I’m a big fan of what I call improvisational cross-stitching. which is a gentle way of saying, I have no clue what the hell I was doing but it definitely wasn’t looking at and following the pattern, and I’m not pulling out fifty stitches because of it, so I’m going to…improvise till I get it back normal.
and ya know what? by the time the pattern’s finished, you can never tell where I’ve improvised and where I’ve been true to the design.
I’ve been exhausted the past few days because of the sheer effort it takes for me to maintain recovery and make wise-minded choices while I’m at home. sometimes, having a schedule/routine is really helpful. but I also tend to use that as a crutch that I eventually abuse. I forget that recovery is shifting and fluid. I ignore my body if it’s giving me signals that don’t conform to my schedule.
I don’t allow wiggle room.
I don’t improvise.
I’ve been especially focused lately on listening to my body, and honoring what it’s telling me (if I can decipher it–always a crapshoot). and sometimes, it doesn’t tell me things I’m expecting to hear.
and then there comes a day like today, where I have the same breakfast I’ve been having all week, at the same time, but for whatever reason my blood sugar nose-dived two hours later as I was packing to go to yoga. so I could have ignored it and “pushed through,” because it didn’t fit in with my usual routine…
…or I could slam together some peanut butter and bread and eat with one hand, drive to yoga with the other, whilst belting along to the Dixie Chicks.
I came home from yoga after grabbing coffee with a friend, and didn’t get hungry for lunch until one. and even then I wasn’t super-hungry, and I was craving sweet. so instead of my “usual” lunch…I made something different, something that sounded and felt good to me.
I am not a machine. I am not predictable. I am not perfect. nor do I need to be.
I am developing, growing, evolving.
and sometimes, I just have to make it up as I go along.