Tonight, I Weep. Tomorrow I Rise

It's another one of those nights. A lack of clarity in my heart has left me checking emails on my phone at 3:30am. It's not that the emails matter to me, it's that what I want is for my mind to just give me enough peace that I can rest, and mindless phone browsing happens in between.

That's how I ended up on this TedTalk, balling my eyes out, sobbing in my bed at 3:45am while a guy named Steven Sharp Nelson uses music to guide me through a meditation where in my imagination I visit my departed grandmother, concern on her face, as she pulls my head into her chest, forehead on her collarbone, sobbing just as heavily in my mind's eye as I am in actual person, while her other hand works through my hair as she comforts me. I ask my wonderful grandmother for help and she just says this: "stop living a partial life."

I know immediately what she means. I haven't been living up to my potential. I haven't been hitting the gym, and my prayers avoid discussing the dreams and visions, and goals I've failed to seek each day. I'm not pushing myself for excellence and I've been selling myself short along the way.

I ask what to do about things I'm doing that are wrong and she merely says: "just stop," far from the deep and profound answer I was seeking. Just stop doing wrong, and stop living a partial life.

Can I abide by this advice? Did it really come from my grandmother's spirit, or is this the subconscious advice that my mind pushed out through her mouth as I sobbed and experienced once more the emotions I associate with her death?

Either way, as I sit and contemplate these two directives I've been given, the depths of me know they are exactly what I need. There is something peaceful and satisfying about imagining myself living this way. I see purpose and determination, and consistent, daily efforts like I haven't put forth in a great long time.

It's 4:25 now as I'm writing this. Looks like I won't be canceling my 6:05am alarm.

Forward and Onward,

Aaron W. Bateman