Being Conscious

As I sit here tapping away on my keyboard to “Radio” by Hot Chelle Rae (how cute is that song?) and sipping on my protein shake following a decent workout, I’m pondering a thought from Honest Rachael, who posted to the world about spreading a little more love throughout the entire month of February.  I loved her insightful blog post and commented that I would join her in spreading a little more love throughout the month.  The thought I had this morning, though, is that in order to spread love or give of ourselves or do anything somewhat extraordinary (which happens daily for some people) is to BE CONSCIOUS.

If I just go along my merry way, letting life take me where it will, then I will most likely be tossed to and fro (physically as well as emotionally) without truly regarding my own personal power to do something.  I can do my little workout each morning, spend time in personal devotion, write a blog, do dishes & laundry, cook, clean, and do whatever else I do in a given day with little motivation or notice of the days and weeks and months and years that pass…or I can be conscious of my life and my time and live deliberately–making goals and feeling accomplishment and power and influence.

I have been touched by those who live to conquer fear and reach their goals–no matter how lofty and far-reaching.  One of these people is Evan Sanders, who recently completed a book and writes a blog about becoming a better man.  I admire his courage and leaps of faith as he has struggled through adversities with amazing positivity and the vision of what he wants to do and who he will become.  Way to go, Evan!  Just reading a post from him gives me a push to keep going and want to be better.  🙂

Well, my protein shake is almost done, and I need to hit the shower…but I will leave you with this question, a thought, and a few Happy Monday tunes.  First the question:  How can you be more conscious of your decisions and the way you spend your time?

Here’s the thought:  You have personal power and the love you show may be someone else’s inspiration…so get to work!!!!

And, of course, the music: 🙂



And, as always, HUGS!

I’ll Tell You What I Want…

The red lines on the clock form themselves into numbers I can read.  7:58 a.m.  The kiddos are off to school, husband at work, and I walk to the computer, move the mouse to the Spotify icon at the bottom left corner of the screen.  I have to think about which side it is since I still don’t know my left from right without thinking consciously about it.

I scroll through playlists, and a title on my daughter’s list catches my eye.

Less than a minute later, I feel the cold tile under my bare toes scraping back and forth as I do jumping jacks.  And I’m singing along….

I’ll tell you what I want, what I really, really want.

My arms are burning (from yesterday’s arm workout) each time my hands sweep over my head and I want to cry.  Instead I yell….

So tell me what you want, what you really, really want.

I continue to the chorus as my body yells for me to stop, but I keep jumping and counting and singing and up and down and counting and yelling.

What in heaven’s name is a “zig-a-zig-a” anyway?  I don’t care.  I just keep moving.  Down to the floor for push ups.  I yell the mocking words that are echoing in my brain that someone recently said to me, “Before trying more advanced moves, maybe you should learn to do a regular push up first.”

I laugh to myself, and my shoulders buckle underneath me, screaming inside my skin.  I can almost hear them.  The weights I take in my hand pull me lower, lower, harder, stronger, but I lift them anyway; I raise them higher and longer and more than I ever have.

I drop to the floor, put my hands down to support me, and walk my feet up the wall for a handstand.  Tighten abs, I tell myself as I try to hang on for one more second.

A new voice half-sings, half-raps over the speakers about fish in the sea, and I am back on the tile with more jumping jacks.  Sting.  Ow.  Keep going.  A few more minutes.  You can do this.  (The endorphins must be kicking in somehow….)

Drop for another set of push ups.  More jumping jacks.  Squats.  Punches.  Punches with squats.  And I’m yelling with Hot Chelle Rae about a “really, really messed up week.”  I can relate to that line.  And I’m punching harder, and my shoulders are still on fire as my legs threaten to crumble underneath me, landing me in a pile of ruin like the photos of Pompeii I saw in grade school.

Maybe I should give my body a break….

Nope, to the rug for abs.  Crunch, one-two-three-four-five, (suck it in), seven-eight-nine, (watch your neck), ten-eleven, (dang, I forgot to pray for Dad this morning).  I holler an audible prayer through labored inhales and exhales in time with the crunches and lose count.  Bicycling until my abs are screaming.  I hope I can move tomorrow…or even later today.

One more shoulder move…one more song.

I know how I “Wannabe.”