Yesterday was amazing. Met a friend who is counting the pennies, with dust balls and a whistling breeze playing at the bottom of her purse - a situation I am far too used to myself.
Juggling the finances down to the last 5p has been my habit and my life for a good thirty years at very least and this graceful and dignified encounter with someone else's cheerful tightrope-accounting allowed me to take stock and realise how very blessed I am, at the moment, to be enjoying relative abundance. This time, amazingly, I am the one who could afford to lend a friend a couple of hundred quid. Its mindboggling to think of the misery and degradation I used to take on, even this time last year, if I had to turn to my employers to beg a £50 advance.
The odd thing is that I can't seem to muster up any guilt at being better off than a friend, nor much grasping anxiety about it all running out, in fact all I can feel worth mentioning is gratitude. Thank you God, Universe, I am safe. I want that to continue that way! I want to experience more and more abundance, not to keep the wolf from the door, but so that I have more and more freedom to choose, to experience, and to share. There's a life changing distinction between running from the bad, and revelling in the good. You can't 'run to' the good; its already here. That is a huge change in my way of seeing the world.
Confession: I am procrastinating. Up until 5pm yesterday, a rare and delicious day off from my old-life paid employment, I'd been to my first mumpreneurs networking meeting (love it, love the company and the supportive atmosphere), sat with a wonderful EFT-er, Benita Scott, and planned our expo - at least her table and my talk for the next Hove Body Mind Spirit event (My public talk! What am I doing and what tablets am I on?!?) and approached it all from the perspective of sharing what I do, purely for the love of it. If I wanted a rationalisation of that, well, I have lots of good excuses for 'not currently being able' to focus on looking for paying clients.
At five, or maybe it was six yesterday evening, I got off the number 12 bus I took to get out of Brighton and sat at the Seaford Library bus stop for ten minutes to catch the 12A that goes around the back streets.
There, across the road, is a beautiful wedding dress shop. They've only just moved into larger premises and word is that they planned on converting the offices above back into self contained flats for rental, but hit problems with building law on some level or other. The windows upstairs are clean and empty but for advertising hoardings promoting the builders and shop fitters.
I bought my youngest's prom dress from these people. They are professionals. They care. \They pay attention to tiny details such as keeping a prom dress list against girl's name and name of school, so that they never sell two identical dresses to girls attending the same prom.
Sitting at that bus stop I had visions of borrowing a room in the upstairs at weekends (it even has independent access) helping the grooms, best men and fathers of the brides to shine and stand proud when they give their wedding day speeches. The women spend a fortune on getting ready, but this is the kind of 'getting ready' the men really really need, right? Who needs an ulcer from nerves?
It all seemed so perfect; God given even. I could even imagine the flyers and business cards.
So. Procrastinating. Yes. Because I'm all dressed up and ready to go and make a tentative enquiry, and I'm bottling it.
Gah. Tap tap tap. Breathe.