time.

7am on a Saturday, and my upstairs neighbor decides it is the perfect time to move out.

7am on a Saturday, and her hired help decides slam, boom, crash, scrape to the extent it shakes my window panes is the most efficient way to get the job done.

7am on a Saturday, and me--in a ratty tank top, flannel pj pants recently shrunk in the drier thus exposing my ankles in an Urkle-awkward sort of way, hair a mess atop my head and eyes squinted from lack of visual aid in the form of contacts or glasses--storming up the stairs to scratchy voice preach c'mon man! I know you gotta get your shit done, I respect that. But it's 7am on a Saturday and you are effing killin me. For the record, I'm not proud of the effing part. 7am Trish is more Jersey than California, it seems. But 7am on a Saturday is most definitely meant for sleepy time...no?

I've been drawn to time lately. Heavily focused on scheduling, planning, squeezing it all in and getting it all done by x, y, z time frames. A lot of this is natural, I think; my work requires a high degree of time based organization from me and being one half of a long distance duo also demands (politely requests, really) some scheduling prowess. Having downloaded Mitch Albom's book The Time Keeper several months ago and only cracking it open (or rather, Kindle firing it up) this weekend I noticed how much the notion, concept, reality of time had been cropping up for me. For example, while taking a break from The Time Keeper, I re-opened Danielle Laporte's book The Fire Starter Sessions (highly, highly recommended to anyone in a creative funk) right to the chapter entitled "Calling All Sovereigns of Time!". After re-reading this section I then heard my phone alarm go off with a reminder, a 2013 "get more organized" tactic.

Despite time's fresh insistence on almost overwhelming my days, Friday after work I settled into my home, my sacred space, and barely budged the whole weekend. I read and read and read. I took a de-tox bubble bath: Epsom salts, baking powder, apple cider vinegar and all natural lavender bubble-makin-to-the-max soap...which, according to B, sounds "stanky". But I assure you, it is heaven for your skin and soul. I cooked a healthy dinner for one of tilapia and steamed vegetables. I met a friend for a nourishing breakfast and heart to heart. I cherished my home, my life. I rested. I functioned at a pace very much unlike my normal one. Because that's how time needed to move for me.

None of my musings during this quiet, self imposed time-out (pun intended) were groundbreaking: As kids, we wish for time to speed up. As adults, we so often ache for it to slow down. And if we are very lucky, we can sometimes be exactly where we are with no wish for either. This in-the-moment breath is what I like to call the sweet spot. It is where I most desire to be.

Over breakfast yesterday my darling Kimmie and I discussed the beauty and bounty in holding space.  I was so happy to hear about her Oprah a-ha moment during the holidays, which gloriously shed new light on what, exactly, holding this space entails. Breathing room, openness, flow, acceptance, peace, strength, flexibility...I think it can mean a lot of different things for people. I think it can change with us; grow with us. But it is so, so valuable to hold it for ourselves and for others. Because the sweetest of sweet spots? This lies in both space and time. In the balance. No more deep rooted worries over what will be. No more sweat filled anxieties over what has been. A respect for here, now. An appreciation.

Trusting the process and all that jazz.

"It is never too late or too soon. It is when it is supposed to be." -The Time Keeper

...including moving out at 7am on Saturday, I (begrudgingly) suppose.

Happy Monday, Friends :)

In Gratitude,

Trish