Yesterday — Thanksgiving — might have been fabulous. It might have been fabulous and awful. It might have been just awful — in some ways, perhaps not in others.
What do you do on the day after if you:
*ate too much
*fought with a relative
*said something you wished you hadn’t said
*done something you wished you hadn’t done
*didn’t do what you said you would
The hardest part of making a true change, at least what I find to be hardest, is that there are no rules to follow. If you ate too much, you feel what it feels like today when you ate too much yesterday. You notice and then you meet what you notice. You welcome yourself no matter what. And whatever you do, you don’t judge or shame yourself. That’s an old pattern, an old story. It’s designed to keep you stuck and afraid.
If you fought with a relative, if you said something you wished you hadn’t said or done something you wished you hadn’t done, it’s too late to go back. No point in reworking and rethinking and reanalyzing. It’s over, kaput, gone. The day after yesterday is today. And what’s here is this: this moment. This feeling in your belly, this sensation in your chest. The way we change is to tell the truth to ourselves without harshness or punishment. To have a tender, welcoming relationship with ourselves. To turn, as the poet Rilke says, all the dragons of our lives into princesses who are waiting only once to see us beautiful and brave. The dragons who in their deepest essence only want our help — and the second we give it, the second we make that turn, everything changes because the war stops and relaxation happens and with those come an open heart.
Ahh. And the sweetness of our own open hearts turned towards the closed, dragon-like place that haven’t let light in for years, centuries, lifetimes. What could be better? Definitely not pumpkin pie (although it does hover in second place).