Photo taken by me in Cuzco, Peru
“We have to open the door so that our divine purpose can enter.” Oprah said that once. But how? Well, slow your ass down. That’s what I said. Profound, isn’t it? If you quote that on your instagram please don’t forget to give me credit. Thanks.
I realized that sometimes I move so fast. Running from here to there. From there to here. Like one of my kindergarteners. They run everywhere. But, the difference between them and me is that they run because they are so excited. I run because I am so overwhelmed. Do that. Don’t do this. To do lists. Should do lists. Should have. Could have. Do. Don’t. Thinking about anything else rather than where I am right now. Thinking about everything that could lead me to somewhere, when in fact I have no idea where I am doing.
Confusion and anxiety can fill up my mind on the daily. If I allow it that is. My mind can get cloudy and congested. Clarity is sometimes nowhere to be found. Courage is hiding somewhere, I know it. And I know that door is there. And I know that my divine purpose is knocking. But I sure as hell can’t see it. And I can barely hear it.
So, I unplug and I just sit still. Even if for a moment. Away from everything. I give myself a chance to courageously sit in silence. Which, let’s be honest. I am not a huge fan of silence. It is hard for me. My brain is constantly ticking. And the chatter is non-stop. And I feel like I have 75 tabs open up there. Too many programs running. It’s no wonder I can’t hear anything else. But, I breathe and stay still. Even though it is hard AF.
Those things that challenge us are the things that change us. My boxing instructor said that once. And I tend to agree.
When I am quiet. When I am still. When I look inward. When I sit in gratitude for everything that is. Right here. Right now. That’s when I finally see the door. That’s when I finally hear those small whispers of the soul.
Why? Because I have given myself some space so that other thoughts can enter. There was no room for anything before I got still. When I get still is when I start to connect with my intuition. My inner guidance. It’s there. But I have to slow down to hear it. That faint whisper. It can easily get drowned out by all of the other voices. Especially nowadays. Social media, instant gratification. We don’t know how to wait for anything anymore. Everything can be done for us. We don’t have to connect with humans if don’t want to. And then we forget to connect to ourselves.
Our minds can take us many different directions. But, when we get still. When we close our eyes. Or when we simply walk and just notice all that is around us. When we are in the shower and we don’t bring our day with us. But we are present. When we recognize where we are right now. And what we are doing right now. That is when the space for creativity and spiritual experiences have permission to enter. That’s when we hear that soft, quiet voice guiding our next steps. After we weed through those voices that don’t exactly have our best interests at heart. You know those? You’ll never do that. You can’t do that. That’s a dumb idea. Don’t say that out loud. You will never find love. You should just give up. Ya big dummy.
After we let those thoughts go. Cause, well, they simply aren’t true. We are able to hear that gentle whisper. Your voice matters. You can do this. Put one foot in front of the other. Trust. Everything is unfolding as it should. Go. You are enough.
“The world is waiting for your vision.” Oprah said that too. But, I find myself not really listening these days. Rushing. Not even acknowledging my surroundings. Missing so much. Being present and looking around has been in the backseat for me this past year. Traveling to Peru and Tanzania and Bali. Those places shook me awake again. All of the colors. All of the sights.
We miss so much when are looking down. When we are racing around. When we walk and not run, we notice things. When we slow down, we see that door. That door of divine purpose. That door of solitude and intuition. Then I look at my dog. Cause we are besties. And I ask, “Has that door been there the whole time?” My dog says, “Yeah. That’s why I kept stopping.” Now if I could muster up the courage to open it.
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