I was suffocating. I was desperate to do something else, to feel something else. I decided I'd leave my super-social, high-stress, long-hours job. I would take a sabbatical, travel the world, search my soul. It was going to be perfect. So I mustered up my courage, tied up my loose ends, said my tearful goodbyes, and walked away with my head held high. I was on my way to my new life. I was free! It was late February, 2020.
Almost no one made it through those days unscathed. I had it better than many, maybe better than most. I know that now, and I knew it then. But still, I was shattered. The collective losses of nearly everyone around me, combined with the abrupt end to my so-close dreams was too much for my already fragile state during such a big transition.
i wasn't fine
it brought me to my knees
I wish I could say I made the best of a bad situation. That I handled myself with grace. But I didn't. I made emotionally charged choices. I did some things that I regret. I tried to run from the realities, hide from the pains. I didn't take good care of myself. My health suffered, both physically and mentally, with each perpetuating the other. It would be easier to tell you it passed quickly, that I got myself together, pulled myself up by my bootstraps, or whatever. But I didn't. I continued to stumble around and knock myself down at every turn. In the meantime, I did some freelance work, managed a couple of projects. It was fine. Years passed.
it wasn't fine
There is a yoga class, held on a cliff overlooking the ocean in San Diego, led by a boisterous man who goes by Namasteve. He stands tall on a cement bench, with his back to the water, kindly bellowing instructions to his dozens of devotees over the sound of the waves. He'll tell you he lives directly across the street, in the house with the massive palm in front, and to grab a mat from his driveway if you need one. He used to have a pig named Clubber at his side, now, it's two little dogs in sweaters.
I visited there often and had taken this class many times over many years, so when I arrived on a random Tuesday in the spring of 2021, I thought I knew what to expect. But this time, something had changed. (Spoiler alert: it was me, I had changed.) On this day, after savasana, laying in grass still-wet with fog, I had an unfamiliar feeling. I was at ease. And I didn't want to give it up.
It's curious how a fleeting thought, one single moment, can so drastically change a course. When I got home I searched my city for yoga studios still standing after the lockdowns. I found one just beginning to revive their in-person offerings, masks and vaccines required, of course. Perfect. So I mustered up the umph to get myself there on a rainy Sunday morning, I unrolled my mat behind the sticker marking six feet from my neighbor, and I didn't look back. Suddenly, yoga, once just a casual hobby, had become a lifeline for me, a near daily practice. The studios were community centers after an intense period of isolation, and the teachers, new friends, who not only lifted me up, but gently held me there. They allowed me- encouraged me- to come as I was, to be who I was, and to let that definition be fluid. I forced myself to show up, time after time. Months passed.
Slowly I started to feel a little lighter. I began to better care for myself. I nourished my body, and my brain. I asked myself hard questions, and tried to accept the answers. Eventually, I returned to my again-abandoned list of desires. I took the trips, I listened to my heart, I trusted my intuition.
i allowed myself to dream again
.
My Story
Today my time is steeped in beauty. I design beautiful websites for beautiful people in the serenity of my own space. To be fair, most of my dancing is done in the shower these days, or in front of my bathroom mirror, and the notes app on my forever-dying iphone is where the majority of my writing lands. Also, I'm laughably far from perfect. I still stumble around a lot (like a lot!), and knock myself down sometimes. But I've gotten better at breaking the falls, and picking myself back up. And isn't that the beauty of it all. Our dreams evolve. Our stories evolve. We evolve.
I'd love to hear your story. And I'd love to help you tell it.
When I was young, I wanted to be a dancer. Later, a writer. I also wanted to be perfect. Only one of those desires was unattainable, but sadly, it beat out the other two. I spent my energy trying to please the world, stifling my imagination, and my confidence, while I was at it. I was good at other things, more easily measurable, predictable, conventionally celebrated things, so I made a career of them instead. I managed people, projects, operations. It was fine. It was occasionally enjoyable even, and often a thrill. But I longed for more ease, and for solitude. I wanted to quietly create. Maybe someday. I was fine. Decades passed.
let's create together!