Yoga

learning all the way

I need to write, I need to do yoga, I need to meditate. Each day, I make choices about what will get my time. So writing, here’s your 15 minutes. I decided I needed to write something vulnerable to explain where I’m at in space—my soul temperature. Then I thought don’tyoudaredothatJen because your weakness will be used against you. Sure. If I invite that crap into my life. So there’s a temperature check. I’m growing.

I’m so tired but so on top of my game that I suppose I can do this another year. I made a decision to stay in a ski town when I’m an awful skier. But then, everyday at lunch, when I’m running around the uptown neighborhood I get to look up and see what I’m doing. Mountain living. I’ve already done so much I wouldn’t have. This year, I’ve summited peaks that scared me, floated rivers that humbled me, watched vegetables grow that defy me.

I’m 8 days into some real nice changes. I worry about my weight at 6’2” and 170 but I will let that fall into place after I take care of business. This is a deep worry that I might not ever rectify but I invite healing. I’ve been doing yoga and running every day. Eating mountain spinach green smoothies for breakfast and salads with all local ingredients for lunch. Dinner is in process but maybe I’m proving that I can lived off cured meats and cheeses. It will work out.

I’ve started thinking about the RV life for no other reason than to not have to work so much. I’m at about 55-60 hours each week but have finagled myself a lunch again. I run as a reset and think about how to help myself, how to help others. The best part of my day is spent trying to chase down my fast running times of last summer feeling my muscles and bones groan with each crouch to the ground. I feel useful, worthwhile.

I don’t know if I’ve made a huge mistake staying in a town where I fear I may not have a place. Risking getting back with a person who I let rob me of my center. But, there are some thoughts that arise. I’m best with a schedule. I’m best like nature, rising, unfolding my petals, shaking off my leaves, always changing but to a pattern. I like to write in the morning. I like to do chores on Sunday. I like to unpack my bags first thing upon a return from a trip.

So here I am. I am, I am, I am. I am scared. I’m not sure what I’m doing. I’m good with kids, I know my field. I’ve learned not to care what folks think or if they don’t see my value. I was listening to a radio story about Burt Reynolds being an abusive dude. I wonder if his partner got her power back as well. To be compelled to hurt when hurt is a pretty normal pathology. Just gotta find different ways to handle the rage or to dry it off like this crispy summer.

I handle the rage with yoga. With running. With working too much. Meditating. Thinking about who I really am. And when I’m at my jobs with kids—I’m truly in my dharma. When I’m at my other job, I do my best to cultivate mindful intentions. Make food with love. Sweep floors with joy. All the while smiling thinking about a comment yesterday. I left the kids unattended with a hose for a moment and I get back and talk to a little girl. She says “Well, Miss Jen, we probably learned a halfway lesson but you learned all the way!” Learning all the way, what might be the way.

“There is a certain animal vitality in most of us which carries us through any trouble but the absolutely overwhelming. Only a fool has no sorrow, only an idiot has no grief – but then only a fool and an idiot will let grief and sorrow ride him down into the grave.”

― Edward Abbey, Postcards from Ed: Dispatches and Salvos from an American Iconoclast