More Cake Please
I’m still on the cake kick. Trying to figure out this cake vs. death concept. I’m pretty sure the cake is the present moment, whatever it is. Like even if it’s shitty – ooops right there that was me putting my spin on it, judging it, rather than just being with it, whatever it is. Argh! What a freaking load of work that being with whatever is and not judging it feels like! Like seriously, there’s a lot of stuff I’d like to change, or “influence,” or at least envision being different. Strategize, fantasize, plan, scheme, dream about how other people and situations might be modified from how they are. I’m not talking about world events either, I’m talking about stuff right here under my own roof. People, places, things. Apparently that’s a breakable habit.
What’s the promise? I gotta focus on why do this acceptance stuff, this cake work, and I’ll tell ya. It’s a bit embarrassing. It’s a lot embarrassing, because it’s not particularly hip or ambitious or traditionally badass sounding. It’s not going to make my abs tighter or catapult me into a brand new car or strengthen my cuticles or anything like that.
Today, I’m doing the cake work of accepting that I don’t get to control – or influence – anyone or anything other than myself, and even that sometimes is a stretch. Zoinks. The time I spend attempting that kind of stuff is a waste of time because I’m not living my life, doing me, accepting that other people are doing themselves. And if I’m trying to change people and situations, then there’s no way to appreciate them for their cake-ness.
So what result – I’m thinking maybe I’ll be able to be more patient with other people and situations, more loving, more tolerant, more kind, and that that will feel good, and give me a bit more space in the head and the heart and in real life to do me. That when things happen that used to get me really stirred up, or just bug me, I won’t be as stirred or bugged, or will recognize being stirred and bugged as just stuff that happens and move on rather than dig in. I’ll be more … serene. And that’s a worthy cause I’m told.
“Ring Ring! Ring Ring!” Ooops – Evie, my evil inner voice is calling. Her ringtone is actually more like a siren. Weee Oooo Weee Oooo! “Hey Sascha, what the heck are you talking about you idiot? You’re gonna wind up fat, homeless, and alone if you give up like that! What about target acquisition? What about money? What about your abs? What about poor little Ax don’t you want him to learn how to read? What about the dirty dishes?”
And I’m gonna say, “I hear you Evie. You are not the boss of me. Ax will learn how to read whether I’m a ball of stress about it or just do my part, send him to school, read him books, and see what happens. I don’t need to bang the kid over the head. I don’t need to stress about it. And the dishes will get done in due course. Thanks for the input.” Evie: “But … blaaaaaaahhhhhhhh…..baaaaaad!” Me: “Bye bye.” Click. That’s me hanging up. I’m going for cake. I’m doing it. Screw Evie. It’s on.