I’m lying on the couch, corn pillow askew, aching all over from overdoing it in the work department. Bevie has made a lemon cake, Betty Crocker style, and she is earnestly plying me with a piece, extolling its leanness, promising me longevity, unknown happiness, world peace. I say no. Thank you, but no. Fortunately, she’s cool with it.
It’s only Tuesday but I’ve already amassed a week’s worth of No’s. How fabulous. How freeing, I’ve grown. And for tonight that’s good enough. I can splash around in the juiciness of being me. I’m not afraid. I’m not focusing on outcomes. I’m leaning into the yes, even though, honestly, the vast potential, if I think about it too much, could totally overwhelm me.
It feels good to be me in the No, accepting the open door invitation of the yes. I’m grateful for this messy, lovely, sometimes hard to wrap my head around life. And I’ll see what comes, it always does, inevitably. So much better when I bear witness to it, surprised.
From the back of the house, I hear Bevie bringing in the dogs, whispering sweet nothings, loudly wishing me good night. “Will you be here when I get up?,” she asks. “Yes, of course. Let’s share a piece of cake for breakfast.” We both laugh. Her door closes. I welcome the night.