I awaken this early morning, afraid. Trying to remember the tools that I have learned, or read about, to stay present, to allow myself to feel the pain, the negative experience so that I might see it, feel it, then let it go.
It doesn't feel good. I am hoping that this Buddhist view is real, patent, true since my hope is that I can finally grow out of this lifetime of insecurity and sadness.
Triggered last night, this insecurity is couched in the feeling of fear of having to face another day, trying to find a partner, a lover, a friend. To worry about the mountain climb of newness, exposure, vulnerability. To have to let go, of the same experience that I thought I had surpassed with someone I liked, but was made clear that it would not work. Feelings of failure and not making the grade. I know that is not really true. I wanted it to work as a loving romantic relationship, but it was not right. Not good. Or even "good enough" (which would have not been acceptable either). I have grown this way, taken control, opened myself to vulnerability in the hopes of attaining in these years the real love that I seek. Yet I am so tired, so many men I have spoken to, dated, exposed my heart to. It is scary in and unto itself.
So this moment feels real. And it is a cold, dark and dreary January morning. I teach again tomorrow, which makes my fear of incompetence segue from this fear of vulnerability and aloneness. [Brene Brown, where are you?]
Things I must do, take responsibility for, be a grown up about- but feeling. Overwhelmed. Somewhat frightened. Lost. It is a real moment. But I will ride this wave. I must. I will take care of paying my bills this morning. I will get my notes for tomorrow together. I will go do my treat with Linda. Be here for the kids. Be here for me. Exercise. Get ready. Prepare. Meditate. Be present.
Namaste means honor myself as I honor others. Loving kindness. I struggle to remember. Namaste.
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