Daily Promise To Myself

I begin almost every morning the exact same way.

I groan at my alarm pulling me out of that delicious sleep that seems to hinge on its imminent interruption.

I delay.

I cajole.

I check my email and scroll New York Times headlines all in an attempt to push back the inevitable leaving of that wildly comfortable nest.

But eventually, always at least 10 minutes later than I’d meant to, I finally rise.

I go through my ablutions and stumble out to where my blessed, blessed coffee maker has, through the miracles of modern technology and programming, already prepared a steaming pot of life-giving nectar.

I pour a mug full and, before I’ve even taken my first sip, the simple act of wrapping my hands around it, of seeing the steam unfurl and smelling the earthy, rich scent, has me feeling bolstered.

I'm enlivened.

I borrow courage from the cup, energy from the elixir.

Feet still bare, I pad to where my small cushion is set before a table.

I close the door behind me, though sometimes Chili’s warm, sleepy body slides in before I do and I admit it…I love it when he presses next to me, even if I’m pulled from my practice by the lure of running my hands across his fur.

I just can’t resist.

Before I settle in, I light the candle that lives there on that table.

I speak as the wick ignites, “With this flame, I greet this new day.”

And I do.

I do greet it. This new day before me.

I settle on that cushion and breathe and I watch that flame dance and I begin my daily questions, practice the curiosity I teach.

I watch as that single flame brings a glow of warmth and light to the still dark space and I wonder…

Can I be like this flame today? A small, flickering light, but mighty nonetheless?

Where might I bring my fire today? Out into the wider world or into a corner of my own small life?

And where does this flame live inside me? What is its state?

Is it burning fiercely, banked and protected, or is it being blown about by the winds I’ve exposed it to? Do I need to go in search of kindling before it’s reduced to cinders?

What fuel am I feeding this fire inside me? Good strong hardwoods that will burn long or is it all flash and glitter, being fed on glossy magazine pages and yesterday’s headlines that burn hot, but fleetingly.

How can I cup my hands around that fragile flame, protect it from the gusts that seek to extinguish it?

Have I cultivated enough fire to share? Can I lend the warmth or light a new match or hand off some of the kindling I’ve stored?

I look for it…I look for that warm space in my chest, in my gut, in the deep and solitary places of my heart house.

I find my own small flame, that fire of my core self.

And I make the promise I begin every day with:

“Today, my flame will not go out. It may flicker. It may wobble. It may struggle and fight to stay lit. But today, my flame will not go out.”

Eventually, I put my hand on my heart, whisper, “in gratitude, today and every day” and I blow out the flame of that candle.

I rise from my cushion.

I make a second pot of coffee and I walk Chili in the frigid rain and I fight with my to do list.

I lose my wifi connection and lock my keys in the car (again) and say things I regret to my mom on the phone.

I reach out to that friend I know is struggling. I pay for the coffee of the car behind me when I go through the line. I try to make amends for all the ways that I’ve fallen short.

I write some words. I scratch them out. I write some more. Some of these I keep.

I make the same mistake I made yesterday. I try again. I fail again. I try a third time. A fourth. A seventeenth.

Sometimes this being human thing is so hard.

Sometimes it’s so beautiful.

Sometimes it knocks the breath clean out of me and I just have to lay on my back and stare at the bluebird sky and look at those tiny buds on that cherry tree fighting to become flowers and all I can utter is “thank you.”

Thank you for this life. Even when I’m making a mess of it.

Thank you for this flame, for this tiny fire I carry inside of me. This being that I don’t always know what to do with.

I’m doing my best. It’s not always enough.

But today, like every day, I’ll simply hold to the promise I made:

“Today, my flame will not go out. It may flicker. It may wobble. It may struggle and fight to stay lit. But today, my flame will not go out.”

Stay kind out there.

Don’t let someone else’s winds put out your flame.

If your fire is strong, help someone build theirs.

And, of course, always, always...stay curious out there.

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P.S. I had other plans for this post today, but this was what came out instead. Sometimes that’s what happens.

But I DO still want to let you know that registration for the May Say The Word retreat is open and also that I’m still begging for your favorite quotes/lines from your reading (and why they resonate for you) for the podcast— please share!

Here’s an example (from episode one, Chambers of the Heart) that Catherine S. shared:

"There's a line from Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's novel Americanah that I hung on my wall right after reading and still look at every morning: "This was love, to be eager for tomorrow." For me, this line encapsulates the giddiness of being really in love with not only a person, but also with a hobby, job, place, or even with yourself. To be excited at the thought of continuing on, spending more time with that person/place/thing, and seeing how things may unfold. It immediately described so simply all the times I've felt love in my life, and the purpose and energy this love has given me to do the things I've done.”

I’d love to have YOUR voice here as well— please leave a comment or send me an email with yours!