Some mornings I wake and the very act of being human feels overwhelming.
There’s like one hundred different versions of me, and understanding and managing them all isn’t easy.
This morning I feel scared, uncertain.
It’s my little girl showing up, she wants to know everything is going to be ok, and is feeling unsafe. She wants to be looked after, hugged, reassured.
Yesterday afternoon on the deck in the sunshine, talking with my pal Mike Arzt, my sage was about. Calm, wise, sure of herself, able to assure others. Confident.
Earlier that day my pioneer was there, as we ski-toured up the back of Montezuma under the bluest of blue Colorado skies. Feeling free and excited about exploring a mountain pass I’d yet to discover. Tough, capable, self-sufficient.
It’s a lot.
All these different versions of me.
My practice is accepting them all, making space for them, and giving them what they need. Not trying to hide them away, or stuff them down, or only let the ‘good’ ones show up. No. All of me is valid and relevant and allowed to exist.
This is the work, and it’s not easy.
Allowing ourselves to be seen in our mess and in our glory.
Honoring ourselves in our mess and our glory.
Yet when we do, little by little, we come to love all of these characters who live inside of each of us. We integrate them, and hold space for them, and we become a little more whole and a little more in love with the entirety of our being.
