Bubbles.

My sister Sarah laid next to me, giggling as our Mom whispered instructions.  Eyes closed, my hands over my belly, I tried to stay still and keep my Dannon coffee yogurt snack inside.  

 “Imagine an egg cracks on your head and is rolling down your neck,” she guided.

 “Gross,” Sarah whispers beside me.

 “Now the egg has turned to water and is slowly pouring down your shoulders.  Breathe as it rolls down your arms,” apparently she could hear us? 

 “Think of anything that is bothering you and let it roll with the streams down your body.  Push it along with your breath.”  

 I wish I could remember what was worrying me at eleven years old?  My mom thanked us for being her guinea pigs and began setting up easels with graphic posters of dilated cervixes.  We shuffled out of our living room as pregnant women ushered in for their Lamaze class.  I have used my mom’s lesson when I have struggled to fall asleep.

 Breathing is a skill we practice while exercise, stretching or as you bring a little person into the world.  When we are angry, anxious, or stressed, we forget it’s power and instead hold our breath.  Fine tuning the art of slowing down and exhaling can help us prepare for the uncertain future.  

Currently, I am trying to heal from the pandemic past, not worry about the Delta future, and enjoy the messy middle of our bubble.  It is not an easy place to float since this summer even champagne bubbles are struggling.  

 As children we are given pinwheels, bottles of bubbles, and encouraged to blow dandelion seeds into the wind.  Kids know how to find the joy of breathing.  As we are flooding back into the world, joining them in the yard might be the best move we make.