Inhale

People always talk about needing to exhale more. My husband has this goal for the new year: he plans to alleviate stress, not let bad things get to him,  focus more on the good. He's looking into meditation and other ways to force exhales, to breathe out and let go of bad juju and kept-in, fermenting negativity. I understand this need. Exhaling is good and needs to happen often.

But this year, I've decided to focus more on inhaling.

The good stuff.

You know that feeling in winter when the air is cold and crisp, and you go outside and take a deep breath in and it's like you just cleaned out your lungs? It wakes you up, energizes you. That is what I want out of the new year.

I want to fully breathe in this wonderful, joyful life I'm now a part of. I want to take in and remember ever detail about my girls, ages 2 and 5 (what great ages!). I want to appreciate our quiet pace of life, this little bubble we've created with limited deadlines, few stressors, manageable problems. I want to breath deeply as we enjoy uncomplicated schedules, afternoons without plans, and trips without itineraries.

This time is short. Chaos will catch up with us. Busyness will leach in. Sylvia will go to kindergarten in fall, and I'll miss her presence at the lunch or picnic table. Amelia's regular naps, the ones that require us to be home and be quiet for at least two hours every afternoon, will soon be replaced by after-school activities, errands and playdates.

Something worse may happen. I have friends currently managing cancer (theirs and their kids'), some with parents dying, others tackling divorce, job loss, and more. Our idyllic current state could be derailed any minute, and I'm painfully aware of that.

So for now, I want to inhale. I want to start my morning with a deep breath and keep taking it all in, in giant, overwhelming gulps, until I fall asleep each night. I want to take that energy and move my body and engage with my children and volunteer some and take the stairs every time. And if I forget to inhale, or if I start focusing too much on the exhale, I want to be surprised into inhaling quickly and starting over.

Happy breathing, everyone.


*This post was inspired by this line I read this morning in Margaret Atwood's short story "Alphinland," from the book Stone Mattress: "Nonetheless there's something brisk about being out in the storm, something energizing: it whisks away the cobwebs, it makes you inhale" (p. 9). I read that line and paused for a moment just to experience that brisk inhale with the narrator. I love the idea of nature making you inhale.