She finally came back

There are days when the to-do list feels all consuming and the constant rushing to catch up makes me want to curl up like a roly-poly, hiding under the bleeding hearts in my garden.

Days when the only hour I feel connected to my own body is in front of my students, reminding them to feel their feet on the floor, to notice the quality of their breath, to soften behind their eyes.

When I doubt every single thing I do, think, feel, create and making dinner puts me over the edge. Just another thing to manage, another choice to get wrong, and hot tears run down my face while I wash the dishes.

But then, I look out my kitchen window, and I see the first hummingbird of the season, drinking at the feeder. She hovers,  barely visible— a blur of wings, moving effortlessly in every direction without losing herself, searching for sweetness after a long, demanding journey that seems impossible for a creature that weighs less than a penny.

Many cultures believe these tiny birds are other-worldly messengers. Reminding us to find joy, creativity and lightness, despite difficulty. So when one appears at my window, I don't ask too many questions. I just smile and whisper “thank you”, knowing that my feelings of frustration are fleeting, and that I am not alone.

After 5 years of putting out the feeder, I feel glad that I did not give up hope.  Because this one finally recognizes my yard as a safe place to rest, and this spot is now familiar, so it will be easier for her to find her way back, again and again.

I take a deep breath, and relax my need to control, just a little. I too can be patient, knowing that I will find my way back home to sweetness and creative flow in time. Most of us were never taught to tend our own creative spirit. Especially as mothers, we learn to tend everyone else first. But creativity, like the hummingbird, is loyal. It will keep returning to the place where it once found nourishment. You just have to leave the feeder out so she can find her way back.

This week, I invite you to ask yourself,

“What did I love to make, or do, or be, before I became responsible for everyone else?”

You don't have to act on the answer. Just let it surface. Maybe write it down. Or simply let it exist.

Welcome back, little hummingbirds.

There is still sweetness here.

In creativity,

Lucia

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