I sink in. Soft pillows cradle my butt and back. The sun slides easily under my straw gardening hat. For a forecast rainy day, it’s spectacular, sunny, and dry. I feel my feet in my boots against the soft Earth. My daughter readies to leave for a babysitting job she found on the Internet. I type that sentence and go in and ask her to write down the address for me and text me when she has arrived and all is well.

I’m grateful that I’m learning how to stay calmer and navigate my life as a “highly sensitive person.” I never knew there was a name for it until last week. A kind

Nick Kenrick, Flickr: I am a thousand winds that blow

woman who lives in Arvada and works in Boulder stopped by to drop off postcards for our annual conference. She’s a therapist and made a point to tell me about highly sensitive people, and that she thinks I might be one. Not sure what clued her in about me, but her message came at a needed time when work amps up and 6 events shine like beacons on my calendar in June alone…just for work. Then we have our rich, full lives on the side. I’m also grateful to be here writing now, here in the backyard, to the sound of a fountain gurgling and birdsong. There is enough space for me in my life, and it’s luscious. I’ve just got to remember to savor it.

Adrenaline courses through my veins, lightly, gently, just below the level that would seize me entirely. I took an extra ½ trazodone last night to sleep. Back on the antiviral, and seeking time to be in this backyard that nurtures me. Thank you, Nature. Heaven on Earth.

My ex just stopped by to take the dog for a walk before he leaves to drive back to Santa Fe. He joked about taking the dog with him. He misses him a lot. I breathe in and out and jut forward. My insulin pump up and died last night. Just died. I think I will buy a Tandem instead of a Medtronic, though I’ve worn Medtronic my entire pump-wearing life. But the Tandem pump will work with my Dexcom CGM, and I think that’s kind of cool. But we’ll see.

Adrenaline snakes up my neck. My breathing becomes a desperate bid to keep calm. Breathing helps. I keep praying to stay present in June, rather than panic. Praying be the human I know I can be in liquid light. I ask God to flow through me. I would fill with his love to the brim and spill over into everything and everyone. I ask the “I” that is mighty within me to handle this entire month for me. I’m here, I’m willing to be a partner, helper, conduit, and also, to stay out of the way. Because my tendency to clutch and panic not only doesn’t serve me…it just doesn’t serve. Still, it’s as habitual and involuntary as many things.

I unwind the ball of yarn. I say: But does it have to be so? I say: Maybe there’s a different way. I invite you to show me and us how, Nature and God. To diffuse my fear or help me wear it lightly, like excitement, without gripping or straining or panicking. Perhaps I might unfurl and ride this wild wind where it takes me, since I know you are the gale, God. The mighty exhale.

Wiki: Árbol de Piedra-Aeolioan process (wind erosion)

This is my prayer.