Now. That is Freedom.

 One time, my therapist asked me . . . 

(I am wondering how many blog entries I could begin with this line!)

Anyway, she asked, "and Katie, can you expect that you made the perfect decision at every turn in your life?" 

(Just to provide some context, I had recently been diagnosed with cancer and was going over my life like a movie critic, looking for all of the possible bad choices that I had made. In other words, I was suffering.) 

It was such a great question for me at the time. It dd that thing where it allowed me to face myself as a human being. It gave me some perspective and also showed me more clearly how I was being so hard on myself. And that that was not sustainable for me to survive nonetheless thrive.

Well, a little over four years have passed since this question was posed in that ample space that I shared with my therapist. I live in a different place now but the cool thing about having a great therapist (or teacher of any kind) is that, even if you don't share physical space with them anymore, their questions continue; their lessons unending. 

And it was in the glow of early morning yesterday; with coffee piping hot and the promise of daylight certain that the question re-emerged, seemingly out of the thin air surrounding me and I wrote . . . 

What if I just loved all of the aspects of my life? . . .This pen that I hold. This hair that I have. The woodpecker pecking away in the early morning light.

What if everyone who entered my life was an absolute gift? No questions asked. And every single interaction a deliberate part of my path? 

What if every decision that I have ever made was perfect? Even more, what if I was completely in love with every decision that I have ever made? And I am talking every . . .

I went on to wax poetic about not only dropping story lines, but loving the story lines before the dropping; about ambition and moving beyond it into true action and purpose and on and on. 

I write every day, but some days the content of my writing sticks with me more than others and this was the case yesterday. A certain freedom held hands with this radical questioning that was prompted by my therapist some years ago, but that ultimately had to come from myself. 

I was in my daughters' bedroom last night; two out of three were in there and I just spoke this message out to them. It was my eight year old who went, "huh, yea." These two sounds matched with an intent facial expression showed me that she got this. I laid back on her pillow and said, "Now. That is freedom." She seemingly got that too. And she snuggled in. 

To match this message, a quote came to mind that we used to joke about at Kripalu during my 200 hour training. The legend was that when it was an ashram, there was a huge banner in the entranceway that read, "Everything is Already Ok." 

Since then there have been moments when I want to shout, "I don't get it!" Or, as my husband once said, "everything is already ok . . .sort of." 

But today, I would like to hang that banner in my hallway. And share a laugh with my daughters.