The other day I was talking to my mother and she said something that made me laugh. “You sound good; relaxed,” which wasn’t so much funny as it was just so far from the truth. “No mom, I wish; it’s actually just the opposite.” “Well, just remember to breathe, honey. It will be okay,” was her well-intentioned advice.
Her advice, though stunningly simple, was just what I needed to hear. See, somehere between writing a new book, an upcoming TV project, running my own business, and other writing commitments, breathing — the deep, cleansing kind — had been stomped into the ground by the basic, closer-to-hyperventilating, sort. And I am beat.