We’ve all heard the saying “resistance is futile”. I think that’s a Star Trek-ism ~ a Borg thing, if I’m not mistaken, but it can also have a pretty universal application. It reminds me of an Alanis Morissette song in which she sings “What I resist persists…” which I do find to be true.
Anyway, I reframed that saying today because there is something kind of negative about it ~ an implied powerlessness that doesn’t suit my desire to be empowered.
Surrender is fertile.
Do you like it?
Last night sucked sweaty moose testicles. I did something to my neck (which you know if you read my post yesterday) and it made sleeping an adventure in finding the one and only exact position to lie in that didn’t result in excruciating muscle pain. I tossed and turned (with exquisite care). I plumped pillows and de-plumped them. I took Tylenol. I jacked up the heating pad to high.
Finally, some time around three in the morning, I started to drift just in time for the Manfingy to startle awake and start mumbling something nonsensical. He finished out the night in another room. I spent another hour trying to gingerly place my body in whatever configuration might let me sleep.
This morning at quarter after eight, I woke up to find that I was stiffer than ever. I tried to start my day ~ grabbed a coffee, had a soak in the tub ~ but the only thing my body wanted was to lay spread eagle with a heating pad under my shoulders.
I thought: resistance is futile.
And then I reframed it to surrender is fertile and I felt better about it and I went back to bed.
I would love to tell you that that I had a major epiphany that proves my reframe right as I lay abed for several hours staring at the magnolia tree through the bedroom window, but the truth is, I dozed and drifted and nothing got fertilized that I know of, except that I think ‘surrender is fertile’ is a pretty snazzy reframe.
Manfingy is out at the pharmacy picking me up some Robaxacet as I type.