My heart runs into a brick wall and falls with a thud to the floor of my chest.
And then it gasps and springs alive, sprinting now to apologize.
(Yes, sometimes I rhyme.)
Before my mind can see it, my body knows it. These waves of overwhelm. These oceans of fear.
I think too much about the future.
About OMG, what if I’m deluding myself and this hope I have for a boundless life pops like a balloon full of hot air as soon as I try to make it real?
I need focus. I need action.
But the world chatters away in my ears, a thousand voices overlapping, rising, falling, spitting out streams of blogs and tweets and podcasts all crying for me to listen, subscribe, and join their tribe.
At the feet of which “guru” should I sit? Which thoughts of which “thought leaders” should I take the time to think about? How many online courses should I take, how many business plans should I create, how many dream boards should I make?
Quiet. Please. My inner being begs. My heart warns with its brick wall head bangs.
Enough. For now. Just let me be, please.
My heart whispers, don’t you want to just sit, just be? Just stare up at the clouds and sigh with the breeze?
Yes, please. My lungs breathe.
So I watch the clouds slide in their infinite sky. I memorize the touch of the wind on my skin, how it traces my temple, my cheek, my chin. Exhale to six, inhale to three.
I see. This is what it is to meditate, just breathe.
Back to reality.
My heart knows me better than my head.
But (sigh) conditioned to distrust such a frightening beat, I spin mental spider webs instead. Corner to corner I drag sticky threads of thoughts that quiver: Who are you to dream impossible dreams? A nothing. A nobody. Compared to all these. The movers, the shakers, the influence makers.
I retrace these old beaten paths through my brain. For days, for weeks, when I wake, when I sleep.
Until my heart says, hey what about me?
With a thud it falls to the floor.
Thump, thump. Thump, thump.
I pick it up and remember to breathe.