A letter to my 47 year self
If I was a betting woman
So barely a month has slipped by since you left age town eh? And yet we’re talking about this already. You warned me this could happen. You hinted that things were changing.
And blow me down with a biodynamic goose feather if you didn’t say – albeit too bloody often – “the best is yet to come”. (My mantra that I have happily managed to beat into my beloved’s heart space as soon as I see the colour of doubt un-tint his loving face).
Yet the thing I am trying to get my head around is why for the life of me did I secretly snigger under my smoothie – ever so slightly?
But you knew, didn’t you, ol’ smarty pants #47?
You were all over it with your ‘heads up, listen to your heart, get your head to organise it’ kinda rumbling between my ears. When I said I was going global, you were there. I thought you were just having a lend.
But it was always our secret. Just you, me and those fun, but mildly pesky friends of yours #39-#47. Yeah, they’re all in cahoots too.
Oh, don’t fist pump your chest too quick – it wasn’t just lucky #48 that pulled me through. There’s a whole bunch of healer sheilas that have earned that credit. I just forgot to checkin with them to make sure I wasn’t tripping.
And that’s the thing.
I was too busy getting my chickens on to check in. Check in with those who spiritually surround me. Who uplift me and reckon we can collectively go beyond the clouds and truly touch the top of the Universe. (I can say this right now as I can see through the clouds on VA 536).
Unrestrained by the old school with their ‘look at her go, but just don’t her get too far in front’ attitude. Oh no. These are the true believers. The soul singers, the wellness warriors, the path-cutters, the wholefood mamas and goddesses, the naked tribes and darling nutritionists, the journos, the juicers, the rockn’ acupuncturists, the dumpling whisperers – and the planters of pagoda trees.
They know what it takes to literally burst at the seams, bust a gut and then give your self a mighty good stitch up so as to get on with it. They’re the ones that have kickstarted lucky #48 out of the gate and onto the great track that is the human race.
So from confused to Confucius, this post is dedicated to my tribe of truth tasters.
And if I was a betting woman, I’d be putting my money on #48.
First past the post, give or take a short leg.
With gratitude & wholehappiness,
PS No modalities were harmed in this post
PPS Yes you can share this post if it feels right 🙂
PPPS Be authentic. Be transparent. Create the culture you want to witness