Maybe this is where I start. Maybe this is how it looks: where I feel stagnant and stuck, but I know I have to keep going. Gradually, I'll realize I'm getting stronger along the way and can push harder than I thought.
But it's just for me this time. And I'm trying so hard to take full advantage of that -- I'm not used to making decisions that will only benefit me. Surely there are people I can bring along with me.
But no -- I'm enough. The good that I'm doing right now can carve a path that only has space for me. And sometimes I'll scoot over, while I'm putting one foot in front of the other, to let someone else link arms with me and walk alongside. Maybe they'll carry me, at times.
I'm still moving forward though, with enough room for me. Because I take up enough space to matter.
A friend of mine is a brilliant yoga instructor. I've fallen out of my practice, but have a recording of a private session we did. He starts out at the beginning, directing my attention towards the fact that I have matter. That the earth holds me up, because I'm made of something with substance.
Sometimes I forget that. Sometimes I float along and forget where the ground is. I lose my footing and I'm swept along in directions that pull me from my course.
But remembering to breathe, noting my substance, being in my own self -- it's a reminder that I have matter. That I do matter. I'm enough to matter.
(Blog title today reference Janis Joplin's "Maybe." And I'm not the biggest Janis fan out there, I'm sure, but I love her and her ferocity. This song was featured on HBO's season finale of "Tell Me You Love Me," and everything about the song and the final scenes of that show really stick with me.)