Carving Away Everything Else

I watched this documentary the other night called 'Enlighten Up' about one documnetary gal's (and one unsuspecting test subject's) search for the "true" meaning of yoga.

"YO-GA! YOOO-GAAAA!"

I thought the show was only okay, but one little section stuck with me. Nick, the guy who's supposed to be changing his life through yoga, is chatting with an Indian guru. The guru tells him that the most important thing Nick needs to learn is how to find his true self. 

"Great, so how do I do that?" says Nick. 

"Get rid of everything that's not your true self," says the guru. 

They say that, when asked how he created David, Michelangelo answered: "I carved away everything that didn't look like David." 

"That's not really how I remember it." 

My biggest challenge has always been figuring out what I want. Once I have a clear goal, I have no problems getting there. 

Actually I get pretty Ahab about getting there. 

Life these days is pretty damned close to perfect, but I had to carve a lot of crap out of my way en route. Hack off huge swaths of everything that didn't resemble the life I wanted, eliminate everything except the me I wanted to be.

When Miss G's dad moved out over a decade ago, it was right around this time of year. Spring in northern Minnesota isn't much to speak of; the calendar 'first day of spring' seems like a cruel joke. That year, though, it was unseasonably warm. Warm enough for thoughts to turn toward summer, toward sitting outside, smoking cigarettes under the stars.

My grandfather's pet project grapevines had taken over the little patio out back. And for nothing; they only put out one or two teensy bunches every year. In a (not unusual) resolution of sudden jaw set, I decided those vines were going. Right then and there. 

I couldn't give my kid her dad back, I couldn't make sense of my life at that moment, but by god I could hack those damned dead twiggy irritations out of the way and set up a stupid table and chairs. And an ashtray. 

Hours later, covered in bracken, I wondered why I bothered. The weeks that had passed between his departure and my brutal murder of defenseless grapevines had taught me nothing. Also, I was pretty sure I'd killed the grapes off entirely, and felt terrible about that too. I wrestled the decrepit patio set under the trellis and crumpled, exhausted. Spring should be hopeful; I felt more lost than ever. 

Miss G thrived, though. I thrived. And a bumper crop of grapes exploded off the vines that summer. Turns out they just needed a good pruning.

Sometimes ruthlessness brings the best rewards.

Finding Your Balance

Normally I'd start with an apology to my half-dozen or so loyal readers for neglecting my blog.

Instead, I'll explain that I've been distracted by finding my balance.

You may remember a while back I took this writing job on a whim. What started out as an independent contractor gig that paid a penny per word became, as of February 1, a real-life grown-up job with paid vacation time and sick days and everything. Part-time, but still. Exciting!

Adjusting to this job-- which is pretty much the same thing I was doing before but just different enough to take 3x as long as it used to and also positions me uniquely to literally destroy the company if I screw up-- has me wavering.

Finding my balance.

My whole life has become tree pose.

Oh sure, you make it look sooo easy with your
directional arrows & your giant underwear...

In tree pose, my instructor says, you will waver. But this is not a sign of imbalance; it's a sign of finding your balance. You can't hold yourself so rigid that a little wavering knocks you off your groove.

I swear, part of the yoga teacher training must be a Life Metaphor section or something.

I remember my counselor telling me a story about something her yoga instructor said during class once and I said, "Wow, aren't yoga teachers so profound?" and she said "Seriously. Sometimes I think about just referring all my clients down to the yoga studio and closing up shop."

Now that my trial-by-fire month is over, my second month in feels easier. Steadier. Still nerve-wracking, but in an energizing way, not a terrifying way. And fun-hectic, new-adventure hectic.

Wavering, but in the sense of finding my balance.

Like a tree.

After the Stretch

While contorting my body into a weird pose during a so-called "stress-relieving" yoga routine, I thought this is really the opposite of stress relief.

As if the teacher read my mind, she said: "Just to be clear, the release comes after the stretch, not during."

I am reminded of release this December, following an absolutely nuts November.

I won NaNo, something I really thought I couldn't manage this year.

I made it to 50,300 words a whopping 46 minutes before midnight on November 30. I typed so much that my finger joints actually hurt. Not just because of NaNo, but because of the other 70,547 words I wrote for Edited by a Pro in November. And this on top of the other full-time job I have. And also on top of parenting and, you know, laundry and stuff.

Yet, despite my jacked-up fingers and completely fried imagination, I came out the other end feeling-- amazing.

Released.

Getting to indulge my imagination for 50,300 words opened something up that spread into other limbs of my life. My boring articles became more creative; my days felt more fulfilled.

Sure, I was exhausted. Beyond that, though, I felt whole.

The word 'yoga' means 'yoke' in Sanskrit -- yoke as in union: the union of body and mind, or your union with a higher power.

Yoke also means burden, a thing keeping us bound, willing or no.

"We are soooo enlightened right now."

Dan is struggling right now, stuck down in Vegas while his daughter is in Reno and Miss G and I are up here. He's stressed and unhappy without his family and says this is one of his lowest points.

"No more character-building, Honey," he says to me over the phone, sounding defeated.

And I tell him, Hang in there. Just a little longer. Release comes after the stretch.

When I'm uncomfortable in a yoga pose, I remind myself to relax. When I stop resisting and remember to breathe, that's when I realize-- yeah, my body can actually do this. And when I disentangle my limbs, I feel amazing.

Released.

When life is uncomfortable, every instinct tells me to fight it tooth and nail. Untwist, realign, or flee the scene. Quit NaNo. Cut down to one job. Yet without breathing into the discomfort, without allowing yourself to learn from it, you never get to the next stage in your personal evolution.

Breathe deeply, and let it pass. Stretch deep, and wait for the release.

Source: http://kubuzetto.deviantart.com