90 Days of Showing Up

Warning: there’s a bit of swearing in this one. 😉

”I think midlife is when the universe gently places her hands upon your shoulders, pulls you close, and whispers in your ear: I’m not screwing around. It’s time.” ~ Brene Brown

I’ve always been the girl with the plan. If I wanted to write a book or lose weight or start exercising or learn something, I would sit down and figure out where I wanted to be, then work backwards. If you were to open any past planner of mine, you would find at least one countdown on those pages.

But I never got there.

I never got to the end of the countdown with success. I never ended at my goal weight, I never wrote 50,000 words in a month and I never got to ten push-ups.

Why?

I think for four reasons:

1. I’ve always been a bit rebellious and my ‘screwyouiwon’tdowhatyoutellme’ notion sadly even works on self-imposed rules.
2. I was getting something out of staying where I was. If I never got there, I wouldn’t have to see what there meant.
3. I bought whole-heartedly into the notion of ‘be gentle with yourself.’ But instead of doing that, I used it as an excuse to not show up if I didn’t feel like it or if I was tired or if or if or if…

And that’s all crap. Yep, all just excuses.

Yesterday I did a long guided meditation in which I asked my guides for the answer to a question. There is some stuff I want to clear, and this seemed like as good an idea as any. I went in, I sat at the feet of a guide, and I asked my question. The answer?

“Stop fucking around and show up.”

Not your usual answer, but I took it, mostly because I’ve been getting the same answer for weeks in my writing and my course creation and my journalling: just show up.

Over the past twenty-four hours, I have read the other part of that phrase four different times in four different places: stop fucking around.

Those words? Five times in two days? Really?

Today I counted – because that is what I do – and I realised that it is 90 days until my birthday. And within those 90 days, we will be moving into our house. Usually that would have me making a Plan and writing a goal in my diary.

But not today. Today I am admitting that that doesn’t work, and instead I am going to stop fucking around and just show up at the page. Every day. No matter what. No matter how I feel or where I have to go or what I have to do. Everything counts. This matters. My work matters.

I matter.

90 days of showing up. 90 days until my birthday. 90 days.

I can count that down.

It’s a good Plan.

xo