Judgmental Cows & Wilson

 "The way to find your own North Star is not to think or feel your way forward but to dissolve the thoughts and feelings that make you miserable.  You don't have to learn your destiny--you already know it; you just have to unlearn the thoughts that blind you to what you know."  Martha Beck

I was thoroughly uncomfortable.  I didn't know if I wanted to run away or stay.  My chest filled with discomfort and heat.  My ears, eyes and sinuses all equally warm.   I felt like I couldn't breathe.  I felt hollow.  I felt like someone was sitting on my chest.  My body's sign to pay attention to what I'm feeling.  So I closed my eyes and felt.  I sat in that discomfort like it was my job.  

Old thoughts started parading through my brain... I am the ugliest girl in the class.  I am not smart enough.  I am not cool enough.  I am too old.  I am broke.  My body is weird and it smells.  I am living with my parents and my two boys (I say with a smirk in my brain).  I have no career.  I need Botox.  I need to buy better shampoo because my hair is old too.  I have too many wrinkles.  I'm done.  I've been beaten.   And I want to give up.  Like just sit inside and watch TV and play solitaire for money on my phone all day.  With a bottle (or three) of wine and pizza.  And ice cream.  Rocky Road Bluebell, please.  (And I am definitely not minimizing the sitting -inside- and -stuffing- your -face- in- solitude times.  Necessary.  And also high five.)

I let myself go down this hole for a bit.  Just to see how far my brain would get.  It ended up somewhere in a hut.  Alone.  On a small island. Like Tom Hanks and Wilson.  

The thing about old thoughts is that they are old.  They are tired.  They don't serve you anymore. They are ready for your whole body to celebrate who you are and the life that you are currently living.  They are waiting in anticipation like a kid about to dive into a swimming pool once the whistle is blown for you to embrace your life.  

How bout we just talk to ourselves like we actually like ourselves.  And ditch the shit that doesn't serve us anymore.  And dive in.

I tried it out.  I went for a walk.  I screamed to get it entirely out of my body while cows stared at me.  Instead of the shit I had on repeat in my head I pretended that I was talking to my people who love me the very most.  

"Rebekah Rose Crosby, daughter of David & Janet Crosby, mother to two beautiful boys, sister to amazing humans, friend to beautiful souls, you are amazing and unique because you are a part of the Universe.  You were made just to be seen by My eyes.  You complete me.  You exist for me.  You are lovable.  You are interesting.  Just because you ARE.  You made decisions based on information in your head at the time.  And also, this very moment has never been lived by another human being.  Ever.  This is it.  This is as good as it gets.  You are experiencing the orgasm of life in real time."

I have been given this amazing gift of time and space and support to heal.  I am in the perfect place for it.  I need like the terrifying kind of healing that needs lots of open spaces to scream all your pain out because it's too much for the world to hold. 

I have hurt myself enough.  It hasn't served me.  It has taken me out of the present moment and into fear for the present, regret for the past, anxiety for the future.  It has served up a lot of other really tasteless dishes.  Like being disconnected from people I love and suffering alone.  

I have found butterflies flying above my head for the past week.  One made its landing on my hair.  (It was incredibly puffy that day, so I don't blame it.  It was a nice, fluffy place to nestle in. Full of dry shampoo because it's my favorite and also coconut oil because...dry shampoo is drying. Listen, Linda, it makes total sense to me.)  I glow.  I am present.  I walk everywhere.  I laugh with my boys.  I roll around in the grass.  I chase my dog.  I drive in the country and pop my tire because I took it off road.  I sing out loud though I've always hated my voice.  I feel more alive than I have in a very, very long time. 

What if the key to finding our own North Star like my friend Martha suggests (aka what we were CREATED to be) is just about reframing our suckiness and seeing our damn selves as we actually are.  Authentically raw.  A tear hanging inside your joy. A necessary part of existence.  Fucking beautiful art.

I'm on the right path to find my authentic self aka North Star.  You know, the butterflies and glow and all.  And I'm not expecting to find it in a job that pays me my value.  Because there is no amount of money that covers that.  I want to fully be the person my people see.  I want to reflect back to myself all the love in the world that it took to make me. The way is scary and rocky and cliffy.  And it means I have to ditch all the constructs in my brain and ideas of who I think I'm supposed to be.  It means I have to open myself up to pain. It comes complete with small panic attacks and frustrated libidos and guttural screams and child's pose sobs.  And judgmental cows.

Banksy said art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable.

I can think of nothing more disturbing than walking away from who you used to be and into the unknown.  But here I am.  I'm ready for it. Tom Hanks and Wilson are in my rearview.

https://youtu.be/K99i5GF65to