The first conversation

We had recently moved out of London in order to bring up very young children. I still had a two-hour commute to work each day. I was constantly at the behest of the clock and permanently exhausted. My wife was carrying our young family.

Every Wednesday I rushed back to attend an evening class. One evening, I arrived just in time for the teacher to instruct us to close your eyes and ask your body, how are you just now?

I'd had a terrible day and had missed all my connections on the way home, so I got back, wolfed down some food and ran out again. It was both exhausting and infuriating. How am I? I silently spat out all the frustrations of the day.

There were tears in my eyes. But none in my story. Frustration, exasperation, even. But no tears. I heard an echo of the original question: how are you just now in your body?

So I asked my body. And everything cracked open. You're fine was the reply, and I am here for you. I wish that you knew and noticed that. Let me support you. I love you.

I listened further and learned that, beyond the melodrama of the day, I am fine, and that I am unconditionally loved.

My body woke me up and blew apart the story that it's just little (ego) me against the world. I will always be here for you.

That's a gift I wish for everyone.