I’m tempted to post a scathing diatribe about my ex, complete with name, SSN, and mugshot. But fueling that anger won’t help me move forward and won’t make it any easier to sever the ugly tie to the past that reared its ugly head this morning. So instead, I’m just trying to remember that the current discomfort is only temporary and that I have so much to be thankful for. I am not going to let his actions ruin my weekend, much less my life.
Happy Saturday:)
I run not to get away, but to get through.
I run not to become out of breath, but to gain breath.
I run to be social and I run for solitude.
I run to connect and I run to disconnect.
I run not to avoid work, but to inspire work.
I run to feel empowered and I run to remind myself that I am still weak.
I run to meditate and I run to ruminate.
I run not to lose weight, but to gain balance.
I run because it is what I do.
Because I run, I can be who I am.
And that is why I run.
The beauty of a summer garden is found in its abundance. The welcoming sunshine and needed rain uniting to provide the ideal conditions for growth. Beds become a beautiful, riotous mess even under the watchful eyes of trained gardeners and hundreds of volunteers.
They refuse to follow the rules and color within the lines; instead their reach extends into walkways, obscuring the path.
The eye dances along the woven green tapestries formed by the intertwining stems. Their bold blooms fight for attention and resist being reigned in. These are not flowers to be controlled, to be clipped and tucked into proper arrangements. Rather, these are blossoms of pure, unbridled exuberance.
There are seasons in our lives that are like a summer garden. Times when our moments are filled with new ideas, new experiences, and new relationships. Celebrate the abundance in those seasons. Revel in the new growth. Don’t be concerned when your path is obscured. It will be revealed in time. Don’t worry that the garden bed of your life is becoming too full. There is time enough for pruning later. Do not fret if your mind’s eye has trouble settling on a single bloom. Rather, let it explore the interconnectedness of your sprouting life.
Stand tall among your summer blooms and enjoy the beauty of its abundance.
Dogs have a way of reminding us to embrace the moment. Thank you, Tiger, for the lesson:)
I’m not sure “healed” should be a word.
Heal? Yes. Healing? Absolutely. But, healed? Past tense. As in done. Finished. Over. Completed. Shut the door and turn the key.
I’m not so sure.
Some days I think I’m there, the wound healed over with no hint of a scar. But that’s just wishful thinking. A fallacy reveled when the wound opens from the slightest unintentionally targeted remark or interaction, triggering the pain and uncertainty associated with the initial cut. At least now I have practice. Practice feeling the pain and the fear. Recognizing its roots. Knowing what part of it is real and what is simply echoes of the past, ghosts that can cause no real harm. I have practice accepting the pain and practice letting it go. I speak its language.
It is said that practice makes perfect. Will perfect be when I am healed? Or will I achieve perfection in the cycle of feeling, accepting, and releasing? Most likely, perfection will remain elusive and I will have to settle for better:)
Maybe I will be healed when I accept that I will always be healing.
Lessons From the End of a Marriage 