Things around here feel different from last week's letter. Is change really the only constant? Or is it that my moods now swing with progressively greater frequency as a potential symptom of perimenopause, of which at least 10 people throughout the last few months have suggested I'm experiencing? Am I sweating because it's 90 degrees out or because my hormones are stoked to wither away and heave ho to meet me in the next life? Google says perimenopause begins around 40-44. After a youth spent being tardy and getting shit for it, I now pride myself on being (semi-to-mostly) on time, if not a few minutes early. Be careful what habits you create, I guess!
This morning, I found myself fully ensconced in a cocoon made of a large swath of purple sateen suspended from the ceiling of a dance studio in Santa Monica, drifting in and out of consciousness to the sounds of singing bowls and swinging chimes. In my more lucid moments, I wondered if butterflies feel claustrophobic and restless before they emerge to become themselves.
It's all a part of the path, I suppose, the before and the during and the after.
In preparation for 40, and as a result of lifelong ebbs and flows of vanity, I've been working out extra with the goal of getting shredded by my birthday. I'm shooting for the moon, and if I land among the stars, you'll never hear from me again. Just kidding. But one of the things I've added on for secondarily body and primarily soul purposes, is a return to yoga.
I was in a restorative class yesterday morning, in a supine twist, looking at all of the plants along the wall. "Hmm," I thought. "These must be fake. They're too green. Not a spot of brown or a split leaf among them." It turns out they were real, that people can actually tend to their plants in such a way, and that I simply failed to inherit my dad's green thumb. This was no surprise. But what was a pleasant surprise was to notice that I preferred the bits of imperfection I see in all of my plant children to these model flora. I was reminded of the Ram Dass teaching:
“When you go out into the woods, and you look at trees, you see all these different trees. And some of them are bent, and some of them are straight, and some of them are evergreens, and some of them are whatever. And you look at the tree and you allow it. You see why it is the way it is. You sort of understand that it didn’t get enough light, and so it turned that way. And you don’t get all emotional about it. You just allow it. You appreciate the tree.The minute you get near humans, you lose all that. And you are constantly saying ‘You are too this, or I’m too this.’ That judgment mind comes in. And so I practice turning people into trees. Which means appreciating them just the way they are.”
I patted my self on the back for appreciating my plants the way they are, for not only not expecting them to be perfect, but preferring instead their imperfections, for not using their mercurial status as living or dead as a reflection of my self-worth. I took it all as a nudge from the Universe to do the same for myself and all other humans, to accept with affection all of our foibles and flaws.
The other message the Universe sent me this week was that abundance comes in all forms, not just money. Sure, my therapist has told me this every other week for the last four years, and I shrug her off while saying "Uh-huh, okay, now let's work on manifesting for me a few super high-paying jobs that require as minimal work as possible, or a distant and really rich relative who, by the grace of the goddess Abundantia, bequeathed it all to me," but this time, it landed on attentive ears.
For one thing, the affirmation on my phone's lock screen, which usually changes every few hours, has stayed on "I am full of abundance" for the last 4 or 5 days. I guess it really wants me to know that I AM FULL OF ABUNDANCE.
And, what do you know, this abundance of abundance did not manifest in the form of money! Remember how in my last letter I asked for accountability to health via diet and...I can't remember the other thing? (That's a good sign.) It showed up as Juli unexpectedly making me an enjoyable and nourishing salad for lunch on one day, and on the next day being offered by my now-regular car salesman half of his healthy snack of fruits and nuts and organic yogurt, accompanied by his welcome advice to be "wise as a serpent, and innocent as a dove," in response to my distress about a work issue. Abundance appeared as an extra (read: free!) memory foam pillow sent to us after months of our dealing with a Goldilocks mattress situation that has yet to be resolved, and a yin yoga class instead of what I expected to be a vinyasa flow, after realizing that 1) my body was absolutely dunzo and could not withstand any further effort from my arm muscles, and 2) it was too late to cancel without incurring a fee.
It's the kind of thing I say to my clients, but the Great Therapist of Beyond is now showing me that maybe the secret to true abundance really is seeing with gratitude what's already in front of us. And when we do, everything becomes a blessing because it always was. A meal, a snack, a shipping error, words of wisdom, being looked out for, love. Abundance abounds.
- As always, with love and thanks,
Brookie
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