I’ve been lost, truly missing in action, for some length of time that I honestly can’t identify. It’s been somewhere between a week and a month since I last remember feeling like myself.
I’ve wandered around, knowing there are things to do–many, many actions in varying degrees of importance–but largely incapable of producing any of it. I want to sleep or sink into the mindless world of books, television, and the world wide web of distraction. I’ve even been willing to sit and gaze into nothingness and examine, and then re-examine the pile of things I can’t seem to do. More than any of those rookie distractions, I want this enormous chocolate chip cookie sandwich stuffed with icing and dipped in chocolate. I can purchase it from the bakery of my neighborhood grocery store. I believe they call them yo-yo cookies but think that something like Satan’s Playground might be more appropriate.
It seems that some baggage, unresolved matter from the past, is vying for my attention. I don’t know what happened… Actually, that’s not true. I know exactly what happened and I have no business being surprised that all of this is coming up. I invited it. I summoned this spacey madness by going to a White Tantric Yoga workshop, committing to a much more healthy diet, and clearing out clutter while I launched the Sick of Being Stuck September experience. I harassed my SOBSS students with the mantra “Release, release, release,” and now look at me. I can already hear their amused laughter echoing in my ears. I pushed them pretty hard from the start:
Are you stuck? Are you sick of it? Do you believe that releasing that which no longer serves you from your physical environment will free you to make the changes you desire? And if not, are you willing to suspect that disbelief for a day, a week, or a month to try a different approach to change? Yes. Yes. Yes. It only takes three to change your life.
The real kicker for me, of course, is that I also did the daily challenges. I explored my relationship with stuff, the memories, the reasons behind the stuckness that resulted in all of that stuff in my physical space. I did the work, digging in the garden of my own life, while encouraging them to do the same. Much was released from my physical and mental experience and now comes the emotional side. It is time to do “The Work,” and I really hate/love or love/hate that part. I love the potential of the process, and I love the results. I hate it when I’m stuck in the middle.