“Feels” is far and away my favorite of the slang that I am too old to utter and yet use often. It fits. Emotions are big and scary. It suits me to utilize a word that softens the edges of big scary things.
Feels are necessary. I get it. I also run from them. A lot. It is easier to hide than it is to feel. Until it’s not anymore.
Today, I felt the feels. I allowed emotion to flow through and out of me. I’m drained and exhausted. It is no small thing to take my feels on and not hide in the bottom of a bag of chips. I felt. I cried. I survived.
This evening, I am enjoying the feels that come with mothering. The feels are like that. They can wipe you out one moment and lift you up the next.
I feel. Deeply. And that’s ok.
There are mornings that are for reading. The book of choice comes easily, settling in to the chair is effortless, and the coffee is perfect. I head down the rabbit hole of an author’s beautiful mind, with glee.
Then there are other mornings. Nothing feels right. The books are not calling out. The chair is not comfortable. The coffee has cooled.
That’s the tug.
Writing is tugging at my shirt sleeve, gently urging me to pay attention. If I choose to ignore the tugging, it will stop. I make that choice occasionally. How sad for writing. To want to inspire and be turned away.
So I listen. And then I write.
Rainy mornings are for coffee and reading and writing and texting your mom. That is this morning, for me.
My mom. How do I tell you about my mom? It would take all the words in my vocabulary and that still wouldn’t cover it. In a word, she is spectacular!
Witty and sharp, she is a force. A verb. I’m so unbelievably grateful to know her, to love her, to be loved by her.
Call your mothers!
Use caution if you are starting a journal. You might read it one day. You might wonder if that was really you. It was. It is.
I’ve been with my Valentine for a tad under two decades. As a little gift this year, I found some journal entries written about him over the years. I wanted to find more than I did but I had to stop.
For my own sanity.
I’m a bit too much. I needed a break, from myself. That’s right. I’m too much, even for myself.
This Valentine of mine deserves epic poems and dream vacations.
Set up a scared space. A space for the parts of you that honor the ancient. Surround yourself with books and journals and notebooks and art supplies. Set it up so all you need is within reach from your sitting area.
I’m rearranging my space today. I like to tell myself that I do not have an eye for design. It absolves me of the requirement to design. Today, I will surround myself with things I like to look at. That design inspiration is enough.
There is an art in setting up our nests. Feathering those places we love to cuddle up into with the little things we love.
This weekend has been one of contact with men I think of as brothers and my actual brother. It was lovely.
Today is The Big Game, as those that are not licensed refer to it. I’ll use that term, as I can assure you, there is no right to use the actual title by the league. Today, we honor American football. It’s a big day in our house.
The beauty is in the balance. We all come from both the feminine and the masculine. This weekend has been a reminder that the strength of the masculine is to be honored in the same way I have been honoring the feminine.
Here’s to balance! Go teams, go!