Part 1: Reflections
November is my favorite month of the year.
First, it happens to be the anniversary of my parents wedding: 59 years and counting for Conrad and Marlene (Molly). Second, I was born in November and despite the fact that I’m getting older, or maybe because I’m getting older, with each year I appreciate it more and more every time it comes around. Third, my son, Nikolai was also born in November and anyone who has spent more than 10 minutes with me knows that Nik is my sun, moon and stars. And last, but not least, it holds my favorite holiday of the year, Thanksgiving.
In addition, November is a month of reflection for me. I think it has to do with my attachment to the gardening cycles and seasons that accompany my zone 5 home in Wisconsin. As the weather cools and the leaves fall we retreat inside to our homes. The hectic almost frenetic energy of summer slows. The bones of the garden become clear and the limbs of the trees show sharply against the blue of the sky. There is nowhere to hide. All the things that we have held at bay in the depth of our hearts and minds now find their way to consciousness.
My internal voice starts talking to me. Asking me the questions I didn’t have time to consider when the summer sun was beckoning me outside to play. I start to think about all the things in my life that I am thankful for (family and friends mostly) and the baggage that I carry around (old dreams, beliefs, assumptions, hurt feelings). My thoughts challenge me to take each one out one by one; to look at it, feel its energy, taste its flavor and hear its message. I notice something interesting as I do this. For my joys, I find myself breathing in deeply as I experience them, saturating my cells with all the good in my life. For my baggage, I push the air from me letting go of all the stale air that would weigh me down.
By the time Thanksgiving Day arrives I have cleared out the cobwebs in my head and all that remains is the joy – adding one more item to the list of things I’m thankful for.
Join the conversation
What are your cells saturated with, Joy or Baggage?