It’s mid-December, and somehow, amidst all the carols and cinnamon, this was the poem that came out. The muse is a funny thing. Here goes.
Put On Your Mask First
is what they say in theory, but good mothers know better. Good mothers pack the lunches, drive to practice, bandage wounds, feed, clothe, cradle, carry without oxygen all the time. She who takes time to work out, takes a drink with friends, takes a trip without children, takes anything to keep her own cells from dying– risks the narrow eye of judgement, loss of her “good mom” badge. The fact that we know–in theory– that tending to mothers first will help the collective survive might give me hope for tomorrow if the pressure in this cabin weren’t already so low
I have been a broken record on here about slowing down, grounding, and doing less. That is a bit of a given, particularly if you tend toward a wild holiday season. But today, let’s con*spire through movement.
If you are able to, stand up. Get on your feet. Imagine that brightly-lit pine tree in the middle of town, and lengthen your spine to match.
Decide on a soundtrack. This week, I’ve been loving the energy of The Oh Hellos’ Family Christmas Album as well as the familiar hominess of Fleetwood Mac. Or you may decide that life is noisy enough, and your soul is craving a bit of silence.
Get moving. I won’t be prescriptive. It could be a short walk, a two-minute dance break, some tai chi or yoga. Enough to oxygenate your cells (see above) and reacquaint with your body as more than just a vessel of productivity.
Imagine for a minute all of the readers of this letter getting up and shaking their stuff, together across the miles. Next time, invite someone close by to join you, too.
With light, life, and love,
Devon
I look forward to trying this movement prompt when I am no longer sick in bed with a horrible cold. Germ season is the worst.