Category : Swirling
I’ve still got love on the brain. It’s on my lips. In my heart. It’s swirling through the very core of me. I’m channeling absolutely all the love I can muster right now. Embracing love as a practice. I’m sending out all the love I have ever felt, in one singular direction. Daily. Hourly. Actually, breath by breath. It is all I can think to do.
Amidst the recent swirling, I’ve been reflecting on my one word for the year. Secure. Not only is this my word for the year, it is one of my core desired feelings. It is how I want to feel, what I want to manifest, and the place from which I want my life to spring forth. This word has been a guidepost for me this year. When I can’t see the forest for the trees, when I’m in the thick of the swirling, I reach for it time and time again.
I have often looked to others for this feeling. Wanting to be seen, heard, held by another to feel secure. And as much as I need the love and support of others — as much as we all do — I’ve been reminded recently that this feeling, this desire, has to come from within. That at the end of the day, I’m searching for my own internal place to rest in all that secure embodies.
Then, as I was driving home from the grocery yesterday, an old favorite Indigo Girls song “randomly” came on…
“Secure yourself to heaven.
Hold on tight, the night has come.
Fasten up your earthly burdens,
You have just begun.”
That’s right. This journey, in so many ways, is in its tender dawn. I have just begun. And that sense of trust, feeling rooted and secure, will come. It will come.
I’ve been swirling for the past few weeks. Most days have felt like a struggle. Getting out of bed has been difficult. Pushing through the day has required inordinate effort. I’ve been looking forward to the end of the day when I can come home, change into my pajamas, and pour a glass of wine, with far too much gleeful anticipation.
I’m having tumultuous dreams and flashback images of my mother. A dear friend’s wife died, bringing up all of the feelings associated with the knowledge that friends my age shouldn’t be dying and that I, too, will die. My tendencies toward existential crisis lie just below the surface, and needless to say, have been spilling over. My self-efficacy regarding writing a memoir, telling my story and telling it well, has been dangerously circling the drain. Oh, and Mercury was in retrograde. I can’t see the forest for the trees.
I have been stuck. In a fragile, emotional, crying-three-times-a-day funk. For a few weeks. But I’m coming out of it. I’m clawing my way to the surface. I have to. I need to see the big picture. I need to remember that life is short and I will die, and to use that knowledge to embrace the life I have rather than retreat from it. I need to remember that revisiting my past opens old doors, and that dreams and flashbacks are part of the process. I need to remember that I’ve never written a memoir before, that this is all new territory for me, and that my self-efficacy will grow as I keep writing.
Yes, I’m shaking the devil off. Casting off the stuck-ness. Starting to glimpse the forest again.
If I’m honest, I’ve had a tough few weeks. I’ve been feeling a bit down, a bit untethered. A few set-backs have appeared on my path. My groundedness has escaped me of late, and the swirling has taken over. My one word for the year, secure, seems to have left the building. I’ve been trying to dig deep, to press on, to rely on my one word from 2013. But it’s felt difficult. Not good, friends, not good.
So last week, I could no longer ignore that the swirling and the ever-growing to-do list — especially after having been out of town for a full week at training — had left me feeling depleted. My mat was beckoning me (screaming to me!) to get to the studio, to breathe deeply, and to reconnect to my core. After an intensely full day at work, I made the conscious decision to let the rest of the seemingly-urgent responsibilities await another day, and I headed to yoga. As I found a spot in the very crowded class, took a seated position, and closed my eyes, I immediately felt an internal shift. Then, a few deep breaths, some rolls of my beyond-tight neck, and a settling into the present moment. For the next 75 minutes, I would be here, now. Nothing else to do. Just. Be. Here.
At the end of class, right before savasana (total relaxation!), the teacher guided us through bridge pose and invited those who could to go in to full wheel (or upward bow). Wheel is a full on back-bend — lie on your back, place your palms face-down up by your ears, then push up and into your hands and feet, extending your arms and legs. Viola, full on back-bend. Wheel. Upward bow. Uh-huh. Right. I’ve never done wheel. Actually…I’ve never even tried. But in this class, the woman next to me did it. And in witnessing this, her courage and ability to go for it, made me want to try.
As I placed my hands up by my ears, my yoga teacher happened to walk by and notice me. She came over and gently said, “do you want to try it?” Before I had a chance for my brain to even consider it, my mouth said “yes.” She then stood directly behind my head and told me to put my hands around her ankles for support. Once I had a firm hold of her ankles, she then said to push into my hands and feet with all my strength and raise my hips. I took a breath, and I pushed, holding on to her for dear life. I couldn’t quite come all the way up, as I had too much weight in my head and not enough into my hands and feet. So I came back down to my mat and took a breath. She gently asked, “do you want to try again?” A resounding “yes” came out of me. I took another deep breath, held onto my yoga teacher, and I pushed. And then, I was in wheel. Full on back-bend. With support. And it was amazing.
I felt so exhilarated. So strong. So secure. And in those incredible moments on my mat, I realization dawned on me. I don’t have to do it alone. Yes, there are times when my own sense of groundedness is firm all by itself. Times when I feel and know “I’ve got this.” Times when I am deeply connected to my core and am rooted in secure. But other times, MANY times, I’m not there at all. It’s as if I have amnesia and I never knew secure existed within me. I flounder and flap about, grasping for some reminder that I’m okay, searching for something or someone to hold on to. But my yoga teacher, helping me come in to wheel, literally giving herself to me to hold on to, showed me that being secure with support is okay. Even necessary at times. She showed me, “we’ve got this.”
This post is for all of you who support me, who buoy me, who show me time and time again, “we’ve got this.” It doesn’t get more secure than that. xoxo
Some days, it all feels hard. Each and every thing feels hard. You know what I’m talking about? It seems to come out of nowhere, the unease, the discomfort, the restlessness. And all you want to do is crawl back in bed…