This writing Yoga is one form of self-expression. It’s daily life dangling on a wire. Chapter 3,167, verse 952 of… a #ROAR!
Today, my body aches. Yesterday, I spent hours walking, then worked, cleaned, and sat through 4+ hours of therapy classes. I also went on a quick-ish first date.
Dating is tricky. Every exchange teaches me connection. What I relearned: refrain from sharing the past as a method of quick social glue.
There wasn’t much joy or laughter. My date opened by asking about past medical issues, then shared his in detail.
Next up: his past relationships and broken connections with women and children.
Oh boy…
I felt a deep bitterness there. Years of it, stored up in stories.
I listened. I appreciated his share. We left with a handshake.
This morning, bitter coffee in hand, muddy with glints of coconut oil. At the bottom of the mug I see a reflection. Mine, and also… not mine.
That wakes me up. I’m becoming less and less willing to share my history.
Except here sometimes, in these limited-edition ways. Since this is an old fashioned art, it’s kinda nice knowing very few will read it and even fewer will comment.
Still, we write to each other from our sanctuaries filled with cauldrons of shared muddy water in hand.
Journaling stirs the coffee inside. Publishing calms it down.
I wrote it. I said it. Now I release it like a paper airplane.
Next time I’ll be more graceful about yesterday’s story. For now the red flags are waving, so I’m backing away slowly. Going for a walk outside…
as we #ROAR
like little lions.
We are that!
Birdanity 
What do you think?