First of all, I’m all about the long titles lately. I attribute this to a rebellious streak. All this 140 character stuff is a wonderful discipline and all – Grab their attention before somebody else posts an Instagram of their latest tattoo or sweet potato soup (guilty!), but I came of age right smack dab in the middle of a heavy crush on the Beat Poets, and mulled titles like Thanking My Mother For Piano Lessons and The Moon Versus Us Ever Sleeping Together Again and Driving A Cardboard Automobile Without A License over coffee, more coffee, cold beer in sweating bottles and stubby glasses of bourbon, or whatever I could get my hands on, and I’m not about to enter the last third, quarter or two weeks of my life conforming to Twitter, just because I’m now on the Internet.
What’s sad about the foregoing paragraph is I didn’t spend my day reading Diane Wakoski, Richard Brautigan or Lawrence Ferlinghetti, or listening to Joni Mitchell’s Court and Spark, or Leonard Cohen or Wildflowers by Judy Collins. (But thinking about them makes me happy, obvs.)
I spent my day away from my business doing what all solo spirit-preneurs do when they’re not doing their “thing.” Attending to the rest of it all. Perhaps all of it all. My partner and I have a two-business household, and I occasionally help her during busy season, and today was one of those days.
One of my mastermind-ers, I note, it about to spend several weeks with family visits, it being summer in Maine. We all agreed when we met that doing “anything” in July and August is hopeless. Everybody’s out playing, soaking up the sun, driving with the windows down, and relaxing their shoulders after a long winter of cold and colder. Except this past winter was just…bland, which ended up putting us all on edge in a different way. Waiting for the other flake to drop, I suppose. Or, any flakes.
But I digress. –
Isn’t digression delicious? Doesn’t it remind you that life is shaped by what we choose to fall in love with each precious moment of breathing?
Today was camp turn-over day. While my partner did repairs, moved boats and stocked firewood, I replaced dish cloths and kitchen sponges, put cabinets and closets to rights, buffed cast iron sinks, and wiped cobwebs away from crevices. I checked lights and showers, opened drawers and refrigerators, even counted utensils. Because, actually, utensils disappear. Or migrate. Or vaporize?
All this against a backdrop of a serene lake on a grey day, the occasional loon laughing off shore, and eagles fussing over themselves. And all that against a backdrop of a world gone mad. I felt lucky, hanging out where people come to take a vacation somewhere that still feels magical.
I wanted to go online and say, “Don’t forget, there’s still magic, people!” But we only had from 10 till 2 to get everything ready for the new arrivals, so I just thought it, and breathed my appreciation. It’s nice to actually appreciate something I might have only truly seen in retrospect, in other, less vivid times.
I’ve been in pain all day. Weird, odd pain that – Sure, go ahead and take a stab at diagnosing me – started out a few days ago with right elbow pain, which I diagnosed as lateral epicondylitis, good ol’ tennis elbow, just from lifting and, well, I exercised once. It started getting better once I stopped using it so much. I figure that was my body telling me to go back to being left-handed, for Pete’s sake, so I just did.
Then, weirdly, (Did I mention this was weird?) this morning, my left elbow started hurting. I woke up from this dream about going to the ER and describing my pain, and everybody standing around perplexed. Which is basically what was happening, minus the hospital. Then, once I got going with flipping camps, both knees started hurting.
I started waiting for other joints to hurt, and then I was going to quietly go write my will (“Being of sound mind and failing body…”) but they never did. After I was done working, I took a nap, did errands in town, made a smashingly delicious sweet potato soup, ate two bowls, and then sat down to write this post.
Soon I’ll go to bed, and that will be that.
Here’s today’s pithy take-home about being in business for yourself. Just like practicing an instrument, sometimes you need to take a complete break. And you need to not guilt-trip yourself about it. You need to expand into the rest of who you are, and bring that back into your work. We are healers, after all. And sometimes we need to bring mundane cellulose and dust into what we do.
I trust that when I come back to my “thing,” integration will have occurred, and something I’m struggling with – which product to focus on first, how to shape my book, getting new clients – will come knocking, perhaps as I’m waking up from the dream in which the doctors are confident that I’m okay.
p.s. One of my favorite places to find free stock photos for my blog posts is Morguefile. Just for fun here’s another fabulous digital abstract from the photographer whose work I used for today’s featured image:
by Phyllis Capanna © 2016 joyreport
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