You Might Prefer Not to, but Show Up Anyway

Show Up

Even If You’d Rather Not

Show up? Sometimes I’d rather not. I’d rather not show up in times of trouble, times of strife, times of heartache. My heart goes out to those suffering, but a part of me knows with deepest certainty that I’m afraid to show up. I’m afraid to see suffering. I’m afraid to help carry the burdens and wipe the tears of someone in pain. I’m afraid of that pain becoming mine.

One time, I did not show up. My fear and pain were too great. Not showing up is one of my most profound regrets. I carry the guilt and shame—and pain—for not showing up. I cannot ever go back and change what I neglected to do. However, what I can do now to ease that guilt, shame, and regret is show up. Because of my lesson learned, I now and in the future will push aside fear and push aside pain. I show up. I will continue to show up.

Show up.

Hawks, Buzzards, and a Happy New Year

Hawks, Buzzards, And

A New Year’s Day Fly-In

Earlier today, I wrote a New Year’s Day meditation. As I sat down to type it, I looked out the window as a hawk swooped into my side yard. I went outside and startled a buzzard creeping through the brush in the lot next door. A squirrel ran screaming up the pine tree. A few minutes later, four hawks circled the house. A bit later, five buzzards sat in the front yard. Ugh! I started the day noting it’s not shiny or bright because it’s cold and cloudy. Now I don’t know what to think.

Thirty minutes later, the buzzards are gone and the hawks have flown. Maybe that’s what each new year is all about. There will be clouds, there will be cold days. And, yes, the buzzards and hawks might have a fly-in just when I sit down to write my flowery prose about how to greet the day with a higher consciousness and a full and open heart. Seeing those birds of prey and carrion eaters didn’t remove the flowers from my yard or the hope from my psyche. They simply reminded me that this year, like every other one, will have its unexpected, unwelcome moments and that when those moments are over, they have flown away and I can still have a full and open heart.

* * * * *

The following is what I initially wrote before the buzzard and hawk fly-in:

New. It’s not shiny or even bright. Dots of blue peek beneath the mounds of gray clouds. This Central Florida day belies the state’s reputation for both warmth and sunshine because neither are present. However, rather than a northern landscape devoid of color, I see green, pink, orange, purple—hues from the garden beckon my senses and waken me.

It’s a new year, but today is a new day, as is every one of them; every moment is new from this one forth. Being awake, I see more than flowers, sky and growth around me. I see and have a deep awareness of possibility. Wrapped in that possibility is hope—hope that when I open this gift of a new year and each new day, I will embrace all that is new. Also wrapped in that possibility is the hope that I will bring even more newness, awareness, and gratitude for this year, this day, and all the gifts I continue to receive and desire to share.