You know, pretty soon after writing that blog, Beth reminded me that I’m not Naomi, I’m me. And that my needs are unique, and I am best-placed to understand them. All of a sudden I realised I could take a day off, and the possibilities of resting and studying unflowed as if a cork had been removed from a water spirit. I felt suddenly joyous and excited about the hour break I’d have between classes where I could sit in the sunshine and eat vegan pizza and drink vegan coffee. I thought of all the late starts I’d have to work (11am-7:30pm – the closing shift) and the ripe potential of the mornings. I felt excited to have so much time to myself, and then to go to work to cuddle some kitties. And I realised that I’d been slowly working myself into a stressful, panicked frenzy, and I had stopped appreciating the richness of the day. I had shifted my mind to micromanaging the rest of my week (a ridiculous and highly stressful practice doomed to failure because of untold variables) without paying any attention to the pleasures and potential of the day. Once I had written my lines and calmed down a bit, life was just as wonderful as it had always been.
I set off for a luxuriously late morning walk to the train station with my mother, deciding to skip my first class to enjoy some sunshine and company. And about halfway there I felt lightheaded and I started swerving slightly on the path. Roger (and the other facilitators) are strong believers in the idea that mental patterns manifest in physical ways, and I am quite certain that if I told them what I was experiencing, they would answer that the mind is struggling to hold onto its old ways and is vying for space with my new approach. They’d advise me to go to uni anyway, which I plan to, and to work, which frightens me somewhat. Whatever happens, I’m not going to give in so easily to this new challenge, and I’ll continue saying my lines.