Category Archives: Essential Journey

Do you validate?

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In response to yesterday’s reflection on Week 2 Acts of Grace where I remembered I forgot to remember to give gifts of words often enough during the week, Mark Kolke of Musing’s and other writings, shared a video of a speech on validation by Lance Miller.

Lance’s speech was brilliant enough to garner him 1st place in an International Toastmasters competition.

In his speech about learning the value of validating other people, Lance says, “I began to find something I could stamp on everybody I met. That little bit of goodness. That little bit of brightness.” As in, I looked for something positive in each person I met, and then I told them what I saw.

Imagine if, we all went through the world searching for the positive in each person we met.

Imagine if, we told them what it was we saw that made such a difference in our eyes.

Imagine if, we did the same for ourselves.

Imagine.

You tell yourself the positive things you heard about yourself throughout the day — instead of the negative.

Last week, I received lots of positive feedback and while I won’t share my list I encourage you to make one for yourself.

I will share what my beloved said that still resonates in my heart and soul. We were talking about being real. I commented on how sad it is that we feel the need to adjust ourselves and sometimes shift who we are to ‘fit in’ to the world and different situations.

“You don’t change who you are to fit in with people or situations,” he said. “You are always true to who you are.”

Wow.

My soul danced. My spirits lifted. My heart swelled up in love and joy.

Validation.

Affirmation.

Conformation.

All of these are the lifeblood of living passionately in the moment of now.

I am blessed.

Imagine instead though if I had stayed stuck on something that didn’t feed my soul, didn’t lift my spirits or fill my heart with love and joy.

Imagine if I’d held onto that feeling of having ‘missed the boat’ when I realized I’d forgotten to put the laundry in the dryer — and it now reeked of 3 day old dampness?

Imagine if I’d held onto that feeling of being ‘stupid beyond words’ when I took Beaumont for his walk one night and forgot to roll up his onesie so he could pee without getting it wet? (He’s wearing a onesie because he had the big ‘snip-snip’ operation last week and he’s not supposed to lick the incision.)

Or forgetting someone dear to me’s birthday? (which as I type that line I wonder about the accuracy of that phase ‘dear to me’s birthday’ and remember — it is someone very dear to me’s birthday today!

Imagine the self-talk that could ensue from all of that. I could be black and blue with words of condemnation!

It’s important to learn from our mistakes. It is also equally important to not get stuck in the negative self-talk our mistakes sometimes evoke. It’s important to not keep repeating the ‘you are so stupid’ or the ‘what a loser’ messages. We become what we tell ourselves and telling ourselves over and over again about our faults, creates the loss of our true selves.

Mistakes are opportunities to be reminded to pay attention. To listen up. To step into the moment. They are not meant to be opportunities for self-flagellation.

So, if you have trouble giving yourself positive self-talk, begin with validating others. Begin with telling those you meet about the wonderful things you see in them, and know — you cannot see it in another if you don’t have it in you.

It takes one to know one.

It takes awareness of the value of what you appreciate, to know the value of what you appreciate.

I appreciated C.C.’s comment so much because within me is the desire to know I am always walking true to who I am.

That desire lives within him too. Otherwise, he wouldn’t appreciate it in me.

As Lance Miller says in his speech, “A common denominator of all humanity is the fact that we are human. We are by nature imperfect. It takes no special talent to find an imperfection in another person. But every person goes through life wanting to be right, wanting to be valuable. Find that. Bring it out in them.”

Let’s bring it out in ourselves too.

And this short 16 minute film is one of my all time favourites. It may have also inspired Lance Miller. I’m hoping so because he inspired me, as did Mark.

 

 

Share joyfully | 52 Acts of Grace | Week 3

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acts of grace week 3 copy

Last week’s invitation to Inspiring Acts of Grace, “Give someone a gift of words” was challenging. It’s wonderful to tell people the things I like most about them in any given moment — it’s another to remember to do so!

Here’s the thing though, I could have done more giving of gifts of words, if I’d just remembered to do so.

Like, when talking to my sister, I could have remembered to tell her how much I appreciate how she took our mother to the hearing aid clinic on Friday — and how I appreciate all she does to ensure our mother is cared for and supported.

Or, when talking to my eldest daughter, I could have told her how I value her feedback and admire her ability to create inspiring words on her blog. (If you haven’t been reading her blog, give yourself the gift of her words. Amazing!  Find her here:  Alexis Marie Ink )

Or, with my youngest daughter, I could have remembered to tell her how I admire how committed she is to give back to community with the work she does as a board member for a local not for profit (I also appreciate being asked to give feedback on a project she’s developing for them).

Or, with C.C., my beloved, when he made me dinner, how I appreciate the efforts he takes to make my life easier.

Or, with the waitress at the Wildrose Pub when we went for lunch one day, how her warm smile made me feel very welcome.

Or, with my lovely friend Sherry who acquired one of my paintings and then promptly had her husband hang it in their living room, how I appreciate the affirmation her desire to have one of my paintings hanging in a place of honour in her home feels. Same holds true for my dear friend Kerry who is now the owner of the painting I’m using for my Inspiring Acts of Grace weekly blog posts. I love the feeling that my work is ‘coveted’ by others. It truly inspires me.

So many missed opportunities to give gifts of words last week!  And while I did give some, in retrospect I can see how not being conscious of the act of giving gifts of words, impeded my giving of those gifts!

NOTE TO SELF:  Stay conscious of sharing inspiring acts of grace in my every day living.

Which is why, this week’s Act of Grace is similar to last weeks.

Practice makes perfect.

Have a wonderful week.

 

 

Confessions of a non-list achiever.

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I have a confession to make.

I know. I know. To have a confession to make means to believe I have committed a sin.

Okay, so it’s not so much a sin as a truth, a fact, a reality.

And, just to be clear, while not of the I stole a grape from the produce bin at the supermarket or I snuck a bun fresh from the oven when I knew there were only so many to go around variety of sin, this one tastes kind of sinful in my belly. Deep down in my roots. Simmering on the fires of indolence.

So what is this deliciously non-sinful yet sinfully delightful truth?

Get ready for it. You may be surprised. You may be shocked. Appalled. Aghast. Whatever you may be I know how I feel about what I am about to confess.

Not Guilty!

Yup. I do not feel even one iota of guilt for having had one whole week off work and not doing anything on my list of the many things I planned on getting done this week.

So there you have it.

I began my holiday last Friday. I figured I’d give myself Easter weekend to RnR it and then, come Monday begin to tackle the many things on my list.

I changed my mind.

Come Monday I looked at my list. I looked at the calendar days stretched out before me and decided to throw out my list.

To not be governed by a calendar schedule or a list’s demands to check things of as Done. Done and Done.

I let myself sink into the luscious pleasure of just being present to whatever life had to offer up, whatever unfolded with the rising sun without pushing myself into being governed by the demands of my conscience insisting I get busy, get doing, get going.

I spent time in my studio. I spent time reading. I spent time watching films on my iPad. I spent time with my beloved doing nothing other than chatting, holding hands and walking with Beaumont at the park, laughing, sharing a meal, doing what we felt like doing.

I decided on Monday that this was a ‘holiday’. It was not a working holiday (though I must confess. I did have 2 x 2 hr conference calls re a project at work and I did do some work for a couple of hours — but it was my choice so I really have nothing to confess! so there!)

It was a holiday and as such, like all the best holidays I can think of, deserved my full attention, and unstructured time.

My winter/spring wardrode did not get switched over. The den did not get cleared out of the boxes that still need to go into the cubby hole above the stairs. The linen closet did not get organized. I did not clear out the clutter. I did not organize the junk drawer (is that an oxymoron? Organize junk?)

I did savour each moment. I feel present.

I did read until late into the night. Sleep late into the morning. (7am wake-up is late for me) I feel so luxurious!

I did begin a 30 day Yoga challenge so that by the end of my 10 days off, it will be embedded it into my daily routine.  I feel good!

I did begin each morning with meditation. I feel centred.

I did end each day with kissing my beloved goodnight. I feel complete.

I did. I am savouring this moment to reflect, to share, to connect and honour the process of what arises without judging what arises by labelling it good, bad, happy, sad…

I am feeling….

Satisfied.

Content.

Serene.

Here.

And… while I know ‘the list’ still waits to be checked off, it is my choice when I get to it! Maybe, rather than organizing the junk drawer all I really have to do is get a garbage bin, pull the drawer out and tip all its contents into the bin. Fact is, if I haven’t missed or needed what’s in it, I don’t really need to know what I’m missing by sorting through its contents.

Maybe, like my list on Monday, all I need to do to feel free is spill all the junk out and let it all go!

 

 

Trapped inside, her song stayed silent

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Hidden Consequences Mixed Media 24" x 30" 2016 Louise Gallagher

Hidden Consequences
Mixed Media
24″ x 30″
2016 Louise Gallagher

Flying free, she left her voice behind and her song stayed trapped within her.

“Is there a subliminal message in this painting mom?” my eldest daughter asks me.

“I suppose there is,” I tell her.

“It feels sad, at least the words do,” she says.

I explain how it was not intentional. That the painting began as a tree. In the art of painting over, the tree became something else until what appeared was an empty birdcage and a bird on the outside and the words, Flying free, she left her voice behind and her song stayed trapped within her.

But inside the cage, the bird’s song remains trapped.

It was the bird’s song that landed her in the cage in the first place. Giddy with the feeling of the sun on her feathers and the gentle spring breeze beneath her wings, she sat on a branch and sang and sang and sang.

Just then, a young boy walked by and heard her singing. Entranced by her song, he decided to capture her and put her in a cage. That way, thought the boy, he would always be able to enjoy the bird’s song all the time.

Trapped inside a cage, the bird could not sing. She was too sad. She yearned for freedom.

Over time, the bird completely forgot about its song. She completely forgot what freedom felt like.

As time moved on, the boy forgot why he had her, or even how she ended up in the cage in his room, until one day, he grew up and moved away to another country. He could not take the bird with him so he set her free.

Frightened by her new found freedom, she clung to a branch as if her life depended upon it. Day after day she sat on the branch waiting for the boy to come and feed her.

He never came.

Finally, hunger overcame her and the bird did the only thing she could think of to do. She let go of the branch and fell to the ground. She didn’t know she had wings to fly. She didn’t know she had a song to sing.

Lying on the ground, a cat came upon her. Thinking she was dead, he ignored her and lay down in the warm spring sunshine. The bird, after recovering from her fall, woke up and spied the cat sitting beside her. She sat up and in that movement, the cat realized the bird was not dead. He pounced.

This was a real and very present danger, the bird realized.

She had to move. Fast.

It was the suddenness of the cat’s movement that saved her. Startled, she did what came naturally. She spread her wings and flew away. In her delight at flying, she opened her mouth and the beautiful notes of her song, trapped inside for so long, came pouring out.

I have been thinking of things left behind.

How sometimes, beneath life’s burdens, we leave behind the things that mean the most to us  in our efforts to run away from what hurts us. We tell ourselves, it was our speaking out, our singing, our dancing, our being wild that got us into trouble in the first place.

So we tamper them down. We lock away our voices, our songs, our dances and walk the straight and narrow.

We tell ourselves, “this will keep me safe.”

The safety of silence is an illusion.

When we refuse to break free of silence, when we allow the past to keep our voices and our bodies still in the present, we are holding ourselves trapped in the fear of the past repeating itself in the present.

We cannot know freedom when we are too afraid to speak up, speak out, speak freely against the things that held us down.

Until we let go of fearing the power of our own voices, our song will remain trapped inside us.

***************************************

I had trouble getting to sleep last night, and so, I wrote this story at 2am, pouring my mind out into the night.

I fell asleep easily afterwards to discover this morning, I was responding to this writing prompt:  http://www.thewritingreader.com/blog/2016/03/31/prompt-1590-insomnia

 

 

In the aftermath of Brussels, what have we learned?

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I was raised in the Roman Catholic faith.

My mother was devout. My father less so. His rebellious nature often interfered with his capacity to follow what he called the constricting dogma of an out of date Papal system that made itself wealthy on the backs of the poor.

I often thought my father had a Robin Hood complex. He liked the idea of taking from the rich to give to the poor. A lot.

As a child, we lived in Calgary before moving to Europe where I spent my pre-teens to twenties. In fact, we live in the same neighbourhood where I once lived. The school where I attended grades 2 and 3 is just down the street from our home. The house we lived in when I was a child is not too far away on the other side of the school.

As children, my sister Anne and I, would walk from home to school together.

While the walk wasn’t far, I remember constantly feeling at risk. It felt like a treacherous walk.  Not because we had to cross major traffic routes or anything. It was all because our route took us past ‘the Protestant school’. That’s what it was called back then before diversity embedded itself in our culture and the School Board names changed to “Public” and “Separate” (which is what the Catholic system is now called).

To get to our school Anne and I had two options. Stay on the sidewalk and go the long way around or, cut through the ‘Protestant School’ playground.

On the days when we felt daring, we would cut across the Protestant schoolyard which adjoined our school’s playground. Inevitably, our walk included suffering through the insults and slurs flung at us for being ‘Catholic’ kids.

I could never figure it out. Why would the fact we were Roman Catholic cause kids who didn’t even know us to pick on us?

My mother, ever the peace-maker, told us to turn the other cheek. To not retaliate. To not respond. To just keep walking.

And so we did.

I’d love to tell you there was some seminal moment when an encounter on that shared field of our playful youth caused our Catholic roots to dig into the Protestant ground where together, we planted seeds of harmony, but I don’t recall that ever happening. I don’t actually remember ever speaking to one of ‘those kids’ who was not of the same faith but looked just the same as us. We were told not to. They were ‘the Protestant kids’ and thus, the distance between us too great to cross.

About the only time we did flex our Roman Catholic muscles was on those days when our school was not in session because of a Saint’s holiday. On those mornings, from the safety of our second floor bedroom my sister and I would lean out the window and make fun of the ‘Protestant’ kids walking off to school. Though we could often not name the Saint whose memory gave us the day off, we took great delight in rubbing our bonus days into those who did not share the benefit of multiple Saints’ holidays throughout the year.

Many years have passed since those days of fearing walking through a playground of kids of another faith. And still, I can remember how scary it felt to walk through their midst. I can still remember the feelings of feeling different, not fitting in, being called out because, while we worshipped the same God, our way of worship was different.

And I wonder, in the aftermath of Brussels, what have we learned?

How ridiculed, isolated, marginalized and traumatized must some young man be to believe his legacy of passing through this life is best expressed by leaving a path of destruction in the wake of blowing himself up?

And I fear, not much has changed since I quite walking across that childhood playground, except the distance between us has lengthened pulling us further away from finding common ground in our humanity.

As the death toll continues to climb I pray we find the grace to put down our words of condemnation, our weapons of mass destruction and killing ways. In lowering our arms, I pray that we open our eyes and minds and hearts to see that no matter the damage we have done to one another, in our shared human condition we have the power to heal when we choose to walk in peace.

How to stay present in this moment, right now.

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Time has a way of passing even when I’m busy doing nothing.

At least, that’s how it feels on mornings like today when I get caught up in reading newsfeeds and other blogs and then look at the time and realize — oh my! I am already late.

Okay. maybe not late, but definitely behind time in writing and getting ready.

I should be finished by now.

It seems to be my mantra some days.  My shoulda’s keep me stuck in the land of ‘Coulda’s if only…’.

Sometimes, it’s just the creative process. It doesn’t just magically happen. It happens best when I am centered on being present. Sometimes, it’s totally because I am not present in this moment right now, leaning too far into the river of coulda’s and shoulda’s and if only’s and what if’s…

Being present doesn’t mean, here I am, take me as I am, this is all I got to give right now.

Being present means not being distracted by those errant thoughts that like to run interference when I’m in the process of pausing between each breath to stay present in the moment.

Being present means, not letting the past drag me into the flow of memory. Not letting it keep me mired in what if’s and if only’s.

Imagine the past is a river flowing constantly in front of you. Imagine you are fly-fishing in that river.

Now, imagine, you cast your line into the river. It curves beautifully in the sunshine, shimmering in the light. The lure hits the water and is immediately dragged further away. You pull back on the line, the arc increases as the river pulls harder.

You resist.

You pull back. Reel in and out, constantly fighting against the flow of the river.

Memory is like that. It lures you in. Pulls against you. Drags you with it.

Now imagine, you reel in the line. Imagine you tuck the lure safely against the rod, lock it all up together and set it aside on the river’s bank and continue walking in the beautiful warm sunshine.

That’s my task for today. To let go of the reel. To not bother with casting my line into memory’s river. To not be dragged into negative thoughts or reflections of coulda’s, shoulda’s, what if’s and if only’s.

What about you?

Are you willing to let go of the line pulling you into negative thinking, what if’s and if only’s?

Are you willing to set the rod and reel aside so that you can walk freely in this moment right now treasuring the wonder and awe all around you?

Let’s do it.

Together.

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Cool. This post took me 15 minutes to write. In keeping with my desire to stay present, I will let it stand without judgement. I will not edit. I will continue on with my day, treasuring walking in the light of being present.

Namaste.

 

Share your Smile | 52 Acts of Grace | Week 1

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acts of grace copy

On January 1st, 2012 when I began this blog (originally called, A Year of Making a Difference) my intent was to explore what it means to make a difference in the world.

Working at a homeless shelter for 6 years, it was fairly easy to make a difference every day. It was fairly easy to feel like I was living on purpose.

But what about when I wasn’t at the shelter? What about when I wasn’t working in an environment that naturally brought countless opportunities to make a difference just by being present to those around me?

Ahh, now there was a challenge. Or so I thought.

Making a difference is not a choice. It’s not a ‘thing’ we do or way we act.

We are the difference we make in the world. By the very act of being present on this earth, we make a difference. The air I inhale came from the air you exhale. The air I exhale becomes the air you breathe in. When we move, the space around us moves too.

Like a butterfly’s wings fluttering in Africa creating waves on other side of the globe, our presence in this world makes a difference.

The quality of our difference is created in the choices we make. It is in how conscious we are willing to become of how we express our difference that we create change for the good, or not. To be the change we want to see in the world, we must know what that change is.

I believe we are all born magnificent. That our birthright is to shine, to radiate, to be lights illuminating the darkness.

I believe we are all capable of greatness because greatness is inherent in our human nature.

I believe we are all connected through this condition called being human and in that connection is the capacity to make a difference for one another by being present to one another.

How do I want to express my difference in this world? With grace and ease.

Living in grace and ease does not always come effortlessly. Some days, when the sky is dark and shadows are long, it is easy to forget my desire to express myself through grace. Some days, it’s easy to get bogged down in the minutiae of life and forget all about rising above as I sink into the quagmire of being busy, or letting doubt, fear, confusion and a host of other non-productive human conditions pull me from my path.

It is in those moments I must stop, and breathe and act out — with grace.

For the next 52 weeks, every Monday I will be sharing one act of grace to inspire your every day living.

My goal is to practice each act of grace in my life every day. Some of the ideas I share may be things you do everyday, or maybe what I share will ignite your imagination to share some of your own acts of grace. I invite you to share them with me and everyone else here.

I hope you join in. I hope you share your ideas so that together, we can be like the butterflies and create waves of change all over the world.

Who knows what magic and wonder will arise as we delve into the joy of inspiring acts of grace in every day living.

Namaste.

acts of grace copy1

Something is not everything. Nothing is also essential.

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Over at “Find Your Middle Ground”, Val Boyko shares this inspiration from Lao Tzu today.

The potter knows she plays with clay but works with space,

For the use of the bowl is its empty space.

It is the same with the room,

Made whole by the emptiness between the walls.

Remember that something is not everything.

Nothing is also essential. *

~ Lao Tzu

“Something is not everything. Nothing is also essential.”

I sometimes wonder what happens to the space we each fill in this world after we are gone. Are our lives but cracks in the fabric of the universe filled in with our being present during our lifetime?

What fills the emptiness that remains where once we walked? Does it become filled with air, with more life? Or is just memory? Ethereal, whimsical, nothing more than a thought.

There is something to each memory that has nothing to do with the empty spaces left behind.

Perhaps it is because I have been thinking of my brother’s death 19 years ago. It reminds me of next year’s marker. 20 years.

How can that be?

And still, to look that far ahead to the emptiness of the time that is not yet filled, pulls me out of this moment right now where both the nothing and the something embrace me.

And so I breathe.

Without the memories of those we love, what do we have?

Nothing?

I don’t believe so.

For they once filled our lives with something beyond the nothingness.

They once filled our world with joy and everything in between.

To hold onto the nothingness is to sink into the rich, deep earth of the spaces between life and death and revel in the awe and wonder of being alive in this moment right now.

And that is life. Spaces filled moment by moment with something other than the nothing that exists between the walls we inhabit, the spaces we walk, the words we share.

Life is this journey of everything between the nothing and the something made whole by the everything we do and say and are and create.

And to see it, to feel it, to know it, to be it, we must embrace the nothingness and celebrate the wholeness of everything that is essential to living in the precious moment of life today.

Joy. Laughter. Tears. Sadness. Wonder. Fear. Anger. Possibility.

Like an empty bowl formed of clay, we encompass all the emotions, all the states of being and hold nothing in our being that is not essential to creating wholeness within our lives.

This journey of life is not about making something of nothing. It is about honouring the nothing we are before life begins and holding the space between the nothing we become when we are gone, to create something of wonder and awe out of the essential nature of our being present to life on earth.

Or as Peter Mayer sings in his song, Japanese Bowl, “I have some cracks in me. They are filled with gold.” Perhaps it is that in the nothing we see between the cracks and empty spaces, is the true value of our lives filling in the nothingness between the cracks.

 

Inner brat children and other creatures of habit

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Courage 8"x8" Pastel and acrylic on canvas Copyright 2016 Louise Gallagher

Courage
8″x8″
Pastel and acrylic on canvas
Copyright 2016 Louise Gallagher

Have you ever made a commitment to yourself and not followed through?

Okay. So if you answered, “No. Never.” you definitely don’t need to read what I write next. Stop reading now.

But, if you are like 99.9% of humans here on earth, you have probably made many commitments to yourself that you just haven’t kept.

In fact, some of you may be professional “Commitment to Self Breakers”.

Commitments can be big, or small things.

Take my commitment to treat my body with care and attention. I might have broken it yesterday. Oh, and the day before too maybe. I just might have cheated a teensy,weensy bit on my commitment to eat healthily.

Okay, a lot on Sunday. Those Nachos with my friend KP were too tempting, too delicious. And we had just finished an hour walk which included hiking up hills in the mud with Beaumont the super pooch. I deserved the treat!

Like many of you, I can rationalize anything. And that includes breaking commitments with myself.

Like any habit, breaking commitments with myself is learned behaviour.

Which means, I can unlearn the behaviour too. It just takes practice, patience and persistence. Oh, and a whole lot of willingness to do things differently.

Which is sometimes the challenge. I like my ruts. I am comfortable in doing some things the same old way because doing them the same old way means I don’t have to change.

And while I recognize that ‘change is here to stay’, my pesky little inner brat-child likes to put her hands on her hips, stomp her foot and declare in defiance to any suggestion I create change, “Don’t tell me what to do! I don’t have to change if I don’t want to.”

That’s the problem with the inner brat-child. She likes to be in control and her auto-responses are always based on  decisions made in the there and then when she reigned supreme, long before my prefrontal cortex had even finished its development. My inner brat-child is older than my inner wise-child who didn’t finish growing up until her mid-20s.

Making commitments with myself and keeping them is a test of my capacity to wrest control from the inner brat-child’s desire to not change, to not give up control, to not grow up.

I’ve decided to trick her. To reframe how I look at ‘change’ and do something differently.

First off, I’m not telling myself “I have to change”.

What I’m saying is, “Here’s an opportunity for fun and games. To create a new way of doing things that could be like… a big surprise!”

See, it’s important to play into the inner brat child’s love of surprises. Inner brat children like shiny and new toys. They are easily distracted and kind of get all hyped up on the idea of making every day like Christmas.

I’m hoping that reframing ‘change’ into something shiny and new might just distract my inner brat child from recognizing what I’m up to long enough to give what I’m up to time to grow into something more comfortable and less intimidating to her fear of losing control.

And yes, I’m willing to play games to trick my inner brat child. She’s always playing tricks on me. Turning the tables is fair game.

Secondly, I’m writing a letter to my inner brat child describing this new way of doing things and, I’m going to mail my letter to her.

Inner brat children also like mail that comes in the post box with stamps and all that jazz. It’s that shiny and new thinking again. Inner brat children are so stuck in the past, they have not developed an understanding of mail = bills as so many adults have. Instead of dreading mail, inner brat children often get all excited about the cool surprise it might just hold in store. Inner brat children like opening surprises.

Now, in my letter to my inner brat child I am going to keep the language simple. Small words, no ‘big ideas’, just lots of fun, exciting descriptive verse of what this new way of doing things will mean to ‘us’.

It’s important to identify with the inner brat child so that she feels less afraid and alone. It’s important to let her know in language she will understand what excitement is in store as we journey this new way of keeping commitments to our self.

I know. I know.

Wouldn’t it just be easier to tell her to take a hike and get on with it?

If I do the same thing again and again, I’ll get the same result.

In this case, a broken commitment to myself. Again.

So, I’m changing it up. Shaking up the status quo and trying out a different tack. Perhaps in the process, I’ll forget all about the discomfort of change and fall into love with the excitement of shiny and new.

Who knows? Anything is possible, even with inner brat children. Anyway, I’m kind of getting tired of listening to my inner brat child’s tantrums.

Time to change it up so she can take a break and go back to sleep deep within my psyche.

Strike one for the inner wise child! I’m feeling empowered already. In fact, I can taste the first sweet bites of the intoxicating fruit of keeping commitments with myself in the here and now!

Take that you inner brat!