Goodbye, Guilt. Hello, New Day.

 

Thursday, March 1, 2012 – Goodbye, Guilt; Hello, New Day

I lingered in bed this morning until the sun kissed my eyelids awake.  Then I stretched for several minutes, without a single glance at the clock.  The guilt is gone! 

Now it’s time for a ritual I started a few years ago that I’ve been neglecting lately.  I’ve found that it’s important for me to get outside each day as soon as possible after I wake up.  Just looking out the window doesn’t work.  This is what I do:  First, I fling open the door and rush out into the fresh air.  In the first moments, I stand and say a quiet prayer, one that I learned many years ago as a young child.  Then I close my eyes and listen closely to the day.  Birds, many different birds, each with its individual voice, share their joy with me.  There are other sounds I hear, maybe the low hum of distant traffic, the clanks and growls from machinery on an adjacent street, a dog barking, the rush of leaves in the wind.  Keeping my eyes closed, I concentrate on my other senses, one at a time.  I breathe in deeply through my nostrils to bring in the scent of the new day.  Some days smell of budding spring flowers or newly mulched gardens while others carry the lingering aroma of fires on a wintry night.  Then I open my mouth and take a good gulp of the morning air.  I drink it in and imagine the flavors swirling over my tongue.  Then I take time to focus on the way this day feels.  I open myself to the weather without judgment, even if it’s cold, or raining, or blustery.  I try to be aware of how it plays with my skin and my hair, tickling or caressing, assaulting or biting.  Whatever it is, I become part of it.  Finally, it’s time to open my eyes again.  I take plenty of time to gather in all details that I might otherwise overlook.  I’m mindful of the quality of the light, and any stillness or movement.  Today was one of those freshly scrubbed mornings that often follows a period of rain.  The air was crystalline clear.  Everywhere I looked, I saw finely drawn edges and popping colors.  Slowly, slowly, I turned around, all 360 degrees.  I could see how the light and shadows change.  On certain days, the sunrise paints colors along the horizon.  I remind myself to look down, too.  Today, the driveway was patterned with ribbons of bloated pink worms.  Then I raise my face towards the heavens and look up.  This morning, I soared to the bare treetops circling the fragile blue dome of the sky.   When I’m ready, I bring my gaze back to earth.  I smile, or even laugh out loud.  I’m part of the new day now. 

This simple ritual takes only a few minutes each morning, but it makes a huge difference to my psychological state.  The day turned out to be busy with plenty of driving around for errands and doctors’ appointments.  Elliott and I were in the car at 10 and didn’t finish up our activities until 4.  It was such a pleasure to go to Wegman’s on a weekday rather than battle the crowds on Saturday or Sunday.  Elliott saw his doctor at the pain clinic today and started a new series of injections.  He also has a prescription for a different pain medication which he’ll start tomorrow.  We’re cautiously optimistic.  Nothing he’s tried so far seems to bring any significant relief.  Until someone develops a procedure for a back replacement, he may have to suffer.  The pain was so severe that it prevented him from sitting outside for a social hour with our neighbors later in the afternoon.   Pain, pain, go away.