Don’t have to like it to love it.

In recent weeks I’ve started to pay more attention to myself. I used to be fairly good at this, but in the hustle and bustle of daily life, meetings and must-dos compete for my attention, and my inner voice often gets silenced in all the noise.

Tuning into myself as of late, I’ve noticed that I really enjoy exercise. I’ve been running for a couple of years now, but I don’t run every day. In fact, I strive not to run every day because of its high impact on my already injury-prone body (thanks to gymnastics, track, and cheerleading in my youth, as well an awful, yet persistent, habit of sitting with one leg underneath me). So I’ve been purposely scheduling off days to rest my body, and also, depending on my schedule, to sleep past o’dark thirty.

But I’ve finally discovered that my day goes and feels differently depending on the inclusion or exclusion of exercise. Even if it’s a short walk to run an errand, or dancing around the house, I just feel better when I make a concerted effort to move. Chalk it up to endorphins, but stagnant energy is transformed, and I have momentum to keep it moving.

The hardest part, of course, is getting started. Some mornings it does take a bit of self coaxing to get out of bed – especially if the weather isn’t ideal or I haven’t slept as much as I’d like. But invariably, if I get past the “Don’t wanna!” stage, I always find myself at “So glad I did!”

With that, I’m striving to exercise more frequently, even if it simply means dancing out to Beyonce’s Get Me Bodied a couple of times.

The inner voice says it’s ready to move. It’s time my body listened.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aUaInS6HIGo?rel=0]

Shout out to my line sister Dina, for sharing this great video recently.

On Living, or Dying, with Anger

It is dangerous to hold fast to anger toward another.

Perhaps even poisonous.

One may look around one day, only to find herself rotting, dying a slow death from the inside. And yet, aware as I am of this simple point, I catch myself, arms wrapped ‘round my body, one crossed over another, refusing to release it. It’s almost comforting, this anger. Terrifying to think of letting it go, and Goddess forbid, opening my heart again. Where would I be without this cloak ‘round me? Without this veil enclosing my heart? One shudders to think of it. And yet one shudders a great deal more to ponder the alternative.

Praying to expel this poison. Move past the betrayal. Get on with life and the living. Anger, held too long and too deeply, is for the dead.