Apparently, before I can embark upon this spiritual path, I must set my intentions. Where am I going? What will it look like? And how the hell am I going to get there?
Actually, forget that last one because I’m not supposed to think too hard about the hows. That’s down to divine intelligence aka my soul, so I am told.
Last weekend, I spent a day with my mentor and other like-minded folk with the sole purpose of planning my spiritual year. Here’s an abridged version of what I came up with.
What rocks right now?
- My marriage, friendships, health & fitness, my kids and hobbies.
What’s rot at the moment?
- My finances, my career, my anger management, my stress levels and the fact that my house is a shit hole. Oh and also, that I never take holidays – even when I go away, I’m on ‘duty’.
What needs the most work?
- My finances and career. I was a journalist until people stopped reading real newspapers and magazines. I now earn a living in Public Relations and truth be told, I am very good at it, but I undercharge and overdeliver. Also, PR is not as much fun as journalism and I want to write more.
What’s holding me back?
- A lack of self-worth – I have no talent to speak of. How can I earn a decent living? Isn’t writing a bit yesterday? I can’t take decent photos, which must mean I am a dinosaur. Come to think of it, I am well and truly past it. Life is a young person’s game….I could go on, but to spare your sanity, I won’t.
So, what next? Well, my mentor said that I have to imagine how I want my finances and career to be and then act as if it is already happening. This concept is not new to me. I’ve read about it in The Law of Attraction, The Secret and various other self-help tomes. It sounds easy enough, but reader, let me tell you, it is not.
I can tell myself until I am blue in the face that I deserve to be paid what I am worth. That my novel is sure to be a big hit. That the non-fiction book I am working on will have agents clamouring to sign me up. That this blog will monetise as if by magic. Oh yes, I can say all these things, but the familiar knot of dread in the pit of my stomach never goes away.
I have this thing about being fiercely independent. I loathe the idea of asking for help. My biggest fear is that I go broke and become destitute. I am terrified of not being able to look after myself even though I am married to an IT contractor who earns well most of the time (oh, you should see the state I get into between contracts. It is not a pretty sight).
Heaven looks like a studio in the garden where I happily write books that I am paid handsomely for. My house is no longer a clutter and dust bucket, it is a beautifully decorated, soothing space. Credit card bills don’t bring me out in a cold sweat and most importantly, I exude inner peace. The future is not orange, it’s pure gold.
If I raise my vibrations (that’s a hippy way of saying that I must act as if my life is just fabulous and make sure I do lots of things that make me super happy) then this imaginary heaven version of my life will become real. Even as I am writing this, I wonder if I may have lost the freaking plot. My soul is currently mud-wresting with my inner cynic and the latter looks to be winning.
Anyway, I’ve handed the Sat Nav over to my soul. It is in the driving seat, so I know who to blame if I end up face down in a ditch.