Sunday Reflection Quote…This week’s reflection is short and sweet. Whether physical, mental, emotional I’m reminded to get out of my own way. Life is short. Be grateful and enjoy the journey!! #Sunday #Reflection #quote #getoutoftheway #reset #competition #perspective #goodenough #acceptance #patience #prioritize #mindfulness #grateful #babysteps #wisemind #goals #myownstory #keeponkeepingon
Sunday morning #reflection#quote…Intentionality was the focus this week, while at the same time chucking fear in the fucket bucket.
Opportunities and experiences have been previously squelched due to being in my own way.
Checking self-doubt and insecurities at the door allowed me to do or say things that I normally wouldn’t. The result is liberating and heart warming. I am beginning to realize I am worthy; worthy of so much more.
Back in my moccasin and penny loafer days in high school, my best friend asked if I ever wore sneakers. She said this with a hint of judgment meaning “Don’t you ever dress down?” I didn’t, unless I had a specific purpose such as playing a sport, or wearing grubby ones for yard work or camping.
However, there was a short stint during middle school where wore sneakers on a regular basis. They were a navy blue pair of high top Converse, which was a big to-do for my family to purchase. Mom wanted to know why a girl would want such “ugly boy shoes.” Dad was concerned about the quality of canvas and the price tag attached. After much cajoling, the box made it home. I wore my Cons almost daily with pride. Those shoes were a snapshot capturing a moment when I finally got my way and satisfied a longing for “Cool.” For once I was wearing something name brand and I felt in sync with the style of the time. The Cons made it about three years through the wear and tear of a teenager. By the time they were reluctantly placed into the garbage, there were small holes, random doodle designs, and crossed out names of crushes dancing along the sole.
A pair of indoor soccer shoes used for just one season from several years ago still occupy the farthest corner of my closet. I can’t seem to part with them. They represent a time when I played games at 10:00 at night, sweated profusely, and felt that athletic high. I had war stories to share the next day of jammed toes and ripped fingernails from being slammed into the Plexiglas wall and bruises worn with pride. They reflect a time of aggression, release, and belonging to an unlikely team of all female elementary teachers.