I was telling him about the week I’d had which was pretty challenging to say the least. In one week, both my computers had issues, my mobile phone decided to misbehave, my printer gave up the goat and my antique answerphone at home stopped working. And then to top it all, my bank account got hacked and over a thousand pounds was taken. Taken separately over a period of time, this would be manageable. But all of these events happened over a period of five days, and along with holding down a full time job, my writing projects and some health issues I’m going through right now, by Sunday, I was a wobbly mass of tears.
I had planned to do a lot that Sunday, but after a phone call with another wise friend, who listened as I sobbed, I took myself off to Richmond Park and soaked up nature’s healing. I found an old tree that had been hollowed out, so that just one side of it was standing, in a sort of curve, like arms waiting to embrace. I stepped inside the hug of that tree, leant against its bark and just breathed, and stopped. I dropped all the balls in that moment.
Sometimes we need to drop the balls. We deal with so much: our families, our work, our hobbies, our careers, our vocations, our relationships, our day to day chores, it can feel like an endless cycle of activity and management. Dropping the balls isn’t flaking out in front of the TV, or eating a pot of ice cream. Dropping the balls is stopping doing the doing, and being with that that nourishes, supports and replenishes you.
If only for a while…