It’s my birthday, and this is what my calendar screams at me each Sept 2: “Hey, Dummy! Your precious, beautiful life is happening! What the frig are you doing with it?” In recent years, I’ve always had a saucy, self-lovin’ retort ready. After all, joy, authenticity, and self-love are my gig. I’ve got to walk my talk. Model my wares.
But today I find myself at a loss to respond. It’s been so much limbo. I’d planned for this year to bring enormous shifts – professionally and personally – and it’s turned out to be something quite different. A year of dipping my toe into stream after stream, never jumping in. A rudderless year of perpetual anticipation.
It’s like I’m on an island, and all my end-goals are on another island. I start building a bridge to take me over there, and then that bridge doesn’t feel exactly right. So I abandon it and start building another one. But then I get the idea for a third bridge, so I start building that one instead. What do I have to show for this year? A kickass collection of half-built bridges. And I still haven’t touched that destination island. (Thanks, Gia, for inspiring the bridge metaphor.)
But has it been a bad year? Not in the least. I’m beyond blessed to have the phenomenal friends, family, and opportunities I have. I wake up profoundly, through-the-roof grateful every single day. And maybe that’s all I need to do right now – just keep being full-force grateful for the mountains of love I’m in the position to give and receive, even as I struggle with career crossroads, a dying mom, and all the personal mini-escapades that cause my life to feel like someone’s pushed the cosmic pause-button on it.
I trust that Universe is behind all of this. I trust that the pause-button has its divinely perfect purpose in the grand scheme of what I’m here to do. I know that if I just keep waking up each day sincerely asking Source how I can most passionately and effectively deliver the gifts I’m here to give, that eventually the play-button will get pushed again. And from that inevitable future perspective, I’ll look back and see, with chuckle-inducing clarity, how everything – including all my half-built bridges – has been a necessary stepping-stone toward that exquisitely sweet moment.
In some ways then, the cycle will probably start all over again. As it should. But in answer to my calendar’s impertinent question about what I’m doing with my precious, beautiful life . . . this time I have to respond, “I’m being it. That’s all.”