That is all.
I need an apron. Comfy, practical, adorable, affordable, size fat. That’ll happen, right?
…that I haven’t cooked anything since this morning (leftovers and garden harvest for lunch, snack, dinner, and dessert) and combined with knowing The Man just cleaned the kitchen I now really, really have the urge to get up and go make something?
I should get up and cook. It’s 5:30, we’re planning to BBQ burgers and sauté some leafy greens and do caramelized onions and mushrooms inside and I just planted an anaheim pepper plant and all I want to do is sit inside and expel excess heat and drink water and play with Tumblr and write and write and write.
My family is fond of a bad pun: don’t should on yourself. It’s supposed to sound like don’t shit on yourself. And I keep thinking “but shit is a good fertilizer”. But should isn’t.
Do an experiment, if you’re in a space you feel able to.
Feel yourself sitting (lying, standing, squatting) while you read this. Scan your face, your shoulders, your chest. Maybe it’s tight, maybe it’s all relaxed and groovy, maybe you’re too busy chewing your dinner to notice anything else. There’s no wrong way to be here, and you don’t need to do anything. Just notice. (And if you find yourself judging, notice that too. That isn’t wrong either.)
Now start thinking of the things you should be doing. You know there’s a list. There’s always something, always that little note-maker in the back of your head, with hir omnipresent list of ways you are not using your time and life and body correctly. Let that obnoxious twit have free voice, for just a moment. I should start cooking, I should be cleaning, I should be playing with the Boychick, I should be calling about Sallie Mae loan fuckery, I should… And come back. Scan your body again, just noticing (and again, if you judge, just notice that).
I feel more tension in my shoulders, like they’re trying to rise up and block out the voice by covering my ears. My jaw is tenser, and my scalp, behind my ears, has the slightest burn. My breath is faster than it was, but shallower, more constricted.
That’s just me. Maybe you didn’t notice any differences, or noticed different differences. Maybe you’re still relaxed, or now having a panic attack. It’s all ok. (Although *hugs* for the panic — breathe, and do whatever you need to to come down.) I’d wager most people feel some form of increase of tension, though. (Which isn’t to say you are wrong or bad or abnormal if you didn’t.)
Now take a deep breath. Let it go, as much as you are able. Think of what you could do right now. This one might be harder, because many of us don’t practice it, but that’s ok. Think of the possibilities open to you. If your mind starts to focus on what isn’t possible, just notice that, and lovingly invite the thoughts to walk away. They’re not wrong, they’re not bad, they’re just not needed now. Now is the time for could. I could sit here. I could watch a movie. I could go outside and garden. I could get up and cook. I could go play with my child. I could go surprise-hug my lifemate. I could clean. I could smile at the mess. I could…
I’m smiling now, just a little. My eyebrows are the slightest bit raised. There’s an ache in my scalp a little like after I’ve been laughing too much. My belly is rising and falling with my breath. My shoulders are still tense, but they’re not reaching for my ears.
Should. Or could.
Consider what happens what you say someone, most especially yourself, should cook at home, should eat more vegetables, shouldn’t have that cookie. Why invite that tension, that judgment, that discomfort? You could instead say that maybe — and maybe not — more cooking could be done at home. Maybe that beet recipe could be tasty. That cookie could be too. You could invite more love and acceptance and non-judgment into your life, others’ lives, the world.
You don’t have to. But maybe you could.