As I am reminded while attempting a tree pose on this rainy Sunday: my balance is a little shaky.
I have been wobbly for most of my life and even more so in the last few months. Here I am, walking on a very thin wire, making it to the other side, only just, and pinching myself. I am still alive. I didn’t fall.
Small catastrophes collide with major family adjustments, and my career path expands and encompasses things I would have been frightened to even try not so long ago. This is growth, I remind myself; this is a new normal and new normality takes time to sink in, for me. To be still, balanced, is a concept that eludes me, both mentally and physically.
And while I muse and deal with adult life as I think I know it, my manuscript lays there, untouched (bar some editing scribbles), my short stories are still in my folder, not being read, nor sent to any competitions, and this little corner of the internet is being neglected. Now this is familiar!
Let’s break the circle, shall we.
There is strength is my wobble, believe it or not. Fire in all things fragile, and this strength needs direction. And I need discipline.
Who’s with me?
First, let me master the art of the tree pose.