i woke up this morning shot from a dream into an alarm harp on my phone. it was nearly 6:30 and i had planned to go to the garden plots with iesha. as soon as i awoke i was hit with an array of emotions, all of which directing me away from the plots that morning. voices of all kinds came and made defense why i couldn’t go. so i sent iesha a slew of messages and she called later asking if i was okay. it was fine with her if we didn’t go to the plots. so i layed in bed for another hour and a half becoming soft, being kind to myself, breathing, and cuddling myself in the soft womb of the dark room.

i realized as it got closer to 8:30 how i have forced myself much of my life. what is the difference between discipline and forcing? maybe discipline becomes forcing when one really doesn’t want to be a part of the task at hand. in college, when i played soccer at butler, i had to wake up at 5 sometimes, even 4:50 to be at practice, and i was one of the ones who woke up later and stumbled into routine in the dark to make it there on time. this morning, i was reminded of the one time i missed my ride to practice. i was in recovery from acl reconstruction (so i was just sitting on the sidelines doing rehab work) and woke up an hour into practice. i ran there (i wasn’t allowed to run at the time), only to find that 3 other players had been late that day, and the coach was furious. i was sent home immediately, and i cried and felt horrible.  i vowed never to be late again.

as i went over that moment this morning, and was reminded of all of the queasiness in my stomach as i would force myself to go to practice every morning, or, after a long day of school in highschool force myself to go to basketball, track, or soccer practice, depending on the season, i felt an overwhelming compassion for myself and could forgive myself for choosing that all those years. this morning i knew i could not rush and then show up at the massage job as if i was going to then relax someone else after running around all morning at the plots. i hate rushing and i hate doing things i don’t want to be doing, and i gently vow to no longer force myself to do the things i don’t want to do. it is against my truth. walk my talk, and do not walk what is not my talk.

there is a line by hafiz or rumi, i can’t remember, and it says that the one whom God loves drops his or her sorrow and pain like an infant’s lazily dropped and open hand in the lap of God. to be soft with myself, to be in the lap of God, hand unfurling, these pains drop as I rest, everything’s okay…