I don’t know.
My daughter has this new journal. She is such an inspiration. Since acquiring it, she has written an entry each night before bed. It’s brief. It’s intentional. The journal is prompted. Yesterday’s prompt, for example, was: “How did you prioritize yourself today?”
When I asked her whether or not she knew what “prioritize” meant, she shirked a response and continued writing every detail of everything that had happened to her that day.
Some days are so full and beautiful, but in the most tedious ways, I imagine they are dull to read. Some days I’m so exhausted I fall asleep with the tools still in my hands and sadly wake up having written nothing. Other days my emotions feel too erratic to contain, and I chase them around and around, trying to pin them down—an exercise in futility.
If I were to think about how I prioritized myself today, I would have to say choosing movement. I met with my coach despite the rain. We’ve been fighting for years. Without fail, I always leave with a smile on my face. That’s what it’s all a bout.
I also ate four peanut butter cookies. Although I’m not sure that particular indulgence qualifies as prioritizing my health.
After thinking about it for a handful of minutes, I’m not sure I care for this prompt.
I know I needed it a few years ago. I’m so profoundly grateful for the challenges, perspective, and presence that woke me up, showed me worth, and taught me love.
These days, though, I’m so tired of me. I want to prioritize others better.
I want to love freely. Unconditionally. Generously. Radically. Love keeps no records. I want mine to be a love that is deeply kind and truly patient, that doesn’t envy or boast. A love that isn’t proud or rude or easily angered.
I’ve seen that every time I find myself empty, somehow I become full again. Not by the works of my own hands, surely. There is a time to work and a time to rest. A time to pour out and a time to recover. And somehow, when I am called back to the work, there is enough in me to begin again.
It doesn’t seem to fail.
I just need to continue to trust it. To stay willing and open.
I hope this year will be one of peace. One of patience. I want to continue to cultivate a quiet and gentle spirit, slow to anger, slow to speak, quick to listen.
I don’t know.
But I love you.
Goodnight xx