make it possible, the overwhelm that accompanies the shift, and the ensuing frustration over the fact that my life ~ like every life ~ has certain limitations.

I walk around feel agitated, and wonder who the hell I think I am to ponder writing more books, facilitating retreats, pursuing a grand dream, and putting myself out there as someone with a unique kind of meaningful-ness to offer the world. I want to pack it in, call it a day, and theoretically make things easier on myself. If I didn't care, I wouldn't have to try, and if I didn't feel pulled to devour life with such ferocity, I wouldn't feel so hungry.

My life is like any other life. I have days of wild hope and also bleak longing. I don't always love the laundry and am not always enamored with the responsibilities I have to my family. I don't always feel like I have the most important things figured out and I sometimes think that because I don't fit into a tidy little box career-wise I will always have a hard time finding my audience. I have so many things I want to say and share and experience and offer but often times feel lost as to how to bring it all together in a clear, coherent message. I don't always trust in my ability to tie it all together, I don't always have faith I am doing things as well as I could.

So I take a walk with a dear friend, who shares a story that makes us both cry. I don't try to force a good mood, and I take one step at a time. I remember the thorny moments are gifts as much as the shiny ones, and that tomorrow is another day. I stay mindful of what is real, and don't let myself worry I'm about to let someone I love down. I save the phone calls for tomorrow. I don't try to be what I'm not.

I finish folding the laundry. I close my eyes and breathe.

Christine Mason Miller

Santa Barbara, CA

Writer * Artist * Storyteller * Guide