Lately, baby boy and I have added a four minute yoga session by Moovlee Monkey to his bedtime routine. Sometimes I’m the only one doing it, but I’m not complaining. More often than not, it’s the only movement my body does for the day, and it feels so good. It’s amazing what goodness can be packed into four minutes.
If there’s one thing this pandemic has given us (me), it’s time....time to think, reflect, learn and maybe even grow if paying attention.
I’ve always loved the moon. As I age, my love for the moon increases, especially as I watch my little guys fascination grow.
Today is my sisters birthday and for the first time since the move I really felt the distance. Baby boy has a runny nose, a lil cough and is sneezing like crazy. Unless he gets a Covid test, he has to isolate for 10 days before returning to daycare.
It feels like ages since I’ve walked or run, and I miss it dearly (cold country problems). But I find comfort in knowing that I can reflect on July fondly as the start of healthy habits (even if short-lived). I started walking daily for at least 30 minutes for 21 days. While walking I listened to the GirlTrek podcast, Black History Boot Camp: walking meditation.
It’s weird, but after having my son I didn’t listen to as much music as I did prior to his arrival. This year, I found music again.
On this 23rd last day of 2020 I have to give thanks to the specific thinkers and writers of the great books I “read” this year. They were my therapy and c/o the TPL (Toronto Public Library) it was free. They gave me clarity when there was none. They reminded me of the ‘stuff’ I already knew but had either forgotten or been silenced amongst the nonsense that is our world. They opened me up and blew my mind, heart and soul “page by page”, over and over again.
The statement “2020 was rough.” is an understatement, but it’s the truth. There were times during the year, often social media induced where I felt like I couldn’t think. I didn’t know what to think. I felt a lot, but didn’t know what to do with my feelings. My senses were hyper-aware of everything, so much so I couldn’t process any of it.
On this 25th last day of 2020 I’m grateful that I am able to see things as they are and not how I think they should or want them to be.
I’ve thought a lot about angels this year. Specifically, I’ve wondered who my angels are. So, while reading Writing Down the Bones: Freeing the Writer Within, the first physical book I’ve picked up to read (children’s books excluded) in almost a year I was quite enthralled when Goldberg asks “Who are your angels?”