Pruning

Over the last few years, I've changed from making a list of new year's resolutions to forming a broader, more open-ended intention for the year. This works better for me because I realize that writing the list held a level of shame and guilt at the recognition that I was really only half-willing to accomplish those things (thus their "need" to be on the list in the first place!). The list was rather like a prayer sent to a nonexistent god that I still hoped was there, one who'd tap me on the head and make me "better," or perhaps it was like a letter to Santa Claus. And rather than feeling I'd learned from the list, I often simply felt I'd failed if I didn't accomplish everything on it.

Forming an intention, however, feels more like dipping into mysterious contact with the divine within me----acknowledging that I have some control, yet being open to ways that I can choose to follow, as they appear to me. I don't feel I must have it all figured out ahead of time how this "theme" is going to appear in my life. Instead, this theme allows me to exhibit more consciousness in filtering my experiences through its focusing lens.

For example, this year's theme is "pruning"----letting go of those things that do not serve me any longer to allow for new growth. (The word came unbidden to me as I sat and opened myself to possibility.) That word has so many meanings to me at this time in my life. I just turned 60----and thus phrases like "old prune" came back to me with more significance. Yes. My skin is wrinkling more (even as I also still have teenage break-outs), but I don't seem to mind as much as I did when I turned 50. I continue to let go of ways that I recognize myself attempting to hold on to a youth that is long-since past, though that doesn't mean I don't feel young!

I'm planning to drastically cut my hair, something I haven't done since I was in my late 30s.

I'm going to give away the closets full of clothes I no longer wear.

Realizing these things actually made me burst into tears this morning----and our two dogs and my husband quickly encircled me, wondering what was wrong.

Letting go and trusting that what will follow is best is very difficult. . . .

Unless you're Ruby: