Yesterday I saw the dermatologist and she examined the topography of my aging body. Not a pretty sight, but it could be worse. I grow things on my skin so well I could be a landscape designer, but unfortunately it does not transfer to actually gardening in soil. I have blue things and cherry red things and hillocks and flatlands. If I didn't have a sense of humor I'd be sunk. I like to remember the alternative to aging and then immediately gratitude arises.
Today I see my once a month therapist, and she has come to seem like an old friend and reliable witness. Running feelings and events by her has really helped anchor me. She's respectful of my practice and my vows, and has good intuition. But she's not a friend, and doesn't try, ironically, to fix things for me. My friends tend to give advice, when all I want mostly is an ear, and the therapist is a very good ear. She pipes up, but she knows fixing is contrary to my practice. I feel her respect for who I am particularly at every turn. So it's a good day, even if a friend canceled our outing and I need badly to practice my music before tonight's rehearsal.
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