Snippets of SnapDragon

Has anyone else seen The Last Dance miniseries on Netflix? We finished it last night.

Color me impressed.

It may be helpful to know that any and all appreciation I have for sports can be attributed to my Sweet Husband. As a youngster I played a little soccer, field hockey, and softball, but quickly switched my focus to the arts by my teen-aged years*. So the world of sports is, in a word, foreign to me.

Anyway, after watching this show, I have a deep respect for Michael Jordan.

And one thing that was mentioned–I think by a sportscaster–was that much of Jordan’s success was due to his ability to be fully present in the moment.

He practiced mindfulness.

So here I am, a woman with an anxiety disorder, ready to give it a go.

I. am. here.

. . .

SnapDragon’s Practice in Mindfulness That May Or May Not Be Boring as Shit:

Sight: I see the glare of the sun on our Barbeque grill. I see my infant son chewing on a crinkly-paged “Numbers” book. I see my cat Henry trying to find a cozy spot to nap.

Sound: I hear muffled television voices. I hear the AC. I hear the occasional chirping of birds.

Scent: I smell the indefinable tropical fruit combination of my conditioner.

Taste: I taste the sweet and somewhat metallic vanilla of African Honeybush iced tea.

Touch: I feel freshly showered. I feel the residue of coconut lotion between my toes. I feel the rough skin of my fingertips from obsessive handwashing.

[[ Thoughts: I think I made it; my heart isn’t racing. Will it last? I wonder if he’s sleepy. Is the TV too loud? I hope she enjoys her birthday despite this lock-down shit. My eyes hurt. What should I read? ]]

Keep trying, Snap.

Another moment is just around the corner.

. . .

SnapDragon is an artist who would give anything for a sushi roll right now.

Follow her Two-Bit Musings and more on Snippets of SnapDragon.

. . .

* I did play an epic season of intramural volleyball freshman year of college. That may have been the most competitive streak in my life. Did we win the championship? I can’t even remember. . .