This morning I was thinking about all the workshops and retreats I've done so far this year, and how one thing they've had in common is that they all came at times when I was going through sorrow or grief or illness or injury--mostly more than one at a time. I've talked through tears and propped my head up against the high back of a rocking chair. The workshops coming up this week are no different as I nurse myself back to health after a wicked virus that's had me (and my kids) down and out for almost a week. My appetite and energy still haven't recovered, and I leave in less than 48 hours.
The parts of me that believe my worth is tied to my performance always get snagged by these scenarios. I get pangs of concern about not Bringing 100%, or Being My Best or some other bologna. Every time, there are other scenarios I have to walk myself through, like these:
What if people who are always leading with their strengths are hard to be around?
What if your weakness is your best move--the one you want to lead with every time?
What if embracing our tender places invites others to do the same?
What if you could do what you do in your sleep, because it's actually who you are?
What if your presence is a healing balm?
What if everyone around you already has every answer, and all she needs you to do is to really see her, and to hear it?
What if telling the truth about your humanity and your limitations creates a space of permission and grace?
What if we're all in this, and being in it together is all we ever need?
In the spirit of the Bare Minimum Game, I'll be letting go of anything that hasn't already been done. I'll tuck myself in this afternoon for a nap and take good care of myself. And then I'm going to take my small appetite and my tired bones, and I'm simply going to go.