Good morning.
It's Wednesday, November fourth.
The middle of the week.
Your mind might already be on Friday.
Or stuck back on Monday.
Let's bring it here instead.
To this morning.
To this spot on the floor.
Sit near the edge of your chair.
Or stand, if you'd rather.
Now press your feet into the floor.
Not hard.
Just enough to feel it press back.
Maybe it's cold Or tile.
you're still in fuzzy socks.
Whatever it is...
it's solid.
It isn't going anywhere.
We'll spend six minutes down here.
Close to the ground.
Breathe in through your nose.
Slow and full.
And breathe out...
let your body get heavier.
Like a bag of groceries...
finally set down the on counter.
In again.
Out...
your hips sink into the seat.
In.
Out...
your shoulders slide down your back.
One more in.
And out...
all your weight dropping toward the floor.
Gravity is doing the work now.
You can let it.
Now think about the soles of your feet.
Right where they meet the floor.
Notice the heels.
The balls of the feet.
The little pads under each toe.
Imagine small roots.
Growing out from your heels.
They're thin at first.
Like threads.
They slip down through the floor.
Past the basement.
Past the pipes and old wiring.
Into the ground under the house.
The ground down there is packed and quiet.
It smells like a garden after digging.
With every breath out...
the roots go a little deeper.
They find a thin trickle of water.
They drink, slowly.
They get thicker now.
Stronger.
Branching out wide.
Picture how far down they reach.
Farther than you'd guess.
Now think of the day's small jolts.
Up here, at the trunk.
Maybe it's a text you forgot to answer.
Or a meeting got that moved again.
Picture them as squirrels on the bark.
Racing up.
Chattering.
Racing down.
The tree hardly notices.
It lets them run.
The roots stay put.
Down deep, drinking slowly.
Nothing up there can pull them loose.
Let these words drop down with the roots.
I am here.
My feet are on the ground.
I can bend without falling over.
Rest here now.
Like an old oak.
Out at the edge of a field.
It's been there for a hundred years.
It doesn't hurry.
It doesn't check the time.
Listen to the wind in the branches.
Moving through.
Moving on.
You can be still like that.
Just for now.
Heavy and rooted.
Right where you are.
A leaf lets go somewhere above you.
It drifts down.
It lands on the ground by your roots.
Let the roots rest where they are.
They'll stay with you.
Notice the room again.
The light.
The sounds from the kitchen.
Curl your toes, then spread them.
Lift your chin a little.
Take one slow breath in...
And let it out.
Here's something for today.
When you feel scattered...
press your feet down.
Under your desk.
Or in line at the pharmacy.
Nobody will notice.
It's just you and the floor.
Then take one heavy breath.
Let it drop to the floor.
That's all.
The roots will do the rest.
Open your eyes when you're ready.
Have a steady Wednesday.