“Nothing to it but to do it.” The phrase went back to the beginning of the last century at least, made popular by the bodybuilder Ronnie Coleman before attempting and succeeding to lift 800 pounds with his legs.
He said that when he had trained in the past he would overthink the process. She could so relate to that. Just in the sheer simple but not simple task of trying to live and love and breathe and work and respond and struggle and create. She had to remind herself of the simplicity of daily tasks, the multitude of baby steps, day after day after day, with the words like a mindfulness mantra to be chanted to herself when she got stuck, “Nothing to it but to do it.”
It was a journey back to her raw nature, her inner child, so to speak. And it was a kind of journey to the center of the earth’s core, which was strong, the sparklingly beautiful truth of pure joy and love motivating everything and anything she had always wanted, a joy and love so strong and what she had felt when she was around 7 or 8 running into the chill Pacific surf, overwhelmed by the crashing waves, shrieking with delight together with her friend. That full body high, exhilarated by the universe, in this case the clash of skin and elements, the glorious back and forth of gravity and levity, which alternately embraced and released, her, but rocked her lovingly.
Even if she would never be able to describe it perfectly, it didn’t matter. She was ecstatic. She was in love with life again.
Blue Dream 