Tonight I am feeling unbelievably tapped out. Actually, I've been feeling that way for the last couple days, but tonight I seem to have hit the bottom of the barrel. For the life of me, I cannot seem to just give myself an utterly guilt-free break. After all, I have things to do. But I always have things to do. When did I learn to think that the only time I am worth anything is when I'm accomplishing something? Well, I suppose that's a dumb question, isn't it. Like most of us, I learned it while growing up and watching the people around me. I remember, at one point in my life, feeling pleased with myself for having escaped the many disfunctions of my family. Turns out, I was just late to blossom.
The other day I worked outside bundling white pine, cedar, and juniper boughs while the sky snowed, snowed, snowed and blew cold wind. The stone Buddha sat quietly, serene--his eyes closed yet somehow watching me as my heart was bursting into a thousand snowflakes. Underneath all of these conflicting emotions (rage, hope, despair, gratitude), there is a sense of peace. Right now, however, it feels ever-so-frustratingly just out of reach.
Maybe it's only hormonal, but I feel like I'm about ready to crumble.