My house is going into foreclosure.
My husband stopped paying on it
when he moved out in April.
I’m not sure how much time I have left here,
and I don’t know where I’ll go if I have to leave.
My friends are starting to worry about me.
I ask them to pray instead of worry.
My mind is starting to worry about me.
I ask my mind to pray instead of worry.
There are many variables in this equation
but there is one thing I know for sure:
worry will not help.
Therefore, I refuse to worry.
I realized I can do this.
I can redirect my mind.
I can think better thoughts.
I can help myself feel better.
I can focus on what I want.
I can release the past
by believing in my future.
I am strong.
And I can learn how to be stronger.
It all comes down to choices.
Snooze or get right up?
Meditate or check your email?
Exercise or sleep in?
Read or watch TV?
Write in your journal or check Instagram?
Cheesesteak or salad?
Work hard, or just coast through?
Focus on what you love
or dwell on what bothers you?
Second after second
minute after minute
hour after hour
day after day
year after year
these choices add up
to a life.
Now, in this very moment,
what’s your choice?
I can get excited about what’s coming,
I can dwell in the past,
or I can rest in awareness of my awareness
in this present moment.
One is creative and incites me to action.
One recreates the hunger of anxious places.
One allows me to see my Universe
from a broader perspective.
Where I go in my mind is my choice.
May I choose well.
At the end of the day,
if I can say I did my best,
well then, this must be good enough.
Sure, my credit cards are maxed,
there’s next to nothing in my checking account,
and I keep asking my mom for grocery money.
But there is a roof over my head,
my children are clean, fed and in bed,
and I’m breathing.
This is good enough.
Who do I want to be today?
Do I want to be this angry, depressed,
resentful woman who was betrayed
by her husband of eight years,
a victim of his selfishness,
worried about her children, her finances,
her health, wondering if
love will ever find her again?
Do I want to be this peaceful, happy,
openhearted woman who was married
to her husband for eight years,
the recipient of his generosity,
grateful for her children, for abundance,
for her health, certain that
love is everywhere, always?
After being blessed in my heart
with the miracle of forgiveness
and seeing with new eyes
for a few glorious, light-filled days,
the weight of real life
came crashing down upon me
and with it the story I had told so well.
It was the story of being wronged,
the story of betrayal, victimization
I have rehearsed it frontwards,
I know it word by word
and line by line;
hell, I could give a doctoral dissertation on it,
defend it before a group of intellectuals,
and I’m sure they’d award me with a degree in it—
Lorien Nemec, Ph.D.—
yes, I’m THAT good at my story.
As the familiar feelings of depression,
heaviness, sadness and powerlessness returned
I wondered why I couldn’t sustain
the good feelings for longer.
And then it occurred to me
(again, because I knew this already)
I’m always at choice.
If I want to change
I need to keep making the new choice
until it becomes a habit…
Otherwise the old choices
will always take over.
It’s time to wield this power of choice
and keep telling the new story
until I’m as good at telling it
and living it
as I’ve been with telling
and living the old.