I took a sip. A big sip up from the Earth as a personified Tetra Pak. When a tetra pak sips – does it sip through its own straw – with an extension straw that can reverse the flow of energy and liquid traveled.
Maybe there are two straws – one for air and for bringing up and in and another for letting out – or giving to another.
The old recycling commercials are coming to mind. Reduce. Reuse. Recycle.
The angry tetra paks tossed in the waste basket with bushy furrowed brows so we all know for sure how that apple juice box is feeling.
Beauty and vitality – I have been noticing and consciously practicing more self-love – not just self-pleasure – but really loving myself for who I am. I’m learning how to forgive myself for things – that, through the noticing – I realized weren’t even my fault to begin with.
I seem to have a deep-rooted pattern of self-blame and misplaced accountability – even though there is no mistake, no misstep on my part.
In minimizing my people-pleasing tendencies – I’m aware of how many burdens I carried for others.
I was doing so well on my journey of self-love until a recent phone call with my mother.
To spare you the details – she called, and I knew by her tone of voice – she was harbouring anger, frustration, annoyance, etc.
When she feels like this, she lashes out. She asked me to look into something for her at Friday at 7pm.
I assured her I would look at it the next day as we had just sat down to relax as a family.
She quipped back, as a lovely textbook narcissist would when one doesn’t obey all of their commands at the exact moment they demand them to,
“Oh, did you have a busy day?!”
“Yes, I did actually,” I replied. “And, I’m not going to do that at 7pm on a Friday night.”
Her huffiness continued and I changed the subject.
I made the mistake of inviting her to my kid’s, her grandson’s, lacrosse game as it will be close to her this weekend.
And in almost perfectly predictable fashion, she snapped back, biting off the end of my question.
“No! My friends are taking me for a birthday dinner.”
She never asked what time, and she had told us she was going to Whistler that weekend anyway.
where rivers are born 