It's a beautiful early summer day here in Eastern NC. There are barely any clouds in the sky -- only the light wispy ones are visible -- there's a regular breeze, it's in the mid 80's with low humidity (I won't be singing this tune come the end of June), and I am propped up in a hammock under the shade of the back patio. My view? More than I could ask for in a suburban setting. I have seen more birds fly by and land near today than I have any other day. There's green grass in the back yard, a retention pond to my left (which actually lends a more scenic and pleasurable view with it's presence), and trees in the background.
I love trees. Big, old, leafy trees.
Maybe that's why I enjoyed being a camp counselor at CSR for so many years -- the camp was nestled in the middle of a hardwood forest. Oaks, maples, ash, and elms -- only the occasional pine was seen. Valleys in between the hills, typically with a stream trickling through with frogs and bees. It was difficult to not find a peaceful spot on that property.
I've spent most of my afternoon in this hammock. Alternately reading (currently about 2/3 of the way through Wm. Paul Young's new book Cross Roads and loving it) and checking facebook (where I found out I was volun-told to participate in a Mile Long Burpee Challenge. I think I might die lol).
I am not sure why this hammock and this view holds such potent healing powers, but I am not going to question it. It doesn't take long in this hammock before I become intensely introspective and not necessarily moody, but unsettled with where I am emotionally. My mindset isn't right.
Self deprecation has abounded lately. Guilt. Negativity. Dislike of my body. Followed by sadness and depression about the "long way back" to where I was only two years ago, about how much work and dedication it will take. Followed by the sense that I will never make it, that I'm 'doomed' to be this lumpy round version of me for the rest of my life -- that I'm becoming my mother. Followed by further downward emotional spirals and emotional binge eating.
But here in this hammock, there is peace.
This morning, I removed all the clothes from my dresser and closet and under-bed bins that no longer fit because my waist line (and all other lines for that matter) has expanded past their capacities. I folded them neatly, sorted them clearly, and placed them ceremoniously into large plastic storage tubs that have been "abandoned" in the garage. Cathartic on one hand -- getting the constant reminder that I'm 'too much' for these clothes and the sense of decreased self-worth out of my daily view and life experience. Depressing on the other hand -- so many clothes, so many cute clothes gone; my remaining 'wardrobe' is pathetic at best.
I put them in the garage as opposed to donating them to Goodwill or Salvation Army for one massive reason -- I'm not willing to give up on myself, I'm not willing to give up the dream that I will be able to one day wear those cute clothes again. Not willing? Not ready? Same difference right now.
I am not sure why I go through such large emotional mountains every few years. I get a healthy lifestyle, love it, find fulfillment in it, then somehow I lose it. All of it. Big time.
And then it's a fight to get back.
A very slow, painful, never ending game of tennis.
But one thing is very clear to me. It's time to work. Time to work on me. Mind, body, and soul. Time to spend more time in the hammock. Time to spend more time in the Word. Time to spend more time eliminating the negativity and creating self confidence. Time to spend more time being active. Time to spend less time eating junk.
Broken record? Yes. But I will continue to write about what is present in my life. The struggles that I am experiencing. I have to -- it helps me work through it. And I will continue being a broken record until I can finally move the needle on the record player forward to the next song.
But in the meantime, I'm going to enjoy this beautiful day in the comforting embrace of this rope hammock.
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