You may have noticed that my posts have been all over the emotional map for the past ten weeks. I tried to stay on topic. But I couldn’t. I was too preoccupied by wildly fluctuating hope, joy and despair. Manic would be an appropriate description. And what else other than out-of-control peri-menopausal hormones would bring on such mood swings? Well, you know what? I don’t really want to go into it. Let’s just say it’s time to dust myself off and resume regularly scheduled programming.
As the weeks progressed and it became clear that I was not going to have the happy ending I wanted, I found myself seeking solace in the things I love: teaching yoga and writing.
My mind would not settle long enough to write anything more than a few short essays.
But the yoga? The yoga was a blessing.
I filled classes with gentle heart openers and soothing forward bends. When I needed grounding I took classes through strong Warrior sequences. When the friendship was going well I celebrated with Flying Dragons. And when it wasn’t we did Flying Dragons anyway. In my Yin classes I challenged myself to teach poses that wouldn’t be my favorite.
At home, I began the meditation practice I’ve been talking about since August.
But the last two and half months have left me in this strange place of being grateful for the experience of love and connection – no matter how brief the time was – yet mourning for the tremendous loss. I’ll admit it. I’m sad.
It seems sometimes that because we practice yoga, because we are teachers, we somehow have the means to rise above heartache. It’s not true. I teach yoga. And I’m human.