When I wake to a gray, cold and windy day, even though the calendar clearly says Spring, I can grouse about things I can't control, or I can put on a hat and meet the morning head on in fuzzy warm layers that I have chosen for times like this.
When I step on the bathroom scale, I can feel frustrated because the number isn't moving downward or I can be satisfied that I am not reacting to the number unhealthily by either starving or stuffing myself.
When I walk past my childhood home, I can feel upset because my parents and I didn't get as many years there together as I might have dreamed of or I can hold warmth in my heart because it was such a wonderful place to grow up and I've been left a host of memories there are of the extraordinary variety.
When I notice all the laundry that has to be done, I can feel distressed by the amount of time this will take, or I can be contented by the fact that I have all the modern conveniences of really well made machines, a first floor laundry room in my home requiring only one trip up the stairs and the money to buy name brand detergent that smells fresh and clean.
When I catch sight of the min pin sitting at the door expecting a walk, I can feel annoyed that my current task has been interrupted or I can be glad that I am ambulatory and healthy enough to walk as far as she wants without worrying about my knees or anything else that slows people my age.
When I look in the mirror and my teeth aren't piano key white, I can be down on myself for years of too much coffee, too much tea and not enough white strips, or I can be grateful that I still have all of them.
When I glimpse ahead of me and see the very young mother pushing the stroller alongside her pregnant friend, both dressed in Daisy Duke shorts, high heels and multi-hued hair colors not found in nature, I can pass by in judgement or I can stop and coo at the baby, reinforcing all the blessings and love that brought her into the world.
When it's time for a road trip I can feel anxious about all the driving ahead of us or I can feel blessed that we have somewhere fun to go.
When I listen Father Tom describe what I could be doing better as a Christian, I can feel guilty about needing to step up a bit or I can be thankful that I have another chance to do better.
When I toss and turn half the night because of menopause or Lyme disease or generalized anxiety, I can feel cheated out of blissful rest or I can be mindful that there isn't something horribly, terribly wrong keeping me awake.
When I encounter people my age jogging down the street, I can feel resentful that I can no longer keep up or I can recall a time when I could and cheerfully admire my younger self.
When I deliver meals to the elderly, I can focus on the dilapidated state of some of their houses, or I can celebrate their independence and wish them continued resilience.
When I think about my bonus kids, with their physical and intellectual challenges, I can feel a profound sense of loss at not having what some people might call a normal family or I can fill my heart with compassion and understanding for what their mother deals with on a daily basis.
When I hear a song that instantly brings tears, I can be embarrassed or melancholy, or I can know that my participation in and exposure to so much has left me with a richness of emotion I would never, ever trade.
When my husband needs space to handle his thoughts or internal angst, I can feel selfish about wanting his attention or I can feel appreciative that I have a partner who feels so deeply.
When my parents and step parents can't do what they used to do because of age and infirm, I can feel despondent because I see how they struggle or I can celebrate the fact that they are here and I can still spend time with them.
When I open our mail and see all the bills we pay, I can feel overwhelmed because I haven't contributed to our household income in 5 years or I can feel tenderness for my husband who works hard for us.
When I calculate how many years I probably have left on this big blue marble, I can feel angst about all that I haven't accomplished or I can breathe and relish my secure and beautiful life.
When I listen to the news, which tries to convince us that we are a nation divided and heading toward disaster, I can feel worried about what is to come, or I can meet my neighbor knowing that we are more alike than different and can make up our own minds about how we positively interact.
When I stand in line at wakes and go through three hands full of Kleenex at funerals, I can be filled with sorrow and drink for days or I can do a better job at self soothing by remembering the good times; so fortunate to have experienced such a friendship.
Think the thoughts.
Reframe.
Reduce the damage.
Rework the negative.
Rejoice,
temporarily.
Fall.
React with dismal pity and dreadful pathos.
Get up.
Try again.
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