Here I sit in the middle of my wildly imperfect life, in my 1959 trailer, in my bed that also serves as office, looking out a cracked window with cracked trim, seeing a spot on the wall that needs touchup paint, listening to birdsong through the thin metal walls.
I am not a good housekeeper. Clothes have been sitting in the dryer for two days. Dirty dishes are piled up, waiting a cleansing. The floors need sweeping, vacuuming, and mopping. My sofa’s upholstery needs cleaning. My coffee table holds piles of papers that await further investigation. (At least the piles are sorted. I know where to find stuff in the chaos.)
There’s large pile of books waiting for me to show up, feel gratitude, and then touch each one and see if it sparks joy. I’d like the ones that do to somehow fit perfectly into a bookshelf I have, yet I know me and this is laughable. That will not happen, and this is a never-ending issue. So many books, so little time. Audible, Kindle, and podcasts have not even made a dent in my book hoarding problem.
My huge trailer has sunk over time, because it was never set up properly in the first place in 2011, with gravel and cement pads under the supports, and now the door scrapes on the wooden steps when I open and close it because the steps haven’t sunk. I can hire someone to jack it up and re-level it — and put some cement pads under the supports to slow the sinking — or I can dig to deepen the steps, or get out a saw and cut the bottom step off. Maybe tomorrow.
I have problems, and these are just some of the ones to do with my home.
I floss my teeth and clip my nails in my car, on the way to work. Mostly at red lights.
At work, the walls are thin, and sometimes we have three practitioners working on three patients at the same time, and someone’s talking and everyone can hear it. It sounds like the adults in the Charlie Brown cartoons.
When the HVAC unit right outside my office window turns on, it sounds like someone blew hard into a didgeridoo, and patients have literally jumped on the table from the deeply relaxed states that I’ve worked so hard to induce.
I’m co-teaching a series of classes in April, and so far, no one has signed up.
So. Problems. They dwell in every area of life: home, work, self, relationships, just getting through each day. I’ve had a lot of problems, and some were really difficult. Some can never be resolved — I can only make peace with.
I have made mistakes, some of them serious. I have held myself accountable for making them. I have punished myself. I have been in denial about how bad certain problems were, fearful of the truth. I have felt shame.
Today it seems I’m having my own personal day of atonement.
Please forgive me.
I love you.~ Ho’oponopono prayer I recently had an opportunity to sing to a friend and have them sing it to me. so.powerful.
I am happy to share with you that I actually have resolved a lot of problems, and that having them made me more resourceful than I would be if I had never had them. Problems bring out creativity and expand your capabilities. You cannot buy that with your perfect life.
I also love that quote, a problem shared is a problem halved. Your new problem may be easily resolvable if you share it with someone who’s resolved it already or has resources you don’t, and you likely won’t know that until you share. Most humans love to be part of the solution, in my experience, although a few will judge you for not having your life all nailed down and tidy. But you probably didn’t want to know those people anyway, and their day will come.
My heart chakra is feeling open and vulnerable and tender now. I’m having a problem with someone dear and not sure what my right action is, so meanwhile, I’m going to put the dirty dishes to soak, get those clothes out of the dryer and put them away, and get started on the book sorting. And sing to myself.