Warm Hug

If I sit here without dipping my toes into the future, I’m a happy camper. It’s otherwise so tempting to fall into a familiar pattern of worry.
What if everything stays the same as it is now between Jan and me?
What if there’s not enough money to pay the oil bill?
What if. . ..
What if. . .
The “What If’s” put me right back on schedule with the “Poor Me’s”.
However, instead of racing down that worn rut, I’m deliberately deciding to count all that is good in my life. . . all for which I have to be grateful.
I could choke on my morning oatmeal (which I’m planning on having in awhile) and croak. Then it would all be over with for me this lifetime anyway. So why waste my precious time feeling sorry for myself?
I’m already feeling much better, just thinking about zeroing in on all my blessings. Already I realize that my life. . . abso-tive-ly, possi-lute-ly couldn’t be better. And that I’ve even grateful for the often-fitful relationship between my sweetie and me, since it is a continual reminder to me that happiness is NOT something that depends upon:
my partner,
the weather,
the amount of money in my pocket
where I live
and on and on. . .

it depends upon how wide open I can spread my arms and my heart to my own foibles and to my own sweet self, in spite of my inner critic.

So right now, I open my heart wide to the sunrise that spreads its warmth over Moro, which had been buried in thick fog for the past week.
I open my heart to the seemingly nothing moment. With me in it. I give myself the warm hug I crave.
Amazingly, my heart stops aching and feels completely satisfied. Ready for all that the day can pour into it. Ready to be grateful for every single moment this day holds.