Wrangler Dani

Last night, Adam and I got home from a meeting at church around 8:30. I puttered about, folding laundry and other housewifey chores for about 20 minutes, then laid down on the couch and CONKED OUT. Seriously. I was out like a light. Out like a kid on the first day of summer. Out like a cat in a sunshiney spot, roughly 22 hours a day. Adam says I was a meanie when he woke me up to go to bed, but I don’t remember that. I think he’s fibbing.

Honestly, I don’t remember anything until waking up this morning at 7, after a whopping 10 hours of sleep. I don’t know if it’s because I got an unusual amount of sleep, or if I can only run so hard for so long before something in me just quits, but today is different. I’m simmering in inspiration this morning, working well – not with ten things happening at once, but slowly, checking off tasks one at a time and embracing the simple movements of a quiet workday.

I’m in front of people a lot more often these days than I ever used to be (a struggle for an introvert) selling myself, explaining my services and even, like yesterday, teaching a roomful of people “how-to”. Sometimes I’m so busy cultivating the me that I market that I forget about the me who needs to go for a long walk and comes back inspired, who cooks for therapy instead of necessity, who loves people more than I am annoyed by them.

I want to be Here now. I want every day to be like today. I know it can’t – yesterday I thought I might collapse from all the hither and thither – but even in the frenzy I am praying for peace, devotion and dedication to launching myself into my craft with both feet, not checking email on my phone or worrying about what might be happening elsewhere or obsessing about my growing list of to-dos.

The to-dos will be there, the work will always be work, and I will probably always struggle with a sense of place; with being Here, because Here can be damn hard to hold on to when there are so many other “heres” pulling me away. But today, I’m Here. I’m savoring doing things one at a time, rejoicing in the simple acts of work and holding on to peace and gratitude. Here is where I’ll stay.