The Geico-claims goddess I'm crushed out on tells me that my car that she considered a total-loss last week is now deemed repairable. I woohoo for this, and a much-fun car search that guides me right back home. I thank Frank - my car sales new friend - for helping me discover how easeful the process can be. He responds genuinely happy for me, with warmth and exclamation points.
The next call is from test-drive guy, inviting me to the beach. I say yes, with a caveat, as friends. He agrees at first but loops back that it may be too hard for him not to touch me. My yes becomes no. It would be a kick-ass story - hot and adventurey I'm sure. That is not what orients my choosing.
I accidentally eat a pint of salted caramel cashew-ice-cream after the conversation - I got nervous, wondering how skillfully I'd hold center if pushed. Center is indeed held - except with the ice-cream - and I'm ripe to tell new stories that are juicy simply and expressly because I'm following what is aligned.
Instead of blurring boundaries at the beach, my afternoon is woven by fluting as I walk to the bank, completing small to-do's with big joy, and revealing more of myself than I mean to on a Skype call. The story is not obviously sexy or deep but its been a long while since obvious is my preferred sexy or deep. I am nourished by the embrace of s l o w as medicine.
I write this episode to a brilliant broken record from back in the day - my therapist-mentor imploring me to understand with nuance the ways that intensity and intimacy are not the same thing.
This is what has me home instead of in the desert at a festival. This is what has me leaning into dreams and stretching edges as I lay on my floor writing each night and morning. The work of world-tending and spirit-led transformation wants to be immensely self-loving. It is possible and I choose it.