Sometimes, I can quietly stand in the rush of energy that is channeling through me with such intense calm, steadiness and happiness, feeling balanced and light with such absolute ease, I can hardly believe it.
Until I can't, and then I begin to feel wobbly and anxious and uncertain in my own heart and in my own skin.
Sometimes, the day opens up to greet me with all that could be, with color and warmth and beckoning breezes that call me towards all that I am becoming.
Until it all feels so big and overwhelming, that I begin to worry I won't possibly be able to find my way and start feeling lost.
Sometimes, I feel like I can touch the sky, and even somehow truly know what it might feel like to be such endless, bright blue.
Until I feel so small and tender and brittle, that even the tiniest breeze feels like it could blow me away.
Sometimes, it all plays together like a gorgeous symphony, all the facets dancing and humming, fitting together in such melodic perfection.
Until one part gets bumpy and starts to throw everything else off kilter, and I suddenly feel gravity like I've forgotten it existed.
Sometimes, sitting right beside the road there are such incredible reminders, that I'm on the right path, to stay grounded in the big picture, and that forces far greater than me are guiding me along this wild ride.
And so I have to trust and find my footing, once again, in what I know holds me to this earth.
It's slowing down, organizing my thoughts to get them out of my head, drinking tea, and going to yoga. It's staying present, and actively choosing not to sink into fear and overwhelm. It's letting go of resistance and shifting my perspective from what might feel heavy and difficult, to honoring things as the blessing they are as well. It is getting enough rest, and carving out tiny spaces in the most hectic days to let more ease and softness flow in. It's making something in the kitchen or in the studio with loud music on, saying yes instead of no to my children, sending out love to others who need it too, and letting my husband hold me even when I might feel like curling into myself.
It's staying right here... between what sometimes is, and what might soon be, and taking as many deep breaths as needed to feel somewhat solid again.
Until I don't. Then, it's rinse and repeat.
This is what growing feels like.
So, she reminds herself.