Wednesday, January 15, 2014

Miracles may have happened

I am responding to Reverb13 prompts over a month later than they were originally published, but it's uncanny how perfectly timed they are for me. Today, in particular, the question of "what went right in 2013" is one of the most important and useful ones I can ask.

Because today, this week, it kinda feels like nothing is going right.

None of it is big stuff. It's just bloody hot here (over 40 degrees Celsius = 104 Fahrenheit every day). And our evaporative cooling is barely keeping up. And I am massively pregnant. And my asthma has gone totally feral. And a good night's sleep feels like an impossible dream. And my insecurities are being triggered by all sorts of silly stuff, from memories to social media. Not to mention I fear I am letting my daughter down and "wasting" the last school holidays where it'll just be the two of us.

So to reflect on the year that passed and realise that, actually, lots of really great and very welcome things happened is a tremendous boon.

There were a number of big ticket items. I finished the first draft of my novel by the deadline I'd set myself. We had a wonderful holiday in the US. I finally got pregnant, after two years of trying. My daughter had an excellent year at kindergarten. I made great progress in terms of my physical and psychological wellbeing. I made some major progress on my blog and plans for my creative life. My family and friends were predominantly healthy and happy.

There were also many delicious everyday moments. Holding my daughter's hand, walking to kindergarten. Lounging with my husband in front of our open fire. Live music and theatre. Reconnecting with old friends and taking current friendships to a new level. Green juice. Great books. Kicking the occasional goal in my day job. Sleepovers and date nights. Building a terrific support team. Belly laughs.

When I allow myself to sink in to the memory of moments like these, I realise that no day, no moment is really wasted.

Being pregnant, for me, feels like life lived on hold. Which is ironic, as it is an experience very much centred on the creation of new life. But there's something in that sense of suspension that can make me feel a little anxious.

There's the physical slowing down, of course. And then there's the anticipation of a whole new world, partly tempered this time around by a sense of what is in store (acknowledging that every child is different). The latter six months of 2013 were mainly spent in the fug of unwellness then trying to keep up on the treadmill that is the final quarter of the year. My recent chest infection, this crazy hot spell, somehow feel like an extension of that time.

But right now, leaning in to this prompt, I see that nothing is static and everything is moving at just the pace it should. My own life, my loves and the things that make my heart sing: they'll always be there. Sometimes doing very little is exactly what's required. If there's one thing that making a new little human has taught me: a lot goes on beneath the surface, so much of which we may never truly understand.

And that may just be the definition of a miracle.

I am responding here to the eighth prompt from #reverb13. You are warmly invited to share your own response below, if you did not have the opportunity to do so in December. Thank you for sharing the journey with me. x

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