It’s a bit hard to even know where to start on this blog. One weekend in, three days, nineteen hours, I write from a humbled and grateful perspective. I marveled all weekend at how intuitive our inner voice can be, and thankful that the universe is always, even though we might not recognize it, offering up what we need. Sometimes I think we just need to slow a bit to receive the message, as even if the sign is huge with red arrows and large letters saying “SUE TURN HERE,” traveling at a hundred miles an hour, I have been known to miss it.
I can only thank a higher power that when I found myself drawn to the little old-fashioned store front window of Eastwind Yoga in Auburn, that I paid attention to that small flash of recognition that some might call coincidence, but I call a knowing. At this point in my life, I no longer need an earthly explanation for some things, as there have been far too many coincidences to write off. I simply don’t believe any longer in random coincidence.
The beginning of this training definitely lived up to its hype. Amazing weekend … transforming already in three days … what will six weeks bring? So many self-realizations in such a short time. I think the best way to describe the class is that it was like having a huge mirror placed in front of you, a mirror not so much of your outward physical appearance (although that too) but one showing your soft sweet underbelly. And my phrasing might sound pleasant here, today, Monday (as I write this), but that warm feeling came after two days of enormous upheaval in my soul. And I think I can speak for the group when I say, I don’t think anyone was exempt from giving themselves a hard time this weekend.
Friday was surprising for me, as I had been anticipating this class for months, and the day had finally come. But instead of being excited, I found such resistance in my heart while I gathered my belongings for class. As I drove from home, I actually felt like crying. I thought to myself, “I don’t want to go to this class. I want to be home with Rick this weekend working in our yard. What did I get myself into?” I thought the feeling would pass as I drove through our beautiful canyon, but it did not pass. As a matter of fact, it just kept building. I fought back tears the whole way to Roseville.
It was my first time visiting the Eastwind Roseville location, so I found my way, and also found that there’s a really popular little Mexican restaurant right next door. As I walked past seeing all the jovial-appearing people inside with their delicious looking meals and sparkling margaritas, I again thought, man, let’s scrap these plans and have Rick meet me here for dinner. I did not enter my class with an open heart. I arrived blocked and scared and very resistant.
As I walked through the doors, I realized perhaps my biggest resistance was that it’s been a long time since I’ve truly been vulnerable. And the teachers made it clear in no time that this class would be nothing but being open and raw and vulnerable. I’m quite sure I wasn’t the only one who left a bit shook up.
On my way out, I passed by the same quaint little Mexican restaurant as the crowd was thinning, still wishing to call Rick and have him meet me here and take me out of this fine mess I’d gotten myself into.
The drive home was filled with thoughts like, “how will I tell my bloggers that I quit one day in?” (Holy cow … no, holy shit, not good. Check out my p.s. for a cute story about my mom and shit. I think of my mom now whenever I say that word.”
Saturday began much the same, up at 4:30 to arrive by 6:00 to begin another day, a drive through the canyon seriously out of sorts, which is so not like me. I usually love my drive through God’s country, how can you feel badly? (Oh, but I did.)
But when I arrived, I felt my kindred spirits around me all suffering from the same affliction of a serious case of self-doubt. And within an hour, we were all sharing our feelings (sitting in our circle, all eyes on you, just sayin’). It was in that moment that I let down my walls and explained truthfully how I was feeling (not the rosy picture I so like to share) and found I had plenty of expressive understanding eyes staring back at me (we speak so much more honestly with our eyes than we ever will with our mouths).
The weekend unfolded from there and by Sunday, as I left, I drove through the canyon with gratitude in my heart, an excitement for the next five weeks, and an understanding that I’ve entered a chapter in my life that will stand out from the rest. I believe in anyone’s Book of Life, there will be probably three to five chapters that will be pivotal in the story. They will be filled with the moments that change your life, that point you in a new direction … and fill your gas tank for the journey. My guess is I’ve just started one of those chapters.
I will digress just to say, on Friday, what I felt I was crying about as I drove to Roseville (which I think was only a small part of it) was my mom. I just felt so sad thinking of her, and the realization that I would not be in this class had my mom not passed. It all felt so connected and I felt so melancholy.
When I drove through the canyon just two days later, Sunday morning, on my way to the last class for the weekend, I passed through a thin wisp of fog before I began the descent into the canyon. I love the pockets of fog on the road down to the river and all along the riverbank … they always transport me to such a peaceful place. My thought as I drove through this mist was, wow, such a beautifully sheer fog pocket.
As the fog cleared, I felt that same flutter in my soul that I spoke about in the beginning of this post; it can only be described as recognition … a memory, past, present or future … a knowing. And I could swear I heard my mother’s voice … “Good luck, honey. It’s your time.” I actually found myself looking in my rear-view mirror, not really realizing what I was looking for until I got a mile or so down the road, and then understanding that my mom felt so close that I expected to see her with a smile on her face waving goodbye.
I entered class Sunday morning emotional, but a good emotional. Happy to be there, and knowing I was right where I was supposed to be.
More to say next post about the class … so friggin’ amazing. I just couldn’t bear to skip ahead, as the story is all in the moments, always.
As I close this post, I thank God that many months ago I was moving slow enough on my way down the little main street in our small town in the foothills to hear that tiny voice telling me … look at that storefront, 922 Lincoln Street, Suite 100, Auburn, California … it’s a place you will need to remember some time soon.
P.s. My mom was certainly a character, probably always, but I understood that more in her last years. She had an amazing group of caretakers … you all know who you are if you are reading this blog … but they came to me with the funniest of stories on a weekly basis.
One in particular, my mom needed to go to the bathroom, so she told her buddy/caretaker/Tyler that she needed to take a shit. He laughed and suggested to her that maybe it would be more appropriate to say she needed to take a crap.
She answered him in no uncertain terms, NO, she needed to take a SHIT. 98 years old. Clear. True. No uncertainty finally for my mom. And since I wish she could have always owned that clarity in her life, I will always love the word SHIT from here on out.
My British peeps will have to understand if they don’t favor the word. It’s here to stay.
A final P.S.S. With class underway and an understanding of what’s on my plate workwise/blog wise/class wise, I am hoping to post twice a week going forward, with maybe a small side note for fun here and there. This will be the only week that might be hard to get two in, but I’m still going to try.
Thanks, as always, for tuning in. If I was Carole Burnett (look it up youngins’) I’d be pulling my ear sending love off to my family as well as all of you reading this blog.