Presently tackling our presence may be a manner of using all of our management skillz. Quite possibly, this global tragedy is actually Team Introvert’s conniption fit takeover scheme. While I’m not one to lounge within conspiracy theories, I don’t mind a racy stream of thoughts now and again. Especially when I’m hunkered indoors for an unforeseen bout of adventuring exclusively with me. It’s like we’re all simultaneously being delivered a profoundly in-depth taste of dating ourselves. Here we have a comprehensive crash course in confidence about how we operate. The nuisance of our nuances can be starker than the band of neighbor roosters crowing me awake starting at 4am. Identically, there’s no sense in hoarding boredom. Therefore, today’s ranting is brought to you by the Misschievous healing powers of rollicking through the terrain of BradensEye… currently under one roof in a specific pandemic realm.
Be patient and tough; one day this pain will be useful to you. ~Ovid
My devout readers have realized I’m less for keeping things to myself than I am for TMI sharing. Although, I feel these are exactly the times’ such connections might be perky enough that some of you wrestling similar ghouls might find me somewhat precious. I’m reveling in the visceral revealing that continues coming from the press-junket-style video calls scheduled amongst my dearest buddies and family to the menagerie of invited yoga sessions such as philanthropically lovely Leah and the new daily 11:11 mediations with WEvolution wunderkind Larisa Stow. As one of my besties blatantly nailed it, my epic live chess move to make it to Hawaii in time hole up is pretty sweet. Having front-runner family and folks locally softens the blow of my separation anxiety. Any blue skies and World Surf League tv teasing my ocean bias have been met with the witty amusement emerging via supercharged whimsy.
Inside my singledom baller bunker, it’s reeking of a 4.0 me in far less than one week. Miss Kondo herself would be penultimately comfy with my OCD KonMariing of the space. I’ve taken on cooking and baking that even my chef comrades would eat. I’m whittling away tension through dirty word puzzle games to sincerely calming as f*ck coloring books, manufactured mindfully as expletive and X-rated friendly to lift my laughter engagement. On the other side, there’s hefty water-cooler gossip wagering as I’m following the relationship issues of all sorts of couplings raising diverse interactions that have ended with informal life coaching from me. If nothing else, this is a refuge practice for future retirement. Yet, the fact is that I find heaps of health dotting my inner I’s and crossing those personalized t’s. I’m terrific around cleaning (albeit not so regularly my hair bathing). I’m tops with rainbow artistry. The vehicles of cheer are lucratively oiled machines if you care to embrace them.
The vector of swallowing a hideous news reporting scene is made viable through the arc of releasing from the severity thinking. I’m not a totally turning a blind-eye babe. However, when saddled with the unladen longevity factor of the great unknown, I defer largely to the symphony score we can create when we focus instead upon a velocity of going with the flowing. Floating has always felt mega freeing for me. Particularly, for all of those out of work (same as me), now is a ripe time to employ self-reflection discovery. Whereas you won’t be surprised I’m gonna suggest you distance from those alcoholic partakings, I will give you a slew of thumbs-up and applause emojis for all of the intentional exposure that lends you hearing more definitive intuition propensities. We simply don’t get offered these moments to contend with our slopes to our peaks. Consequently, I’d rather hear how you busted a cap on not wasting these circumstances.
INrichment involves choosing some levels of positivity. One of my inspiration guru’s Simon Sinek has moved his treasured speaking into an online Book Club convening and recommendation landscape. If sparks of comedic wisdom are your slant, then I highly plead you lob yourself into the Mark Manson prejudice. Of which I have an acutely contemporary affinity for his book Everything is F*cked: A Book About Hope. If this isn’t enough enthusiasm to match whatever is melting your brain, then I beg you to build one single action habitually: Observe, restrain, and preserve storing your head firmly outside of your arse! I gathered this touching tushy philosophy from one of the most sagacious men I’ve ever known, Breck Costin. He helped me transit to candid grace beginning in my late thirties after too many debacles. His experiential expertise in aiding people to navigate loss represents the key ingredients allowing me to write to you with silly plus solid strength.
May wherever you be unfurl ample self-healing by way of your own wildly weird personality.