Imperfectly Perfect

Arm balances happen to be my nemesis at this point in my life for a variety of reasons.  One because they require that you hug like holy heck into your midline and fire up your core.  And this Southern girl doesn't have the rock hard six pack abs of a mountain girl (yet).  Mine are more like a loaf of bread.  Granted they've changed from fluffy white bread to day old baguette, but still I'm not crushing cans with them anytime soon.

So the idea of lifting my rather large bum off the ground and coming into Eka Hasta Bhujasana then to Astavakrasana seemed laughable this morning in class.  It's this for those of you who don't speak Yogi...

As Bridget walked us through the pose, I winced and struggled and managed to hover about a centimeter off the ground before collapsing into a heap.  Then she did something even more laughable than me getting into the pose, she called on me to demo.

I took a deep breath.  Said a little prayer.  Drank in the love coming from the 20 odd people in the room.  And just like that my hips lifted.  My legs crossed in front of me.  And while I couldn't quite maintain the pose long enough to fully rotate.  I rose higher than I ever had.

Was it perfect?  No.  Was it even the full version of the pose?  No.  It was messy, and silly, and all over the place.  But it was deeper than I had ever gone.  And it was only that way because I was demoing.  Because she picked on me.  Because she challenged me.  Because people were watching.  Were counting on me.  Were supporting me.

It's like what your family does.  What significant others.  Brothers.  Sisters.  Aunts.  Uncles.  Grandparents.  Parents.  Best friends.  Do.  They see where you are weak and they challenge you.  They press into your tender spots.  They may even cause half of them.  They may annoy you.  They may hurt you.  They may be mean, and horrible, and ugly.  But that's all part of being human.  Cracks are where the light comes in.

And how great is that?  How great is it that we all have our own built in Bridgets?  Our own crack makers?  People that will call you out in front of the class.  That will force you to woman up and get your butt off the ground already.  And maybe the way they do it isn't as gentle as you'd like.  Maybe you have to spend countless hours and hundreds of dollars in therapy to rise above the damage they can sometimes cause.

But without them you'd be huffing, and puffing, and struggling.  Your butt firmly planted on the ground.

And as much as I can complain about my own family, without them I'm wouldn't be here.  Wouldn't be making the changes I am.  Wouldn't have had the courage to pack up and move across the country.  To excel in school.  To work hard.  To be bright and shiny and brave.  I learned all those things from my family.  And yes, I learned some neurotic things too.

But it all comes out in the wash.  Because ultimately I know it's all of that.  The good.  The bad.  The ugly.  That's gotten my butt off the ground so I can soar.

It's what's let the light in.  And there's so much light.

I love you and miss you even if I do whine about you.


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