Falling Out of Abundance
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I press Send and the newsletter about the pit bull magically makes its way to all of you. For nearly three hours, I've been writing in a state of elation and flow. It's after 10 p.m. Bliss.
Half an hour later, I check my email to see if anyone has written back. You often do. I love the relationship between us. A person here, a person there, responding. Your replies sound like a penny falling to the bottom of a wishing well—that happy kerplunk. Received! If I'm lucky, you'll share with me how your stories interlace with mine.
There's nothing in my emailbox yet. A vulnerable pang. My brain wonders how the newsletter will be received. My brain's negativity bias kicks in, combing to find anything I may have said that could be off-putting. My dear brain is trying to protect me. But it doesn't feel good. The clouds roll in, dark and heavy.
Not a huge surprise. My knee aches, and I've not iced it since morning. That's not all. Earlier that day, I'd had concerns about a treasured relationship. As I brush my teeth, these uncomfortable memories emerge and cloud my better judgment. Without meaning to, I entertain them as I lay down to sleep. A pillow between my knees is small help in getting comfortable.
An hour later, part of me thinks I'm being productive by parsing out how I would tell this person that I aim to take a little step back to give us both some space. It's a hard decision to make and how it's done matters. My brain has decided this is how I'll spend the night.
I attempt to shift gears. I breathe and feel the sensation in my body, but my brain has gone too far to be steered back gently. It believes it's "near solution," but part of me knows from experience this is not the case.
I recognize the decades-old emotional pattern. My brain is trying to determine a solution to this painful challenge all by itself because it feels more powerful doing that than doing nothing.
The real barrier to solution is this: The problem cannot be solved from the same state of mind that created it. Einstein was maybe onto something there. So I know I will not be satisfied by this perseveration in my head. Again, I turn my attention to my breath and to the sensations in my body. Fifth time.
I wake up four hours later feeling fearful. Wow. I decide to keep my attention on feeling, not thinking, as uncomfortable as it is. I fall back to sleep. This happens twice more. I'm shocked at the power of the hold. This relationship matters. And for that reason, I will not think of it.
In the morning, I awaken nervous. Immediately, I turn my attention to priming and feeling into my personal definition of abundance. Abundance is the balance of playfulness, purpose, and rest that frees me to enjoy and contribute to a generous universe.
I go over my homework from Dr. Joe Dispenza's online Abundance course—goals, behaviors I want to develop, those I want to leave behind. I realize I could make a video of my experience with the course.
That excites me! In a flash, I'm alight and alove. I can see how the video would roll out and how it might contribute. I hop out of bed to storyboard. Clouds retreat in the distance.
I see something clearly now. That relationship that I got my feelings tangled in? It doesn't need anything from me other than my own joyful alignment. There's nothing to solve, nothing to repair, nor to prepare.
As I'd refocused my attention on abundance, a happy idea had emerged. See that? Just the same way that my focus on vulnerability before had birthed a terrifying idea, the focus on abundance now brings light. Not immediately, and not without effort.
But it does bring light. I feel like myself again. This is how I let go and chill. In case you'd thought to yourself after reading my last post, "Well that's nice, but I wouldn't have been able to muster such a charitable response towards a pit bull and an injured knee."
The truth is that abundant thinking often takes effort to achieve. Especially when your knee hurts at night, and you feel tired. Especially when you've just created something and put it out there for the world to see how they will. Especially when you feel somehow slighted by a dearly loved one. That skiff can snowball.
It takes effort ... until it doesn't. If math were my strong suit, I'm sure the equation would come out in favor of abundance being the more effortless way to go.
So I bring this equation to you friends. I'm here to show my work.
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