Oy, the chatter! No, not out there…. in here. Where is this “in” anyway, I wonder….. off into more chatter. Oy!
I write to you dripping, seized by a revelation just after sinking into a tub of luscious bubbles, my Tricycle magazine and 40oz bottle of water at the ready. Sinking into the bath I’d put off for the whole day, flagellating myself for not being more active, for “just hanging around” – which was really a lot of mindless chores I hadn’t gotten to earlier in the week. Recriminations for not taking the dogs to the foothills, for not calling friends, for not having completed 108 Sun Salutations yet, had each hopped on its own little tricked out racing bike, and they were outdoing one another lap after lap around my brain.
So finally, I let myself sink into the bath – even though I hadn’t earned it with sweat or brilliance or whatever else is supposed to earn one some letting go time.
And I felt a deep, subtle, infinitely delicious “click” deep at my core. “Click.” This is all I had wanted since I rose this morning with grandiose notions of busyness, bustle and accomplishment. All I’d wanted was a bath. As soon as I “indulged” myself, the heavy steel door trapping all of my creative energy and verve became a cloud, as light, transparent and inconsequential as a breeze.
What if all my life, all your life, all our lives were “indulgences?” Perhaps we’d “indulge” ourselves in meaningful work, dazzling play and creative connections. What if “indulgences” aren’t indulgences, but rather calls from our true selves to our busy selves? What if the thing our busy self most fears, that we won’t amount to much, is the thing it’s threatening to create? What if we take our busy self to the bath or the beach more often, and become the self we’ve been dying to be?