This is a good practice word. It also feels a bit like a reprimand from the Universe. I’ve been fussing lately because I have felt smothered by people who treat me like a vitamin drink. They come to me to get their dose of good feelings, positive spin, philosophical perspective, all the things I offer related to wellness. I am expected to be on all the time, up all the time, radiant and sparkly and insightful and positive every moment. For folks who see me every day it gets to be a grind. They make excuses to walk by, find reasons to open conversation, and default to engaging me for their daily good vibe infusion. If I need to have a bad day or a quiet day or a downshift in energy or just need a damn break, I get smothered. It becomes a big deal. There’s a flurry of response. It’s like folks who gotta have their coffee; somebody’s gotta get the coffee machine fixed now!
I’ve been getting angry because it feels like I’m not allowed to be off, to be tired, to be cycling through a natural rhythm, to need some time to adjust. I keep it to myself but internally I am fuming things like I am not here to perform for you! Resentment gurgles up and gets worse with every fly-by of every well-meaning concerned individual. I am not on display here! Stop staring and hovering and oozing your neediness all over me. Just let me be still for one damn day! Why can’t I just be quiet and down for ONE GODDAMN DAY? I am not the fucking internet; you can live without me for one day, can’t you?
Mm-hmm. And I assume no one can tell I’m screaming these things in my chest but they probably can, which probably makes it all worse for them because this dissonant vibe is so unlike me and they can’t figure out what’s wrong. Nothing is wrong. Really, nothing, except sometimes I just need to be pensive or brooding or distracted or disengaged without it becoming a spectacle. So what does Magnetic have anything to do with any of this?
I asked for the Universe to use me this way. I signed up for this. I volunteered. I requested that I be magnetized. This is how it works. This is part of the practice. I am going to attract those who need what I have to offer. Like a magnet. Getting angry about it is probably an exercise in futility when the rest of the time I’m begging the Universe to let me help make the world well. What did I expect would happen? It’s an opportunity to patiently explain, with compassion for me and compassion for them, rather than shut down or throw a hissy fit. I hate it when the frags are right. I also love it.
Yeah. This one feels like a psychic reading. I am tempted to reject this word because women with a goddess complex as robust as mine relish words of more aesthetic appeal. But the truth is the truth. I needed new socks. The Goddess needs socks? Yes, socks. Just the plain utilitarian white cotton ankle socks to wear with sneakers. But white socks always turn grey and bleach wears them out faster. Since I wear them until they die I routinely walk around in dingy grey once-white socks and pretend I don’t care. I am not willing to spend my precious time on Earth preoccupied with laundry, so not caring was the practical choice, no? The Goddess has raised her practicality game. This time I just went ahead and bought grey socks. The big honkin’ value pack. Wash and wear. No more white ones. Kick-ass practical.