Chill
I encourage people I coach to write - it might be a compassionate letter to themselves or to someone else, or to a younger version of themselves. And so on…
I’m supporting a young woman who’s been finding it hard to get out of her (analytical) head and enjoy life more. She’s also been learning to be in the present a bit more and, with her permission, I’m posting here a piece called Chill. Although she didn’t write it as a poem, it comes over to me as being very poetic, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. If you have any comments I’ll be sure to pass them on; I know she’ll appreciate hearing from you.
Chill
Before coming home
I was at a park sitting under a tree
A spot that is gradually becoming my usual spot
Closing my eyes, sitting still, feeling the wind and the tree in the breeze
Listening to my favourite song
Letting thoughts float
And I came back now just on sofa, feeling the wind from the fan
I think this is the first time I feel that I’m allowing myself to rest
Or at least feeling this concept of “rest”
When I was on the ground or now on the sofa
Being supported
Nothing to rush
Oooh this is how chilling feels like
There’s a little bit of sadness to it
But also first time I don’t find a rush to tell someone about what I’m doing or what I have experienced in order to validate it
There are random thoughts, including ones that could get me on my nerves. They pass by like little clouds. I don’t have to hold onto any of them. But I do recognise the emotions underlying those thoughts.
I can feel a bit sad. I can miss someone. I can find something uncertain. I can feel a need to plan and reschedule and do something. I can be predicting what’s gonna happen. I can find an idea exciting. I can have an insight.
All parts of my life and all can wait.
