For as long as I can remember (forever) I’ve been a doer. I became a yoga teacher thirteen years ago, because I saw the gifts yoga freely gave and I wanted to be a conduit for that. More being, less doing. They say “we teach what we most need to learn.” I wholeheartedly believe this statement to be true. So I taught yoga, the best way I knew how, for ten full years. I taught what I needed to learn, and in the process I learned and changed. I still teach now, but in a much different manner. I write about my experiences in the hopes that others see themselves in my stories, feel less alone, less crazy. It’s my way of living my yoga.
The ‘be here now’ message has been primary in my life, and I continue to do my best to embody it … but something’s been off, not quite right (yes, even all these years later in my process). My mind tells me one thing, while my body begs for something else. My mind doesn’t stay long in one place. It’s here, and then gone … occupying the past or the future. (For me, mostly future. Did you know that we each generally tend to one or the other? Something I learned throughout yoga teaching and ongoing study.)
The last few weeks have been hectic; I’ve probably traveled a few thousand miles for work this month, all throughout eastern and southern Ohio. I enjoy the work and am beginning to feel greater ease than I did in my first year; looking back, so much was changing, how could I have felt ease in any situation? Yet I’ve struggled with ‘where I’m supposed to be.’ Having been a full-time yoga teacher, I loved the work – it wasn’t work! I loved influencing students, watching them grow, witnessing their big life a-ha’s. But now that I’m teaching very little in the physical sense, working full-time for an organization (instead of for myself, something I didn’t think I’d ever do again), I’ve felt out-of-sorts, questioned my path and whether I’m on the right track–torturing myself in the process.
When life doesn’t line up, or you’re questioning whether its aligning the way it’s supposed to, its an unpeaceful, erratic, confusing place to be. It’s definitely a DOing, not a being, and its not been serving my soul. I’m happy with where I am today. It’s time to stop questioning and conflicting myself, and in my heart of hearts, I KNOW I’m right where I’m supposed to be.
I realize I’ve been doing the same thing to life that I do to myself and others: creating separation when none actually exists. I separate and compartmentalize all parts of myself and my life, in an effort to make it all make sense in my rational brain. But life is bigger than my rational brain, and nothing is separate. It’s all one like we are all one. Separation is a ‘doing,’ a mind-made ego construct.
My soul’s work is to embody my life, and embodying it means fully living it, stopping the torture and really being here now, no matter the time, place or situation. There is enough time in the day to do it all. What I do through the week and the things I do in my free time don’t have to look so drastically different that there’s a solid line between them. Embodying my life is being fully who I am in all situations. Sure, work life looks a little different than my personal life, but not drastically different, and that’s what’s important to me.
Writing continues to be a priority, and though I don’t have the time to write here as much as I’d like, maybe less is more. Maybe the space between the thoughts is where the answers lie. Maybe I should trust that where I am today is exactly where I’m supposed to be, because I am here, and being here is ALL BEING–no doing whatsoever.
Interested in beginning a journaling journey, or taking your journaling to the next level? I’m writing an email course, Writing HERstory, that combines journaling and embodiment practices with prompts and exercises you can complete in a month. A daily email will arrive in your inbox each morning for 28 days, and a PDF guide of the entire course will be available at the end of the program––yours to keep forever. Sign up here to be notified when the course is available in early 2020.