Yoga Postscript

Yesterday, after writing about being down and trying to figure why (and how to change it), I went to yoga. Hot yoga (moksha) -- and it kicked my butt. I brought all my negative feelings and sadness with me, and physically it was one of the hottest, most challenging, people-packed and energy-draining classes ever (plus I hadn't had enough water throughout the day -- not advisable). Granted, it had been nearly two weeks since I'd done yoga, and it showed, but I really think it was more my attitude that affected my practice. I got halfway through and my body was just done. Spent. Worked out out. It wasn't a great practice physically.

Mentally -- now that's another thing altogether. Interesting thing happened...halfway through this crazy 90-minute practice, when we transition from all the standing postures to the seated and spinal strengthening ones, we rest. Shavasana. Supine, eyes closed. The point where everything becomes relaxed -- breathing, muscles, body, most importantly, mind. My mind of course was running wild at this point -- this point that only exists to focus on your breathing and body and to meditate not ruminate. Our teacher actively guides us through this posture -- helping remind us to let everything go -- thoughts, judgments, opinions, effort...giving us cues and instruction about how to better do this. And the strangest thing happened.

She said: Think about what you need to be happy.
I thought: (all at one time as I chuffed slightly at the ironic humor of this question, especially considering my frame of mind) wellthat'seasymoretimewiththeboyabetterjoborevenbetter,part-timejobsoIcouldstayhomewhatastupidquestiontoaskmeofallpeople....

And suddenly in the middle of this crazy freight train of thoughts that was literally pouring through my mind at breakneck speed, this strong, confident, powerful, calm voice said over all the insanity: THIS.

And suddenly, everything else was silent, unimportant.

She said: Think about what you need to be healthy.
I thought: (immediately, instinctually, without a pause) THIS. The smile on my face grew a bit.

She said: Think about what you need to be peaceful.
I thought: THIS. A resounding thought, and my smile grew even wider, and then I sighed with contentment at the realization of this wry, unexpected truth I had discovered.

The rest of the practice went as expected -- meaning not so great because I was well and truly at my physical limit, and I paid for it the rest of the night with a headache from pushing too far. But mentally -- well, let's just say I walked out of there feeling lighter and thankful and balanced and confident and at peace. And marveling that this voice in my head had finally (too) heard enough of my complaining and sadness and took the perfect opportunity to remind me about what was good. And important. And right. And to forget about the rest and be thankful for everything else.

Yoga is so cool, no?

All will be well

Giant sigh. I hesitated to even attempt this -- to even write these words today -- but I've been feeling this way on and off for the last week or so, and it's just getting to me. I'm not looking for sympathy, not looking for advice, or compassion. I think I just need to get this feeling off my chest -- out into the world -- and maybe that will create some kind of catharsis so I can get rid of this melancholy that has haunted me so these past days. Maybe I can purge it through writing a bit about it. Cuz that's what writers do, right? Get it out and on paper instead of bottled up inside....

Is it the moon? It'll be full this week. Is it post-vacation blues? Is it that summer is here and I'm craving outside sunshine and fresh air instead of over-air-conditioned office cubicles? Is it that the boy has been sick and not himself either this last week and therefore so very, very trying and cranky? Is it that even my husband seems fed up with my mood swings -- snapping at me unexpectedly, which, of course, makes me snap back and then immediately burst into tears. God forbid it's something as simple as PMS.

I find myself apologizing for the silliest things -- sorry I couldn't get to the phone fast enough. sorry I didn't bring you that water right away. sorry that grif had diaper rash and was screaming bloody murder when I tried to let you sleep in. feeling sorry for myself...even I'm sick of hearing that word come out of my mouth (or circle my thoughts).

I think that it's something as simple as the fact that I am ready -- anxious -- for the next step. The next part of my life that isn't quite here. Vacation was so very lovely, perfect even (the music, the people, the setting, sigh again). So much so that it made coming back to work really much worse than usual. I'm somewhat obsessed with not working now -- finding a way to gather enough freelance work to be able to quit my current job, or find something part-time that pays well -- so I can spend more time with both the boys. Ready for the time when we can truly start making plans to move to Colorado. Ready...for it all. And I know I have to wait a bit longer -- and I'm fine with that, really. Prepared, even. But maybe that's what's making me sad. Maybe I'm focusing on the self-imposed limbo that I seem to be feeling these days instead of enjoying every single moment I've been gifted with....maybe...

When I was single and young all those years ago, this kind of feeling would spur me to hop in the jeep and go out to this little industrial airport, and watch the planes take off as the sun set. It would calm me -- not necessarily make me feel better, or less sad, or more sure of myself, but it would calm me nonetheless. And at least for that moment, everything was ok -- unfolding as it should -- and I would know that all would be well (all wi' be well, all wi' be well, and all a' manner of things wi' be well).

The blue jeep is gone, and that airport's sunsets are so very far away, but maybe, if I think about my pilot husband, and my crazy sweet miracle of a child who shines so very bright in my heart, I can bring that same calmness to this sadness. And I know it won't solve all my strange sorrows, but really, it'll be close enough.

Tomorrow

I've been thinking a lot about my next post here -- specifically, that I haven't even mentioned my life with books (so you know that one will show up simply because it is long, long, long overdue). I have lots of opinions and passions to share in that department (as those of you who know me will most definitely agree). I've also been thinking a lot about Colorado, and how raising my child in that kind of atmosphere (politically, ecologically, spiritually) would be (will be) so different than our current surroundings in Northern Kentucky. I even started that one. It's called "Rocky Mountain High." I'll finish it soon. Then you know I've always got something to say about the boy -- so I'm sure there will be yet another post waxing poetic about him, and being a mother, and a wife, and most importantly, being so very thankful for it all.

But for now, for tomorrow, this one is short. Simple. Obvious. Tomorrow, I go to the beach. Tomorrow, I journey to the shores of Alabama (by car, which means lots of napping and reading while my husband and our friend drive -- yes that's right, I probably won't contribute there at all -- call me lazy, whatever, I always offer to drive and always get turned down, which, honestly, I've grown exceedingly accustomed to). Tomorrow, we go to a place that is starting to feel the affects of the oil leak, and to which all the proceeds of this funky little hippie music festival will now go (cool, no?). Tomorrow, I go to the sand. And the ocean. And that smell of salt and sun and sea. Tomorrow I go to a place where when the wind blows, I'll be left with an oceany residue that I can feel and taste on my skin and clothes. Tomorrow...

It's been way too long since I've been to the ocean. And although I'm a mountain girl by nature, there is simply nothing in the world that can compare to that truly awesome power the ocean carries so easily on its blue, blue back -- the gigantic crash of the waves, the inexorable pull of the tides, the smile-inducing salty smell in the air itself that is so unique, so tangible, so memorable (you simply have to relax and smile as soon as you take that first deep breath of it). The thought of it overloads my senses (not to mention the thought of the great music, fun people and general mayhem that will naturally ensue).

Tomorrow -- so soon -- I go to the beach. With my husband. Just the two of us. Grif's first beach vaca will be in June on Cape Cod -- this one is just for me and the pilot. And while I will miss the boy fiercely, I am looking forward to a getaway with Jim, the late nights and lazy mornings, sand in the bed and the feeling of tight, tingly skin from too much sun.

Tomorrow is vacation. And we're going to the beach.