I thought I might be on a roll last week; I talked of emerging from a cocoon, butterfly-like. I had grand plans that I would begin practicing bit by bit. Maybe even start gently: ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. Twenty minutes. I had one day where I spent some time doing breathing exercises for a few minutes, very concentratedly. It felt good. But then the rain set in, and I lost my nerve. I couldn’t keep it up. And the overwhelming business of carrying on with life in the utter weirdness of this time just got to be too much.
I wish I had better things to report this week, more to show for myself. All I can lamely say is that I thought about it, more than I have for weeks. The singing and humming around the house from time to time has happened a little more often, and I’ve caught myself taking sidelong glances at the piano when I sit at my office desk, attending yet another Zoom meeting to plan for remote delivery of music curriculum for this coming fall. So this at least feels a bit like a step.
One step at a time, one day at a time, is one of the things they talk about in recovery from addiction. And that relapse is part of recovery. So I’m hopeful that I’ll get a little further in my stepping in the days to come. Maybe it’s a sign that I’m hitting the reset button. I’m putting my foot down…