Category Archives: about me

January 1, 2013 · 9:12 AM

Day One

New Years: The day that makes me all mushy and sentimental and jazzed about things like fresh starts and blank slates and clean new Day Planners (even though I finally gave those up a couple of years ago in lieu of their digital cousins)

2012 is not a year I’m terribly sorry to see go. I spent a good portion of it in physical pain, from the time I injured my shoulder in early May, through physical therapy, surgery in November, and well… right now, as I type. But there was good too:

I dreaded my hair.
I finished my yoga training.
I wrote for a homeschooling magazine.
There were trips and experiences and growth and challenges… both as an individual, and as a family.

The year ended on a high note too, when we took my visiting inlaws on a whirlwind and somewhat impromptu tour of the northern part of our beautiful state; a state that we’re still very much having a passionate love affair with, seven years after we moved here. (Pics are here) The fact that the trip ended with a wheel flying off Mike’s truck when we were going down the highway at 75 mph? All part of the adventure. And just another reason to be thankful to be here, alive, and able to seize another day.

I stopped doing New Years resolutions some time ago, but specific goals… well those make me just about as excited as those clean new Day Planners I mentioned above. And I’ve got a few, in no particular order:

1) Return to blogging daily. Which isn’t really about blogging at all, but about me. Whatever this year turns out to be, it’ll be a journey. And journeys need to be put into written words. At least mine do.

2) Get physically stronger. I don’t know what that’s going to look like just yet. A few weeks ago I thought Couch to 5K was going to play a role, but after giving it an honest try for two weeks, I realized that it was way too much jarring, way too soon, on my shoulder. But I’m going to do something to meet that goal… and when I figure it out, I’ll share that too.

3) Pay off our debt. This is HUGE. I might even have to dust off my long-neglected Ditching the Debt blog to document it and keep myself accountable. We’re in a better position to make it happen this year, and it feels. so. good.

4) Eucharisto and simplicity. Those are my two words for the year. Eucharisto is a greek word meaning “to give thanks”, and it’s something I’m ashamed to admit I’ve never really thought too deeply about, beyond vague pronouncements and platitudes. Reading the book, “A Thousand Gifts” has changed that. And to tie right in with true thankfulness: Simplicity. Less stuff, less clutter, less baggage. More of the important things like family, relationships, experiences, LIFE. Again inspired by a book, this one called “You Can Buy Happiness (And it’s Cheap): How One Woman Radically Simplified Her Life and How You Can, Too.”
Now, none of this is new information. In fact, a quest to simplify has been a theme of my blog for a long time now. But I don’t know… sometimes you need to hear something at the right time, in the right way, to make it “stick.” And boy howdy, has it stuck. I’ve never been so excited to downsize in all my life. It won’t be an overnight project, or even a few-months-long project, but a baby-stepping, one day at a time, breaking it up into small manageable chunks kind of project. I’m gonna do it, and I’m gonna write about it.

Happy New Year, friends. Blessings and good wishes and a happy and healthy and clutter-free 2013 to all of you.

2 Comments

Filed under about me, learning, life, money, New Years, simplifying, Uncategorized

December 12, 2012 · 9:46 AM

Learning to Relax (Or, Why I Love My Husband)

“Do you think we’ll get everything done in time?”

I was supposed to be relaxing, leaning back on the recliner, wrapped up in my favorite afghan lovingly knit by my late grandma, ice on my shoulder.

“Get what done in time?” He barely looked up as he answered me… partly because he was engrossed in what he was doing, and partly because he knows me…. knows that I was stressing out, and knows that there’s a specific way to handle to it.

“All of it. The rest of the shopping, all of the advent stuff with the kids, getting the house in shape…” Our house, which on the best of days is half a notch above “lived-in”, has been relegated to new levels of disorder over the past month while I’ve been incapacitated. There’s stuff all over all the flat surfaces – including the floor – dishes are piling, laundry is piling, and I can barely get to the 8 year old’s bed to kiss him goodnight. Last week, a friend stopped by and I was actually embarrassed.

I knew this season would be different than last, and I thought I’d made peace with it. We got our tree, we did most of our shopping, we stamped and mailed 50 Christmas cards, and I finally got the advent calendar up for the kids. We made it to a Christmas light parade; they’ve been playing with friends. We’ve been baking, and making paper snowflakes, and watching Christmas movies, and going to the library, and having carpet picnics… and it’s been nice and it’s been busy and it’s been oh.so.tiring. I’ve been caught between that place of relaxing and going with the tide, and getting stuck in those moments of panic: “Christmas is in a matter of weeks! We have company coming! I’m still in pain! I haven’t slept in a month! We have so much to do! Aaaaaaaaaa!!!”

“So do you think we’ll get it all done in time?”

Calmly, matter-of-factly, and so patiently it would have irritated the %&$# out of me had it come from anyone but him: “Yes. Of course we will.”

“And it’ll all work out?”

“It’ll all work out.”

And it will. Of course it will. I know that. Intellectually, I know that. But the moments of freak-outs seem to be every bit as hard wired as my blue eyes and not-quite-blonde hair. I’d like to think that if I were single, that I’d still be able to live in the moment, that I’d still be able to talk myself through the stressful moments, that I’d still be able to keep it together. But what can I say? While I could survive without a husband who’s the calm to my storm and the order to my chaos…..

I thank God I don’t have to.

An Experiment: Day One of Couch 2 5K

Yesterday marked one month since my shoulder surgery. I decided to celebrate by going running. That’s right, I ran. And no one was chasing me.

I’m not 100% sure if I’m technically supposed to be running right now, as it’s pretty jarring on the shoulders (and on just about everything else in the body), but I decided that it was something I needed to do, and there was precious little that was going to stop me. Plus, I knew that I could always stop if it was painful. I was told that more than anything I was to listen to my pain, and I’ve been very diligent about doing so.

I’m not a runner. And when I say, “I’m not a runner,” I really mean, “I’m not a runner.” I pretty much actively hate running. My body’s not built for it, it’s rough on the joints, it makes me nauseous, and I have chronic shin splints. I can think of about 6,371 things I’d rather do than voluntarily run. And don’t get me wrong: I love exercising in general. I love the burning feeling in the pit of my stomach after I’ve worked my abs. I love the way my legs tremble on the top of a mountain after a long, long, hike. I love the all-over deliciousness of a good hot yoga class. I love shooting baskets with my boys, and dancing with my daughter, and laughing my way through Zumba. I love working out with weights, and with good old fashioned squats and pushups and crunches. I love getting my heart pumping, and I love feeling strong.

But even when I’m in the best shape of my life, my workout regime does not include running, ever.

So why then would I suddenly (and willingly) choose to do something ~~akin to torture~~ I don’t like? Because as much as I don’t like running, I like a challenge more. I like a good experiment more.

Could I ever like running? For reasons that are still fairly unclear, it suddenly became really important that I find out. If nothing else, I decided I needed to do what I’d never really done before, and give it a fair shot. I knew that I couldn’t – and shouldn’t – just start out by opening up my front door and taking off in a run (the last time I tried that, when my sister-in-law who is a runner was visiting, I all but collapsed in a humiliated heap in the street), so I sucked it up and finally checked out Couch 2 5K. I’d of course seen people raving about it, but the more I see something the more it makes me want to roll my eyes, and the less it makes me want to do it. But I had to start somewhere, and I was sold on their claim of getting “just about anyone from the couch to running 5 kilometers or 30 minutes in just 9 weeks.” Now, I have zero desire to ever run a 5K, but, well…. like I said, the idea of challenging myself to get to a point where I could if I so chose was a strong one.

And you know what’s an even better experiment than one non-runner embarking on a 9 week running plan? TWO non-runners embarking on a 9-week running plan. So I ~~coerced~~ invited Mike to commit to do it with me. We like to do that sort of stuff together, and he’s the only one I know who hates running more than I do.

Yesterday was day one.

We took Tegan and Everett – who, being normal active healthy kids, had no trouble keeping up – and went to the desert park down the street. The five minute walk there served as the warm-up, and as soon as we hit the dirt trails, our 20 minutes of cycling through jogging and walking promptly began.

My first concern as we officially started our first circuit of running (have I mentioned how much I hate running?) was keeping my shoulder safe. As it turns out though, it was barely an issue… in part because I was super conscious of keeping my elbow tucked to keep it stable; in part because a little shoulder discomfort didn’t register over the roar of my burning shins and my sure-to-explode-at-a-moments-notice-lungs; but mostly because any thoughts of my shoulder were drowned out by the tiny but rather insistent voice of my rebelling body screaming,

“Good God woman! What are you doing?? You don’t run! Danger! Danger! Abort!!!”

But before I could turn to my husband and no doubt relieve the both of us by saying, “Ha, ha. Just kidding. Let’s go home and have a rum and Coke,” our first 60 seconds were up, and it was time to walk again. In the next 90 seconds, we proved ourselves to be old people, rather than the (relatively) healthy 30-somethings that we are, by complaining about our many and varied ailments incurred in our minute of running.

“My shins hurt already.”

“My knee hurts too.”

“The one you hurt doing P90X?”

“No, the other one.”

“My lungs are burning.”

“My back is – ” And the app on my phone buzzed again, and once again we were plod, plod, plodding along, while the kids laughed and sprinted and enjoyed the dessert. And then we walked. I was mad at myself and my brilliant ideas. My shins hurt, I was sweating, and I was out of breath. After TWO MINUTES of running. And then it was time to run again.

And again.

And by the 5 or 6th time, 60 seconds didn’t seem quite so long. My legs moved a little more easily, and the number of protesting body parts diminished. Before we knew it, we were done, the lady on my phone was congratulating us on being such unbelievable athletes and otherwise awesome human beings, and it was time to head home. So we did.

I can’t say it was entirely the best experience of my whole life, but it certainly wasn’t the worst one either. In any case, we – the two non-runners that we are – completed it: Day one at three workouts a week for nine weeks = 3.7% there already.

And only 96.3% to go.

5 Comments

Filed under about me, life, projects, random

November 29, 2012 · 1:39 PM

Expectations

For the past three years, the end of November has meant two things: I’d 1) be furiously and joyously and manically finishing up my 50,000 word novel for NaNoWriMo, and 2) be going all gangbusters on the house, setting up the tree, getting out the decorations, hanging the stockings, and stringing up the advent calendar, painstakingly filled with 25 carefully planned out activities to do with the kids.

This year, I decided against Nano about 5 days in, just a couple of days before my surgery. In hindsight, I’m very glad I made the decision when I did, because I would have been forced to make it anyway. Even now, three weeks later, typing for any great length of time is still painful and exhausting.

And as for Christmas preparations? We have no tree. Our decorations are still safely abiding in their boxes in the garage. We haven’t bought one present for the kids. I haven’t planned a single advent activity. And if I can be totally honest, just the thought of doing any of the above is, well…. painful and exhausting.

I don’t know what I was expecting when I signed on the dotted line for this surgery, I really don’t. I just so very badly wanted to be better, wanted this 7 month ordeal to be over. But it’s so much easier to tell you what I did NOT expect:

I didn’t expect the pain to be this bad, and this persistent. As it turns out, knowing intellectually that I was facing a 3+ month total recovery time is a very, very different thing than to feel the stark reality of the pain and frustration of week three, knowing that I still have several more weeks (and possibly months) to go.

I didn’t expect to need powerful narcotics, beyond a day or two. Again, I’m at three weeks. The one night I tried to sleep without Percoset, I woke up in tears.

I didn’t expect to be so incapacitated. I don’t know why I didn’t, because the past several months have shown me very clearly how instrumental our shoulders are in our day-to-day tasks. But I didn’t. I can dress myself (with some pain), shower (with some pain), brush my teeth (with some pain), and as of a few days ago, drive (with some pain). But five minutes ago I had to call in the 12 year old to open a can for me, because the can opener was just too much. There are multiple can opener-esque scenarios throughout the day, and it frustrates me. Which brings me to:

I didn’t expect to be so frustrated. With the pain, with the situation, with myself, with the need to just HURRY UP AND BE PATIENT ALREADY.

I didn’t expect the big black dog of depression, who’s once again been flirting with me for months now, to not just embrace me but engulf me… to suffocate me… to consume me… like an unwelcome old friend who won’t take “no” for answer. A friend whose presence is so familiar and so easy that I’ve let myself fall deep, deep into its depths before I even realized it’s happened. Because there’s a sick kind of safety in the darkness, and because it’s just too damn much work to take that first step to start climbing my way out.

But. (And may I just say, thank God for buts?)

I expect that the pain will lessen, and God-willing, eventually go away completely. I’ve learned that healing is very much a one step forward, two steps back process. I can’t compare to yesterday, but I can compare to two and a half weeks ago. Just because today is a bad day, doesn’t mean tomorrow will be a bad day too.

I expect that I’ll eventually be able to rest without the aid of any prescriptions.

I expect that with time I’ll be able to open cans again. And do a downward dog. And pick up my daughter. And be even stronger than before.

I expect that my current frustration will teach me great lessons, and that if I allow myself to feel it, that it too will go away.

I expect that I will take that step, and the one after that, and the one after that, until there’s not so much darkness. And I expect that if I rest in the presence of where I am – fully rest, and lean, and breathe – instead of fighting, that it won’t seem so hard. I expect that if I allow myself to feel how I feel – without letting it define me – that the promise of something better will find me, and meet me halfway.

Finally, I expect that this coming month, and the Christmas holiday in general, will be different than years past…. but that different is okay, even good. This is a season of great growth and learning to be sure. If the past three weeks are any indication, the lesson is HUGE. And that’s better than a perfectly executed advent calendar any day.

4 Comments

Filed under about me, being happy with what is, Christmas, learning, life, update

October 29, 2012 · 8:02 AM

Insomnia

It’s 2:30 in the morning.

I’m watching my third episode of Dawson’s Creek. Not because I particularly want to be watching Dawson’s Creek, but because watching the tortured exploits of pretty fictional people is preferable to wrestling with the real-life mental gymnastics going on in my own head.

My little toe hurts, blistered from the long walk I’d taken with a friend earlier in the evening. I take my foot out of the covers. I put it back under. I take it out again. This goes on for a very long time.

My shoulder hurts too. I carefully re-stack my pillows, and position myself more comfortably.

I listen to the fan, wishing that the rythmic tick tick tick of its blades would lull me to sleep.

I sneeze two times, then three. When I cough five minutes later, I’m convinced I’m getting a cold, and almost get up to get myself a cup of Vitamin C drink. I decide I’m too tired to move at the moment.

I have a headache. I could get ibuprofen when I get up to get the Vitamin C.

I replay the conversation I had with my friend, every word – both hers and mine – on a long continuous loop in my head.

I replay other conversations, other days, other experiences…. some of them a decade old.

I think of the upcoming week, my mind’s eye visualizing each day on the calendar and mentally counting down the days until my next yoga class, the doctor’s appointment, the concert, the weekend.

I think of each of my kids for a painstakingly long time, believing the twisted nighttime fallacy that if I just think long enough and hard enough and deep enough that I can not only solve all their problems, but also solve all the problems in the world.

I realize at some point that my cheek is wet, and I wonder if I’d started crying without my realizing it, or if my fatigued eyes have simply started leaking.

I briefly doze just as Michelle Williams is about to kiss Chad Michael Murray, and I sleep long enough to be jolted away by a nightmare, this time taking place in a hospital. My heart is racing, my head is pounding, and my blister is rubbing against the sheets. I repeat the in-and-out of the covers process a half dozen more times.

I wait for the sweet release of sleep.

I turn on a fourth Dawson’s Creek, and focus once again on the pretty fictional people.

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Filed under about me, life, random

October 1, 2012 · 6:23 AM

Five Things You Didn’t Know About Me

When Jessica posted this link-up, my first thought was what a fun little project it’d be. Five things you didn’t know about me; cool! My second thought was, “Crap. Is there anything they don’t know about me?”

I mean, you all know I’m a chronic insomniac. You know that nothing bothers me more than misplaced apostrophe’s (see what I did there?). You know that I’m addicted to caffeine, have an incorrigible sweet tooth, and make one heck of a cupcake. You know that I’m hopelessly clumsy. You know that I hate talking on the phone, that I’m uncomfortable in social situations, and that Friends re-runs and new office supplies make me sublimely happy.

But surely I’m not a completely open book yet. Here are five things you may not know. You’re welcome.

1. I once fell off a ski lift when I was on a school ski trip in Jr High. It wasn’t right as I was getting on or off, which I would imagine is more common. It was after I’d already gotten on, and was going up, up, up. I’d never gotten settled correctly, my skis were all off-balanced, and the more I tried to scoot myself back in the seat the worse it got. I yelled in a panic at my friend next to me, “I’m gonna fall off!”, and she laughed at me. About 30 seconds later, I was nothing but two legs with skis attached, sticking helplessly up out of a snow bank. They had to shut down the whole lift and come rescue me. I was mortified… both at the time, and again on the way home when the rest of my classmates realized that I was the “idiot who’d fallen off the ski lift” and shut it down for at least a half an hour.

2. I had a tumor removed from below my clavicle as a young kid. I’m told that I wouldn’t even have had a scar, except that they didn’t get it all the first time, so they had to do the surgery again. I don’t mind the scar though – or really, any of my scars – because it tells a survival story.

3. The texture of shrimp grosses. me. out. I have no other way to describe it than this: It makes me think of biting into someone’s ear. That cartilage-like firm and crunchy texture gives me the heebie-jeebies just thinking about it. As fate would have it, it turns out I’m allergic. Which is actually a good development. Saying “I’m allergic,” is much easier than saying, “You know, I would…. but they make me feel like I’m a cannibal.”

4. The first live concert I ever went to was Meatloaf. It was at a small little venue, and we were right by the stage… close enough to see the rivers of sweat flying off his hair as he flung it around. It was a fun concert (flying sweat notwithstanding), and I will forever have a soft spot in my heart for “Paradise by the Dashboard Light”, and “Two out of Three Ain’t Bad.”

5. I have a heart murmur. It wasn’t found until I was in my 20’s. It took lots of appointments and tests for them to determine that yep, it was there, and that nope, it shouldn’t cause any problems or concerns, at least not until I’m much older. I never think about it these days, unless a new doctor brings it up when he or she is examining me. And apparently sometimes doctors get excited when they hear anything out of the ordinary in someone’s heart. I’m always happy to amuse. Especially when I’m writhing in pain from a gall bladder attack, or 8 centimeters dilated with my third child.

Edited to add a bonus #6. I’m really, really, really bad at chess.

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Now you go. What are five things I don’t know about you?

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Filed under about me, random

September 25, 2012 · 8:05 AM

8 Month Dreadiversary

My crazy dreads are 8 months old! Here’s what they’re doing… And I apologize for all the “ums”. There’s a reason I typically write instead of, well, speak. 🙂

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Filed under about me, dreadlocks, update

September 17, 2012 · 4:41 PM

breathing.

Sometimes I forget to breathe.

Not the kind of breathing you need to, well, stay alive (thankfully your body tends to safeguard against that)… but the kind of breathing you need to really LIVE. And dude: breathing correctly is important! Dr Andrew Weil, author of Eight Weeks to Optimum Health – as well as a million other natural health books – says that changing the way you breathe is the single most important change that most adults can make for better health; even before diet and exercise. When I started physical therapy for my shoulder recently, the entire first 90 minute session centered on breathing. And whenever the kids are hurt, or scared, or flipping out in one way or another, it’s the first thing I’ll tell them. Breathe.

Any time I’ve ever had a remotely positive reaction during a stressful situation as a parent, a spouse, or a friend… it’s been born of taking a moment to just breathe. I know this. I know this. And yet sometimes, I still forget. Yoga has been extremely helpful in that regard (as soon as you stop intentionally breathing, you stop doing yoga), as has 38 years of practice. Still, reminders are always a good thing.

Which is why, when I was in San Diego for the Wide Sky Days conference and my dear friend asked, “Want to come get a tattoo with me?” I was elated to finally get this:

So, why was this word so important that I chose to get it permanently etched on my body?

Because breathing is the first answer to all of life’s problems, both large and small. I’m not kidding. All of them. And the older I get, the more true it is.

Your 3 year old just destroyed your $600 camera? Breathe.

Your fridge breaks, you lose a transmission, and your roof leaks all in the same week? Breathe.

You’re stuck in traffic and you’re already 15 minutes late? Breathe.

There’s too much month left at the end of the paycheck? Breathe.

You’ve just read your 87th mean-spirited political diatribe on your Facebook feed? Breathe.

You’re faced with scary news, a bad diagnosis, a new situation, or an uncomfortable moment? Breathe.

It’s 3 in the morning and you’re up with insomnia for the 63rd night in a row? Breathe.

It’s two weeks before Halloween and all the good costumes are taken? Breathe.

I can’t think of a situation that wasn’t immediately and immensely helped by my telling myself, “Self, this is one of those times when you’re supposed to breathe.” I think I must have learned to project an aura of calm pretty well, because people usually think I’m laid back. But my brain is always going a mile a minute, certain things tend to make me freak out easily, and while I’m outwardly saying, “It’s all good,” inside I’m all “Aaaaaaaaaahhhhh!”, complete with the full-on Muppet flail.

Unless I remember to breathe.

Breathing brings me back. Back to the person I want to be, and back to the mom I want to be. And while I’m reasonably sure that with time and with practice I would remember that, tattoo or no tattoo, I am so infinitely glad it’s there to remind me.

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Filed under about me, breathing, life, mental health

August 6, 2012 · 1:32 PM

I’m a Hypocrite (and sometimes I don’t recycle)

A truth about blogging: Sometimes no matter how carefully you choose your words, no matter how diplomatic and respectful you feel you’re being, no matter how clearly you think you’ve shared your viewpoint…. you still get called judgmental. Short-sighted. Preachy. Hypocritical.

Hypocritical. Hypocritical. Hypocritical.

The odd thing is the perverse pleasure people seem to take in pointing out this perceived hypocrisy. “Admit it! You’re a hypocrite!!”

Okay, I’m a hypocrite. So what? I don’t mean to be flip, and of course I strive not to be a hypocrite. It’s just that everyone (at least if s/he’s being honest) is a hypocrite sometimes. We all mess up. We vow to do better. We change our minds. We learn. We grow. We mess up again. We’re human.

I’ve kept this blog for over 6 years now. I GUARANTEE you that I’ve contradicted myself. I guarantee you that I’ve written posts I’m no longer proud of. I guarantee you that I haven’t always been as nice as I could have been.

The only difference between me and anyone else is that my missteps are out there on the internet for all to see and critique.

And if I don’t happen to be writing about it, you can rest assured that I’m living it.

Yes, sometimes I’m a hypocrite.

Sometimes I don’t get enough sleep and I snap at my husband.

Sometimes I don’t get enough sleep and I snap at my kids.

Sometimes I gossip.

Sometimes I judge people too quickly.

Sometimes I’m impatient.

Sometimes I’m just too damn tired to rinse out the peanut butter jar, and I throw it in the trash instead of the recycling bin which is right. next. to. it.

And you know what? I refuse to beat myself up about any of the above. If you’d like to beat me up for it, that’s certainly your prerogative. Indeed, it’s easy and convenient to make a snap judgment about someone based on one real moment (I know… I’ve done that too…) rather than recognizing each other for what we really are: fellow travelers at various ports in this journey of life. Growing through our trials, learning from our mistakes, and waking up each day with a new resolve to do better. At the end of the day, we’re not much different, you and I.

I’m not yet the person I want to be, but that’s okay…. because He’s not done working on me yet.

And thank God for that.

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Filed under about me, acceptance, growing up, hypocrisy, judgement, learning, life

August 1, 2012 · 2:24 PM

When an Android Goes to Yoga School

I was crying.

Not the dainty, sweet kind of crying people do in movies, with one perfect and lovely little tear rolling down my cheek… but ugly, chin quivering, nose snotting all over the place with no where to wipe it crying. It was the last day of my 15-day, 12-hour-a-day yoga retreat that wrapped up my RYT training. I was mentally, physically, and spiritually exhausted; my injured shoulder – which had hung in there quite admirably for two weeks – had just given out again; and I was sitting in a ball, wrapped up in my vinyasa scarf, missing my last two classmates’ final teaches (one of which included an all-out dance party). They were tears of fatigue and pain to be sure, but tears of relief and emotion and overwhelm as well.

But I guess I should go back to the beginning.

Two weeks earlier, I was sitting in that same studio for the first time … nervous, excited, and not knowing what to expect. I mean, I knew I would learn a lot about yoga (although, how much I learned still caught me by surprise. A few highlights that still stand out: 1) The day we learned how to properly set our feet down “with intention” 2) The several hours we spent breaking down each posture … Mountain Pose, a pose that looks like a simple standing pose? So. Much. More. than simply standing when done correctly. 3) A five-hour hands-on anatomy workshop with a yoga therapist that absolutely blew my mind. BLEW MY MIND.)

But we weren’t really talking about the physical practice of yoga that first morning. We were talking about a spiritual journey, specifically the journey that we were about to embark on, together.

“If you don’t cry at least once in this room, you must be an Android.” My teacher’s words were bold, but as it turns out, true. Starting from that very first day, there were tears everywhere, from everyone. Everyone except me. I was the Android. While it’s a small feat for me to have tears spring forth over something silly like a commercial, or a song, or a Disney movie… tears that are born from growing and sharing and honest-to-God emotions make me seven kinds of uneasy. I never know how to handle a crying peer, I’m not the first one to offer a hug (hugs tend to make me uneasy too), and even attempts to speak are awkward, at best.

An Android.

But then – whether I’d actually intended to or not – I did take that journey. I did grow. I did open up. I did learn. And so help me, when I was getting prayed over before my final teach (and touched by 12 people I might add) and one of my teachers was rubbing my back, it was actually kind of nice. That was day 14, and while I’d still yet to shed a tear on my mat, my cold, dead robot heart had surely softened a little bit around the edges.

And Day 15…. what can I say? It had all caught up with me. I was blubbering with the best of them. It had been 15 days of learning, of growth, and of self-discovery. 15 days of trying not to stuff pain and emotion and utter exhaustion. 15 days of new friendships, raucous laughter, and real discussion. 15 days of connection with God, connection with peace, and connection with stillness. It had all culminated right there in that moment on my mat, with an intensity that quite literally took my breath away. Life-changing. There’s no other way to describe it.

As for what I took away from those two weeks? I have books and binders and notebooks filled with yoga information, so much so that I decided mid-way through that I needed to stop trying to digest all at once but instead take it piece by piece, giving myself permission to take time to absorb and practice and study at my own pace once I got back to the “real world.” One of my very favorite things about yoga is that it is a lifelong practice… you’re never done improving, and you’re never done learning. There’s no rush either. I can rest, right here and right now, and just be, exactly where I am in my journey, both in yoga and in life.

What I’ll most remember though is not the physical aspect of yoga, but the spiritual, and the fact that that two weeks helped me “get it” for the first time in my life.

I might always be uncomfortable with crying. I might never be the most “huggy” person in the room. But maybe, just maybe, I’m not an Android after all.

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