Yesterday, on Twitter and Facebook, I got this out of my system:
too much busyness, and
my own prejudices.
Every day, I clear those from my system by blogging first thing in the morning.
Now I’m going to clear images from my iPhone system by sharing them with you.
Decades ago, when I was dealing with upsetting medical news about my very unusual heart, I went to a percussion class and cleared fear, anger, resentment, panicking, uncertainty, and worry from my system by wildly drumming along to “The Dancer” by Stanley Clarke.
If you want to clear unexpressed thoughts or feelings from your system, you can do so in the comments section, below.
As always, I’ve got a lot of gratitude in my system.
Yesterday, in my therapy groups, people talked about having too much on their plate.
I don’t have too much on my plate to share the meaning of that idiom.
Idiom –Too much on my plateor A lot onmy plateor Enough onmy plate.Meaning– To betoobusy. Tohave too manythings to deal with or a lot of things to worry about. This expression is used to signify that a personhas too manydifferent things to cope with.
Coincidentally, there were paper plates in the group room, because of a retirement party earlier in the day. I suggested that people take a plate, write and draw what was on their plate, and then, if they wished, throw the plate away. People threw away plates heaped with politicians, responsibilities, stress, fear, guilt, anxiety, shame, self-doubt, bureaucracies, traffic, abusers, unhelpful thoughts, and (on one plate) Florida.
I had too much on my plate yesterday to take pictures of the plates people created and threw away, but I can share these:
If I didn’t have too much on my plate right now (physical therapy for my shoulder, work, a presentation about my groups, and a live performance of “So You Think You Can Dance”), I’d come up with a pun about home plate.
Do you have too much on your plate to watch this video?
What’s wrong with me, that I keep writing posts with similar titles?
What’s wrong with me, that I feel the need to link to those past posts here, here, and here?
What’s wrong with me, that when I read posts I wrote when I was dealing with so many health problems, I cry?
What’s wrong with me, that I’m having so much trouble sleeping as we prepare to move?
What’s wrong with me, that when I write these blog posts, I have to close one eye to see better, unless I’m wearing my glasses?
What’s wrong with me, that I don’t immediately put on my glasses when I start writing these posts?
What’s wrong with me, that I keep catastrophizing about what’s going to go wrong with the move and with our new place?
What’s wrong with me, that I second guess so many of my decisions, including those I’ve made so far in writing this post?
What’s wrong with me, that I’ve taken to heart some critical comments one person made about my writing when I was in college, which I rediscovered when I was going through old papers in the basement?
What’s wrong with me, that I always share photos I took the day before?
What’s wrong with me, that I’ve saved old get-well cards and my son’s old Halloween costumes, like when he dressed up as static cling?
What’s wrong with me, that I try to include relevant music in my posts? What’s wrong with me, that I thought the title of this song was “(What’s wrong with) Peace Love and Understanding?”
What’s wrong with peace, love, and understanding? Nothing.
What’s wrong with ending every post with gratitude, when I’m so grateful to all who help me create these posts and to my readers, too? And I hope you know there’s nothing wrong with you (or with me). ❤
I let things come to me every morning after I wake up, including the title of my daily blog post. This morning, I was considering naming this post “Self Care,” since that was the topic of my therapy group last night. However, lately I’ve been following a new tradition of getting my blog post titles from teabags, and this is the teabag that most recently came to me:
Let things come to you, including these three other photos I took yesterday:
I’m letting these things come to me, here and now:
The realization that I left a few words out of the questions I wrote on the white board during group last night.
“Just do it” is good advice about self care AND about letting things comes to you.
My Secret Santa at work is letting chocolate come to me.
I express — rather than repress– the emotion more fully, letting it flow through me, and
I sing the sh*t out of a song.
I love giving loud, proud voice to my feelings, these days. And nobody seems to mind, especially those who are close.
That includes this guy, yesterday, on my walking-and-singing way:
Thanks to that interested and non-flinching bunny, to Idina Menzel*, to those who look closer, to people who do their best expressing (or receiving) emotions effectively, to everybody who sings out, and to you — OF COURSE! — for getting this close, today.