Posts Tagged ‘mat’

And School Starts

August 7, 2016

Now.

Go!

Fuck.

I can’t believe I am heading off to my eight day school retreat for my second year of my grad program tomorrow.

Holy shit.

I’m a second year student.

How the hell did that happen so fast?

I’m packed and ready for it.

Although not quite as prepared as I would like to be.

One of my texts still hasn’t shown up.

There is really nothing I can do about it, surrender to the imperfect start and let myself off the hook.  At least the book is on order.  A classmate of mine admitted that she hadn’t ordered it yet, another classmate of mine said, yup, I got it, but I haven’t cracked it yet.

So I’m not alone.

Not that I ever am, but I can pull myself down pretty quick if I think I’m not doing it right or perfect, whatever the fuck that looks like, and ruin a day with my grievous mind.

I broke down a lot today.

It was not a perfect looking day.

But I got through it despite stupid thoughts, overwhelming feelings, and lots of tears.

I mean loads.

I have no idea why.

General anxiety.

Trying to figure it out.

Figure it out is not a slogan and is certainly not a solution.

My best ideas usually end up in trouble, to tell you the truth.

To tell myself the truth.

Once in a while I do have some good judgement, a little modicum of calm, a notion to do something, to go opposite my critical head and reach for some solution, some outside myself answer.

I got up and went to yoga.

I did not want to.

I mean.

Really not want to, my least favorite teacher was subbing for my favorite teacher and he’s a tough cookie, he does some really hard core yoga, I have only taken his class one other time and it left me flustered, in tears, and frustrated.

Which is exactly where I got today.

In tears on the mat, trying to do what seem to be super easy poses, but just wrecked trying to get into them or hold them or move gracefully.

Everything felt old and cranky and crunchy.

Seriously.

The noises my knees make are sometimes ghastly.

I was miserable and when I have a hard time, I try harder, I cry more, I shout in my head, I fall over, I say fuck.

“Oh no, someone said fuck in the yoga studio,” my instructor laughed, “fuck that”

The class chuckled.

I’m glad to be here for comic relief.

After ward he chatted with me and I told him the truth.

“I hate your class,” I said, point blank, “it is by far the hardest class and I don’t know what I’m doing and I feel everything so much harder, it’s just impossible.”

“You hate my class,” he said, “really?”

“I just hate that I can’t seem to do any of it, it’s the hardest class of all the classes I have had and I just feel wrecked and always in pain and always on the verge of falling over.”

Fuck.

I’m in tears reliving it.

I was so whacked out.

But I realized in the doing that I hadn’t had a thought for pretty much the entire 75 minutes that was anxious or living in the future or dwelling anywhere than in the specific pose I was trying so hard to hit.

Nada.

Quiet head.

I know enough to be grateful for that.

A beautiful respite from me, my own worse enemy, I mean really, I wouldn’t even call myself a “frenemy” at this point, I am just plain mean to myself.

It’s all perfectionism and it’s about getting greater humility and letting go of the idea that what you think of me is important, or for that matter, any of my fucking business.

I mean.

I hope you like me, tilts head, smiles coyly.

NOPE.

Not my business how you feel about me, think about me, or on the other hand, it’s not even my business how I think about myself either.

It’s a lie.

I am good enough, sweet enough, kind enough, I am smart enough, I show up, I try.

“I have that voice too,” my teacher told me today, looking right in my eyes, “I am a perfectionist too and you have no idea how far you have come in such a short time and how much further you’re going to be able to take this.”

“You’re beating yourself up, you try harder than anyone we’ve seen at the studio in recent time, you’re doing great, you really are.”

He told me some stories and shared some experiences and I was humbled.

That’s some perspective.

And a good change for me to hear and take in and also almost, but not quite, sign up for his class tomorrow.

Except.

I have to go to school.

“You get to go to school,” my person reminded me as I was crying over my utter lack of control over my life, total and completely powerless.

“You get to go to school, you get to be of service, you get to go to grad school, this is amazing!” She said, bright and shiny and full of humor about my tears and how good it was to see me letting go of perfectionism and just showing up and being vulnerable.

This is amazing.

I am in graduate school.

I am getting my Masters in Psychology.

I get to be a student.

I get to get out of the city for a little while too.

The fog and the cold have been pretty overwhelming and the the grey and the no sun a little wearing.

I’ll be in Petaluma tomorrow by 3p.m. and that’s not in the fog belt at all.

I packed summer clothes in my suitcase.

I get to see some wonderful friends from my cohort and I get to eat really nice food and be outside in the sun.

And.

I packed my yoga mat and my yoga clothes and I’m going to keep practicing.

I’ll be showing up to the mat if not the studio.

I have come to realize that this practice is important for me to cultivate.

Being in my body is important.

I am too much in my head.

It’s a dangerous neighborhood and I go there to frequently.

Ready to head out of that dark alley and into the sunlight of the spirit.

Or.

At least of Petaluma.

Ha.

I’ll be out of town for eight days, but not out of touch.

Call.

Text.

Send me a smoke signal.

I’ll respond in kind.

In between classes.

And reading.

And homework.

Oh.

And yoga.

Because.

Yoga.

 

 

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Rejection Is God’s Protection

March 23, 2016

Maybe it’s the full moon.

Who knows.

But the date I was supposed to go on cancelled very last minute and it put an odd taste in my mouth.

Tinder fail number four.

Le sigh.

Full transparency.

I don’t need to be on Tinder.

I’m doing pretty good on my own.

In fact.

I turned off the app again.

My person was right.

There is nothing wrong with the app, but I also know when something doesn’t work for me and this is not working.  It was fun.  It was titillating.  It was and appears to really just to be about fantasy.

And.

Well.

This lady has had enough of fantasy.

I like the real deal.

The smash me into the man deal, the full on kiss, the I want you, you’re sexy.

I can have that.

I am aware of my needs and the TInder and the OkStupid, again, I come back to this again, haven’t cut the mustard with me.

It’s fun.

To a point.

Then it seems.

I don’t know futile.

I was actually a little relieved when he cancelled.

I have had plenty on my plate this week and I’m finally feeling like my cold is passing.

A little lingering cough in the morning.

I figure one more day of sleeping in and I will have the little fucker kicked to the curb.

I’m planning on hitting the yoga studio on Thursday and get back into the flow of that again.

I have missed it.

The being in my body, the stretching, the achey muscles.

Yeah.

Ha.

I’m ready for sore muscles.

Too funny.

Full moon.

Spotting this morning.

Ovulated yesterday.

But not the full on roaring hormonal monster that had me in its clutches last month.

Just a normal cycle.

The moon though.

Have you seen it?

Magic in the sky.

I imagine it descending over the ocean and how it will paint the sand dunes white and silver with its light.

Splendid and alive in the sky.

Or perhaps just in my imagination.

A luminous pearl in the velvet sky.

Yes.

I can feel that I am doing better.

My head feels clear.

My heart feels clear.

A touch sad now and again.

But I have that love of richness, that emotion, deep and true and yes occasionally indigo blue jean blue, but so sweet and tender and alive, that I don’t mind.

I have had so many feelings, tender and vulnerable, strong and flexible.

I do feel that I’m coming out of something.

A little darkness and mourning.

And by perfecting my heart truly/I got lost in the sounds.

The opening of the crocus pushing it’s way through the soil, dark, and at first impenetrable, then, the flower bud plunges up and out and unfurls and yes.

I am like that flower.

Fresh as a daisy.

Silly and sunny.

Sexy.

Back to myself.

Out of the dark.

Into the blue.

The sky blue.

The light of day.

It don’t hurt that the rain stopped falling.

A break in the rain.

A reprieve from the storm.

The orchid on my night stand table has bloomed again.

Five times now since I have been here, I bought it the first week I moved into the studio.

Not bad.

It always seems to bloom at an opportune time for me to self-reflect, to see the purity that comes from the gnarled and twisted roots and the glory that faces into the sun and blossoms there from the ungainly and the knots of green.

I remember to not force the blooms.

To not rip open the petals because I want the full beauty.

There is beauty in every stage of the development.

Just like there is with me, with dating, with romance, with love and loving myself and learning what works and what doesn’t.

And not judging myself when I don’t bloom out as fully as I expected.

Sometimes the flowers on the orchid are six, seven, eight blooms.

This time around there were only two.

Yet.

The simple divine flowers floating in the air are such tender white magical things that I cannot imagine that there needs to be anything more.

I don’t need anything more.

Look at all I have.

My simple life.

My sweet space down by the sea.

My dear friends.

My good job.

My school.

I get to live this life, I get to revel in it.

I get to roll around in it and not take it so seriously and lighten up and go out and put myself out on a limb and take chances and change.

Open the door and meet the welcome face there.

Be swept up into the moment and taken along for the duration of the song, carried away, caught for a moment in the in between moment.

The twixt and the tween and see that here too, is still another way to go.

A softening and letting go.

A sweetness and surrender.

Everything must come and go.

Yes.

That too.

So seize the moment, let the life in front of you be joyous, full, and alive.

Being awake is sometimes a tender place to be, but I’m no good checked out, and I’m not good when I am in fantasy.

I am good here.

In this reality.

With all my vulnerabilities and mistakes and terrors.

The fear it fades.

The sun it warms me as I walk towards it.

And the flowers bloom on their own with out me forcing them to open before their time.

There is no there there.

I am the party.

I am the girl.

No.

I am the woman.

And this is my life.

I’m going to keep having fun and dancing in the hallways and crying on the yoga mat.

I’m going to keep showing up.

Going where I must.

And letting go of thinking I know where it should go.

It’s all the same road anyhow.

Even if I often choose the one less taken.

I bet they all end in the same place.

I don’t need to know my destination.

I just know that I’m on the right path.

Free.

Silly.

Joyous.

Heart on my sleeve.

Happy.

 

I Need Some Arm Candy

February 23, 2016

I am all yours baby.

That is just the kind of message I need to hear on a Monday afternoon in between cooking three different things for the family, in preparation for the boys coming home from school and the grandparent visit.

Yeah.

I know.

They were just here.

And they are gone, as of probably about a half hour ago.

Only passing through San Francisco on the way to further destinations.

I actually have little gripe with the grandparents, the boys adore them and they keep them busy and it’s nice to see a lot of family interaction.

However.

It is more work for me.

More wrangling, more cooking, more errands, more, well, work.

Fortunately, I was fresh as a daisy this afternoon when I rolled up to work on my scooter.

Yes.

That’s right!

The SFMTA Child Care Permit is in affect.

I am now a scooter girl to work officially.

It was really nice.

And super faster than I thought it would be.

I had almost fifteen minutes to kill before I walked in the door at work today.

I had already had a super full and bright morning.

I wrote.

I read.

I ate a lovely breakfast and had lots of delicious coffee.

And.

Yes.

I did a yoga class.

Like that.

Because, you know, it’s a half block away.

I debated doing one tomorrow morning too, but really, four days in a row is cool, my body probably needs a little rest, though, truth be told, I feel more in my body than I have in quite some time.

And.

That shit is addicting.

“I could get hooked on this,” I thought this morning as my body just collapsed in a puddle.

I had some challenges with my new gear, new mat is slippery, but managed to get it together and do a lot of the poses and really try the ones that I wasn’t even going to attempt even yesterday.

I have had three different teachers at the studio and I have to say they all have great teaching skills and though different, I appreciate the things that each has brought to the classes.

And the floating out the door after an hour and fifteen minutes of studio time is phenomenal.

I mean.

I am feeling alive and energized.

And.

No.

I did not have a late coffee today.

Although I am listening to some Radio Soulwax and that is upbeat–I have gotten up three times now to have a dance party.

I am feeling the need for some dancing, outside of my own studio, soon.

I got happy feet.

I have a happy body.

I also have a happy heart.

It was really sweet to get the message from my new friend that he needed some arm candy this Thursday for an event at the SF Design Center.

I was like.

Um.

Yes.

I have some dresses.

Chuckle.

And some new Fluevogs too.

Heh.

Even though it’s a school night, I’m going.

I haven’t ever been at an event there and I adore my friend.

He’s super handsome, my Puerto Rican fairy god father, and tall, so heels are a must and I am just grateful to get to connect with a good heart and a fun heart and some one who is smart and sassy, just like me.

Ha.

I don’t even care that the mom asked me to come in early on Friday.

The boys don’t have school.

I was like.

Wait?

What?

Didn’t they just have a full week off from school last week?

Oh well.

I can handle it on a Friday and it’s nice to get out early on Fridays and get the weekend started a couple hours earlier than typical.

That’s work.

School’s going well.

I have my reading dialed in for this week and some how, not sure how, even with all the yoga, I’m staying on top of it.

Grateful for that routine that I have got going with it.

And.

I do think there’s less reading, either that or I’m just used to the style of writing now and I’m understanding the material better, I’m definitely kicking through it with less struggle than last semester.

So a little night on the town with Mister Fabulous is just what this lady needs.

I could use a date that’s not late, full of excuses, and desperately sending me text messages to see him again.

Um.

No thank you.

That being said.

I am open.

Available.

And ready for some fun.

Yes.

Yes I am.

Maybe it’s the full moon.

Snow moon.

I had this vision (yesterday’s the daisy sprouting from the crown of my head was pretty awesome, I tried to replicate it, but I wasn’t in the same space at the studio today when asked to set that intention) of a bubble of light.

A crystallized sugar ornament.

Spun like a glass bulb.

Glenda The Good Witch couldn’t have wished for a sweeter bubble of light and candied phosphorescence.

I imagined it full of light and I felt myself ensconced in the midst of it.

Floating.

A bubble.

A small light.

Luminous.

I am a luminary.

I illuminate from within.

Small parts die, burn away, and in the rebirth, the lightness ascends and I am swept up and warmly held, divinely held, swooning with softness and surrender.

Um.

Yeah.

Like that.

It was pretty nice.

And like I said, I could get addicted to that kind of feeling.

That spiritual high.

I accept that like every thing worth having, there is work, great deals of it, involved.

“Just show up to the mat,” I told myself today as I sat and tried to regain my composure after slipping on the mat more than once and feeling wildly out of my comfort zone.

That’s all I have to do.

Simple.

Just show up.

And there it was the light.

I walked out of the studio loose and fluid in my body.

I lifted my head toward the sun and felt it’s warm loving caress on the planes of my face.

I smiled.

“Thank you,” I said out loud.

To the Universe.

To myself.

To the sun in the sky.

To my heart for doing the work to pump the blood through my body, this imperfect, perfect vessel for infinite light.

And.

Love.

Not a bad way to start the week.

Happy Monday!

 

 


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