Good morning.
It's Tuesday, November third.
Election Day.
Maybe you've been waiting for today.
Maybe you'd rather skip it.
Either way, it's here.
And so are you.
Before the headlines start...
let's check in with your body.
Just notice.
No need to change anything.
Is your jaw tight?
Are your shoulders up near your ears?
Is there a flutter in your stomach?
Or does it all feel pretty normal?
Whatever you find is okay.
Bodies react to big days.
That's what they do.
We have six minutes together.
Let's make them quiet ones.
Put both feet on the floor.
Feel the floor under your heels.
Breathe in slowly through your nose.
And as you breathe out...
imagine the breath moving down.
All the way to your feet.
Breathe in again.
Slow and easy.
Out...
down through your legs.
Into the floor.
The floor holds you up.
It doesn't need your help.
One more breath in.
And out...
let your weight settle down.
Let the breath find its own pace now.
Listen to the rain for a moment.
A lot of today...
isn't up to you.
The lines at the polls.
The numbers on the TV tonight.
What other people decide.
What they post about it.
Picture it all as a stack of mail.
Piled on the kitchen counter.
It's a lot.
Now let's sort it out.
Gently.
Here is what's yours today.
Your breath.
It's right here.
It goes wherever you go.
Your words.
How you talk to a coworker.
Or your neighbor over the fence.
How you speak to someone...
who sees things differently than you.
And your choices.
Where you put your time.
How often you check your phone.
That's a small pile.
You can open those.
Everything else...
goes in a basket by the door.
Not the trash.
Just the basket.
You're not ignoring it.
You're just not opening it right now.
It'll still be there later.
You can look at it...
when you're ready.
Look at the counter now.
There's room on it again.
Say these quietly to yourself.
If they fit.
I can stay steady today.
I can be kind...
even when I disagree.
My breath is always here.
Just rest here now.
Feet on the floor.
Rain tapping outside.
The news will come and go.
All day long.
Like rain on a window.
Heavy for a while.
Then lighter.
The glass stays where it is.
You can stay where you are, too.
If your mind runs ahead to tonight...
that's understandable.
Tonight isn't here yet.
This morning is.
Let your mind come back...
to the sound of the rain.
Just the rain and your For breath.
a little while longer.
Let the room come back.
The chair.
The light from the window.
Press your feet down once more.
Roll your shoulders back.
Take one slow breath in...
And let it go.
Here's one small thing for today.
At lunch, put your phone in a drawer.
Eat without the headlines.
Taste what you're eating.
And if the day gets loud...
come back to this breath.
Down into your feet.
It works in a line.
It works in the car.
Open your eyes when you're ready.
Go gently today.