You just have to show up. That's the hardest thing. Just show up each day for a month. If we wait until we have time or feel like it, we may never do it. It may never become a habit. You just have to show up each day no matter what.
That's what I tell new yoga students. They look at me like I'm crazy. "That's it, really?" That's it. Because if you are anything like me at all then most days you are not going to feel like it. Most days you will want to keep sleeping or feel pulled toward an obligation or this is sore or you feel too sluggish or too many things on the to-do list or it is just too nice doing whatever else you are doing. And that is still me after 20 years of attempting to practice yoga.
I had given up on most things. I am ashamed to admit it. But I think that is the truth. I think those are the words to describe it. I was exhausted. Depleted. Lost faith. Lost hope. I could not find words anymore. Or understand my own thoughts. Or sort through the clutter to find anything that felt worth sharing. I stopped writing. It just happened on its own. A hibernation from the inside out. An avalanche. I was buried under snow. It was so cold and I fell asleep.
Years went by. Here I am. Still so many of those things. Still not on the other side. Not completely. Some things inch by inch. Some the same. Some same same but different. Some gone completely and what a relief. Still - imposter syndrome. Still - fear. So much fear it gets protected by anger. It is so much part of the landscape, so familiar that it feels like it is me. I don't even notice it. Until moments like tic tocs. I'm in the thick of practice and I can feel absolute rage. Red hot anger at anything. But then I notice that there's a feeling inside my ribs and throat. The feeling is crying. And I see that it is not anger but deep rooted fear. The kind where you think you pulled it up and out of the ground. You think the roots are gone. But then a year later you see little sprouts of the same plant in the same place. A sweet little baby weed plant of fear.
And yet something else slowly awakening as well. It started a while ago. A small sound in the distance that became louder and louder and louder until boom here I am only half forcing myself to just write. 30 days. Just write for 30 days. Don't be afraid. No fearing. No fear, no fun.
That's what I tell new yoga students. They look at me like I'm crazy. "That's it, really?" That's it. Because if you are anything like me at all then most days you are not going to feel like it. Most days you will want to keep sleeping or feel pulled toward an obligation or this is sore or you feel too sluggish or too many things on the to-do list or it is just too nice doing whatever else you are doing. And that is still me after 20 years of attempting to practice yoga.
I had given up on most things. I am ashamed to admit it. But I think that is the truth. I think those are the words to describe it. I was exhausted. Depleted. Lost faith. Lost hope. I could not find words anymore. Or understand my own thoughts. Or sort through the clutter to find anything that felt worth sharing. I stopped writing. It just happened on its own. A hibernation from the inside out. An avalanche. I was buried under snow. It was so cold and I fell asleep.
Years went by. Here I am. Still so many of those things. Still not on the other side. Not completely. Some things inch by inch. Some the same. Some same same but different. Some gone completely and what a relief. Still - imposter syndrome. Still - fear. So much fear it gets protected by anger. It is so much part of the landscape, so familiar that it feels like it is me. I don't even notice it. Until moments like tic tocs. I'm in the thick of practice and I can feel absolute rage. Red hot anger at anything. But then I notice that there's a feeling inside my ribs and throat. The feeling is crying. And I see that it is not anger but deep rooted fear. The kind where you think you pulled it up and out of the ground. You think the roots are gone. But then a year later you see little sprouts of the same plant in the same place. A sweet little baby weed plant of fear.
And yet something else slowly awakening as well. It started a while ago. A small sound in the distance that became louder and louder and louder until boom here I am only half forcing myself to just write. 30 days. Just write for 30 days. Don't be afraid. No fearing. No fear, no fun.
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