I often choose a word or phrase to guide my year, and for 2021 it is spacious.
Here’s what happens when I don’t claim spaciousness during a
day:
I snap at people to keep them away.
I eat too much to give myself a break.
I read anything, typically falling into the black hole of
social media, rather than carefully choose what to read.
I shop.
I cut corners on meditation because the silence, which feels
more like emptiness than spaciousness, has become less familiar and therefore scarier.
When I stop writing morning pages because writing by hand annoys me, I lose what has become a portal to inner wisdom.
Space is not a hole to be filled but something to
explore, shape, and curate.
If I have space in my day, without appointments, errands,
meetings and chores lined up like spices on a too-small rack, I listen to my
body, drink more water, rest, or stretch the muscles that call for attention.
On a spacious day I brush my hair, clean my glasses, put on earrings because I notice what’s needed.
With enough space I find my puppy charming and can give him
guidance with a light heart. Without space our power struggle consumes me and I
channel my own mother at her worst.
With space I drink tea when it’s actually hot, savoring the
nuanced flavors. Without spaciousness, cups grow cold, get microwaved over and
over, and I start longing for half and half to make the tea more enjoyable.
A spacious moment allows me to take in what is happening, process what I'm feeling, express it appropriately, and decide how to act next. Otherwise I'm simply reacting to one atrocity after the next outrage, never feeling the deep grief that underlies most anger.
Spaciousness may be a privilege, but it is not a
luxury.
If people had the breathing, living, playing, creative,
political space to attend to their dreams, desires, and loved ones, we’d have
more creative solutions to our daily challenges.
May your 2021 be S P A C I O U S.
