A very important thing is not to make up your mind that you are any one thing. ~Gertrude Stein
Every morning — most every morning — I roll out my blue, thick padded, Danskin yoga mat on my backyard patio. Even {especially} mornings like this … when I am barely able to move and my mind is dim as I move in slow motion.
{it is a ritual}
A cog on a wheel that allows me to keep moving when my thoughts are scattered and disconnected. When my body wants to remain curled in the fetal position to minimize the nerve pain and stiffness of my spine and muscle tissue. When there are flashes of light created in my mind that only my eyes can see.
This morning there is a cool breeze allowing the wind chimes to accompany the songbirds, crow calls, random cricket sounds and the bubbling of my water garden fountain. There is a large toad that typically returns at this time, hop by hop, to enter his dirt pod through my Vinca and Mums.
Everything cannot be a crisis.
Mine is the sunlight,
mine is the morning
Born of the one light …
Praise with elation,
praise every morning
Cat Stevens, Morning Has Broken ♫♫
Nature’s soundtrack plays while I move ever-gently on the mat, posing in modified yoga positions as I waken my body to the day … to movement. The light increases ever-gently around me as I stretch my legs, feet and toes … First straight, then upward and then ever-higher, holding for seconds at a time until minutes are possible. And then stretching my arms, spine and shoulders to the heavenlies as I sit squarely on my mat.
I feel wrapped by the dawn on summer mornings like this; when the sunrise illuminates the sky as my physical being begins more fluid movement even I simultaneously reach and stretch {and type} on this mat. My friend, Mandy, has faithfully encouraged me to write about this: pain, ritual and overcoming. ♥
More accurately, as she sits with me in the dark places, she nudges me to share what I write … To publish it here and in the book I started outlining in January. It feels inconsequential for me … because if I found it to be unique — or remotely motivational — I would have to admit my choice to come to this mat. And that what I do naturally as a response to my evolving normal — is actually of consequence.
That it is inspiring — something others facing daily challenges {pain, unknowns and limits} would relate to … That my words would resonate with those who share a kindred spirit — those who choose to adapt instead of succumbing to mediocrity. {Those who decide that life is much more than something that happens to them — it is to be decided and reconciled, remodeled and fashioned in accordance with the desires of their hearts.}
The best thing you can do is the right thing; the next best thing you can do is the wrong thing; the worst thing you can do is nothing. ~Theodore Roosevelt
My life is for itself and not for a spectacle. ~Emerson
My choices are something to be noted, if only by me. I embrace that. Now. {Mostly.} 
Before, it felt like one more thing that made me different — and living with MS is all “the different” I could handle until recently …
When I began to talk about it more regularly. When I began to offer brief explanations {instead of simply, “No.”} for declined invitations. And to acknowledge {and release} the faulty perceptions of others; those who are quick to label me as indifferent and.or self-centered.
To make it my practice to love and accept people as they are — not as I see them through forgiveness and the love-filter of my heart — but to adapt my relationship with them accordingly.
To distance myself from the situations and relationships in which there is no more Grace, only a circle of incompleteness, strife or promises that cannot {or will not} be kept. Doing so not out of rejection — but out of acceptance and resolution.
Now I abide with and embrace {and dare to invest myself} in situations and relationships that are life-giving. Where there is a harvest of ease and beauty; where words of Truth are whispered and proclaimed. Where I feel comfortable embracing all of who I am as a woman: creative thinker, artist, writer, midwife {to artists}, collaborator. As well as who I am to those I love and who love me: bride, mom & Gigi, {best} friend, warrior(ess) leader, {fairy} godmother.
Where the air around me sparkles and the pace and ease required to journey with multiple sclerosis is finally home. A place I can live words like vulnerable, overcome, courage … undaunted and where the ordinary is extraordinary. Because the people close to me see who I am and not my diagnosis. Where I can grin … and say, “Thank you.” when someone whispers, “You are amazing.” ♥
Where I can live what I wrote to a kindred {because she asked … and listened wholeheartedly as her inquiry prompted this reply} …
My word is {undaunted}. To be intentional with regard to dealing with situational realities when I feel discouraged; inadequately equipped {intimidated my own perfectionism} or discouraged by difficulty, disappointment or physical challenge.
Where I can stretch — first straight, then upward and then ever-higher, holding for seconds at a time until minutes are possible. Home.
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