Panic

Oh fuck, my FitBit died.  Like, black hole, can’t resurrect it, can’t tell the time or track my steps.  Its replacement is on its way, but what am I going to do?  How am I going to track my steps?  How am I going to remember to move and go for that extra walk if my wrist isn’t vibrating?  How is my ego going to be groomed if I can’t compare myself to my “community” and see how many steps ahead I am today?  How am I going to know what my heart rate is?  How am I going to know if I got enough sleep?

Wow.  The dependence, the reliance, the incredible dysfunction that I have allowed into my life – all because of a fucking piece of technology.  I never had a FitBit before last May.  Not once did I ever track my steps before, or calculate my sleep.  Not once did I compare my measured steps to my friends’ – I just moved because it feels better to do so.  Not once did I wait for my app to tell me how I should feel, or if I should do something.  Not once.

The Universe knows what I need.  It knows when I need a break from myself and the pieces around me.  It knows when I need to get right sized and present.  It knows when I need a broken FitBit and no way to know anything except how I feel by listening to myself and asking.  There seems to be a pretty even ebb and flow.  Some days I get quiet and can acknowledge that I’m burning the candle, and other days I can relax and know that I am taking it easy.  Some days I need a usually inaccurate watch to tell me everything I think I need to know about myself, while other days I do OK without the calculation that doesn’t even know me.   On those days the app says I didn’t sleep more than 7 hours, so suddenly what I thought felt OK because false – without asking my own body what is true.  Other days the app tells me I slept over 8 hours but really feel like shit, so it must be that my body is broken and all is actually fine – without stilling long enough to know the answer.

More and more has been piled onto my plate lately – I got promoted to the next tier at work and thus placed into an advanced MBA like program for the next year.  Yay!  But where the fuck is that going to go?  I am working on publishing my book by March and working on edits to make that happen.  Yay!  But when the hell am I going to do that every week?  I launched a blog and find incredible joy in creating fresh content.  Yay!  But how am I going to keep up with it so it’s consistent and flowing?  I have more people in my life that I want to spend time with and stay close.  Yay!  When am I going to see them?  My training schedule has increased as the racing seasons nears and I find joy in lifting more and doing more.  Yay!  FUCK ME!  You get the idea.

It all works out, when we stop relying on outside variables and strings to connect us.  It all works out, when we stop looking for somebody to make room for us and tell us what to do.  It all works out, when we stop waiting for things to get organized and to make sense, and we move our feet and start organizing and making sense of it ourselves.

It all works out, always.  It may not look the way that we want it to look, but for me, it usually ends up being a whole lot better – despite how I think it may look.

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