Well Internet it happened again. That's right I cried in yoga. It's becoming a thing. At least this time it didn't have anything to do with a boy. Well not a specific boy at least. I blame Bridget and Cate this time, my new yoga aunties, who are determined to beat some sense into me. Or to at least make me twist in such a way my heart is wrung out each time I come to my mat for one of their classes.
It all started with this book Cate threw at me and demanded I read after not being able to take another day of my whining about dying alone and cats eating my face off. The title alone made me throw up in my mouth a little, Calling in "The One," 7 Weeks to Attract the Love of Your Life, in case you're wondering. Yeah I know. I know Internet. But a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. Plus, I trust Cate. I mean after following her directions regarding enemas and garlic suppositories a book recommendation seems rather harmless and uneventful, ya know?
Turns out this book does not pull any punches. In fact, it punches you. Repeatedly, right in the baby maker until you can't help but cry all over your yoga mat (or car, or book, or bed, or shower, or wherever it is you cry, which is probably a way more appropriate place than in a public class). Its lessons hurt so bad they're good because you know once you get to the end (and by God I will get to the end) something will have changed. And if it doesn't? Well then me and God are going to have words. Lots of them.
So I've been a little raw lately. Which makes rolling out my mat even riskier, because chances are when shit is up in your life it spews out all over your mat. Because that's what yoga does. Busts you wide open. Gives you emotional diarrhea (have I told you that here in Driggs we talk about poop a lot?).
Try doing handstand. Filling your back body. Trusting. While you got all that deep, reorganizing, clearing out the demons stuff going on. You'd cry too. Cry because you are a yoga teacher who can't kick into handstand on your own. Cry because you are single. Cry because you are a million miles from home. Cry because your mom died. Cry because you are tired damn it and can't this just be over and life be perfect already.
But cry mostly because you realized that for a majority of your life you've ignored your gut when it comes to boys, and love, and sex, even when it's been yelling at you. Sure I knew it was there. What it was saying. What I should do. I just tended to do the exact opposite for lots of reasons (this is the part where I blame my family and culture).
So with that glaring revelation hanging over my head, it made me realize my whole deal with handstand makes sense. I mean why would I be able to go upside? If I can't hold to my core during daily tasks that don't come with the risk of injury and death, then how the hell am I going to do it while balancing on my two hands upside down? Probably not gonna happen. Which is why when Bridget asked us to take our mats to the wall this morning I crumbled.
Because now I gotta own the fact that I'm a big wuss. That saying no is hard for me. That standing my ground is difficult. That I don't know how to puff my kidneys. Or kick by myself. YET.
That I am 28 years old and I have manifested exactly what I have put out. And that Internet is a hard lesson to swallow. But that's the thing with growth. It hurts and it's hard and sometimes you want to give up. But you don't. You keep kicking because one day you'll go upside down. You'll call in "The One." And that's going to be so rockstar awesome it'll be worth all the tears.
Or at least it better be! I'll let you know in seven weeks when I get to the end.
So much love,
Sara
PS-In the meantime go download Florence and the Machine's new album. It's pretty fantastic. Or at least I think so. Mainly because it feels like Florence crawled into my brain and wrote a bunch of songs I needed to hear right now. It's the soundtrack of our lives (Brian Kooyman). Plus she's a crazy hot red head!
Here's the track I've been playing...
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