Here's a list of things I’ve waited for recently, in no particular order:
My toddler to zip her jacket
Someone to call me back
Medical test results to come back
The coffee to finish brewing
The weekend to arrive
Nap time and bed time
My phone to finish updating
Clarity around a decision I need to make
My creative spark to return
What happens in your body when you’re waiting?
In my body, I feel a tightening. Sometimes a tightening like I’m gearing up to sprint ahead. Sometimes a tightening like I’m bracing against whatever is coming.
I’m know that tightening doesn’t actually help with the waiting, but I still do it. If I rush my toddler to zip her jacket, it usually ends in tears and takes longer than it would have if I just let her do it on her own time. Staring at the coffee pot doesn’t actually make it brew faster. Waiting to fall asleep often makes it much more challenging for sleep to find me. Getting worked up about when I’ll feel a creative spark to write again usually stunts my creative process.
A question I’m exploring: What would it feel like in my body if I could SOFTEN while I’m waiting?
Looking for beauty and pleasure helps me soften. Her cute little hands while she’s zipping her jacket. The smell of the coffee as it brews. The quiet hour of alone time in the dark before I fall asleep. The enjoyable emptiness in my mind before the flood of creative ideas rush in.
Another question I’m exploring: What would it feel like in my body to trust the timing of whatever it is I am waiting for?
To trust my daughter’s timing. To trust that sleep will come. To trust that the creative spark will return. Even if I don’t actually trust it (because let’s be real sometimes I do not trust that I will be on time for work if we take 15 minutes to zip the jacket) – still — what would it feel like in my body if I did trust it?
p.s. I would love to practice yoga with you! Check out my free practice bundles HERE.