Final day … the beginning

As I sit to write about our final day, the sun is thinking about setting, there’s a cool breeze coming through my window,  I’m sippin’ on a glass of wine at my desk, and I feel so blessed to have had this experience, to have met so many amazing people, to have had a family that supports and encourages my choices, and lastly to have started this blog.  Of course, this all makes me cry as I write.  But I just have to say thank you … thank each and every one of you for tuning in.  It’s meant more than I can say, my regulars, God bless you guys, and my newbies that join me each and every day … wow, every single time I get an email saying someone new has begun following, my spirit soars.  From my heart to yours, please accept my sincerest thank you.
The last day of class, now that I’ve made you wait so long to hear it, not of my choice, was not what I would have expected.  I arrived Sunday morning emotional, at first.  As we gathered in our initial circle, I didn’t have much to say, unusual for me.  The tears were very close, and my mood was quiet.  I wondered to myself, hmmm, what’s up with you?  I never let tears get in the way of talking.  And as you might have noticed, I always have a lot to say.  But not this day.  I decided not to push it.  It was what it was, I didn’t feel like talking.  By the close of the circle, I felt I needed to at least contribute something, so I told them I felt emotional, and that was pretty much all I said, and that I would miss them.  I had written a farewell that I had already shared on our group Facebook page, so nothing I was going to say fighting back tears would equal what I had already posted.
As the day progressed, my tears subsided.  Again, I questioned myself, what the heck is up with you?  Not much to say, and now you aren’t even emotional?  We were busy, so I didn’t have much time to contemplate, but even my classmate Ally kept questioning me with her eyes … “what’s up, Sue?  Where are those tears?”  I could only shrug my shoulders.
It was a lovely last class, and as we drew to a close, we each shared our thoughts.  We gathered together arm in arm in a closing circle, so blessed, each and every one of us, for having experienced this time together.  We have to have lifted the earth’s vibration at least minutely, which for 15 people, is saying a lot.
We all decided to meet at a local brewery to celebrate the close of our class.  I was happy to get into my car by myself so that I could try to make sense of my lack of emotion.  So strange for me.  Emotional always, but GOODBYES, oh my God, that’s a tough one for me.  As I drove the ten-minute drive, I cherished the time to myself to think … where was my sadness at the ending of my class?  Even Ally noticed it?  The ten-minute drive was not enough for me to figure it out, but I still enjoyed the time to myself.
The class was over.  The hard work was coming to an end.  I had accomplished my goal, and that was incredible.   But now I could return to my life, Rick, my kids, our home, our garden, our friends,  and yes, I could now go to Carmelita’s in Roseville on Friday night with Rick for an amazing mexican dinner, and reminisce about how much I wanted to scrap the whole thing and meet Rick for dinner that first night.  What fun that will be, maybe this Friday.
As I arrived at the brewery, I really didn’t have any answers, but I felt happy and grateful.  I enjoyed our gathering, and it was nice to wind down with each other.  As I made my exit, saying goodbye to everyone, I found my answer as I said goodbye to Scott, our teacher.  As he hugged me goodbye, all he said was, “the journey continues.”
I nodded in agreement, and realized in that moment that why I hadn’t felt too  much sorrow in this day, was because I didn’t really see this as  an ending … quite the opposite, it was only the beginning.  I had only just made it off the diving board ( high dive, of course) but I was just in the pool.  This was a beginning …  and in place of sadness I felt excitement for the journey.  The horizon leveled itself, and the view was intoxicating.  There simply was no room for sorrow.
Yoga is here to stay.  And these fine souls will only be as far away as a text or a post on our Facebook page.
Will share with you my goodbye to the group ….
“My final thoughts … 💞I am writing this for you guys, not the blog. I may at some point share it with my readers, if it seems to fit, and maybe not. I never quite know till I’m writing. But as I write this, it’s for you, regardless of whether I share it going forward.
To put into words this experience is a task, so much emotion to put on the page. But if I try to tell you all how I feel on Sunday before we leave, it will only be left to my tears to convey what’s in my heart. And I do not want to rely on that.
Something no one but Scott knows (a story I shared on the boat at lunch) many years ago when I was 23 to be exact, I found myself in muddy waters. Growing up was no picnic, and I was in some pretty rough currents, if we keep to our river theme. I was having non-stop anxiety attacks and truly was a mess. I began therapy with an amazing psychologist, a young man, probably in his mid thirties at the time, a funny, charismatic man, a thinker outside of the box (very much like Scott and Tess) pushing boundaries in every direction and getting amazing results with people. A side note, because that’s all he ever let it be, he was a quadriplegic. (Really, I’m sitting here telling this quadriplegic about MY problems?) He certainly had an edge, and he knew it, and he used it brilliantly. He had a confidence about him, the devil in his eye, and most importantly, he knew how to teach people. He never let anyone dwell too much on why. For him, it was more about how … how are we going to change this? I fell in love with this man, as did most who met him, and he became a dear friend over the years. He had three therapy groups he ran each week and I joined one of them.
From day one, I absolutely loved the group. The dynamic of people coming together to move what was in their way, just as we have, was intoxicating to me. While others wanted to run, I rooted in. I was there for the long haul.
I spent the better part of three years working on my issues. Ron believed in emoting, so we all cried, raged, loved, healed in no particular order. We loved each other and in time, every person I ever saw in his group healed in some way, even those who fought it.
When I came to the point I no longer needed the group, I had no desire to leave. Seriously, where was I ever going to find this kind of connection again? I was 26 at the time. Ron had a female peer counselor in each of his groups, so I set my sights on manifesting. (Been doin’ it for years) I approached him and asked him if he ever had an opening for a peer counselor if he would consider me. Angels????? It just so happened that one of his counselors leaving. Coincidence? Not likely.
I was 26, and his only concern was I looked so young, and would be counseling people sometimes in their sixties and seventies. It reminds me of us yogi beginners, we will seem a bit naïve and I’m sure a little green to our students at first. But I was confident. I told him I would handle it, I would earn it.
It took about a year (so be patient with yourselves at first if you do decide to teach) but after that time I was in my stride and I spent the next ten years in this amazing role, helping others to heal, healing myself still because you will never give to another and not receive something back. It was one of the most enjoyable roles I’ve ever had in my life, short of being a mom and a mate/best friend.
And yes, guys, I cried all the way through it. At first, I tried not to, but that was an impossible task. It was like asking me not to breathe. I eventually gave into it, and just cried all the way through the sad stories. But when it came time to work on the remedies, my tears dried. I always found my strength, my core. And in the end, what my groupies loved was that I did cry. Imagine if I had managed to change that for fear of what others might think? Authenticity? Sound familiar to what we are learning?
I spent over ten years in this amazing experience, but sadly my beloved friend and mentor passed from cancer. His death felt somewhat like a hurricane in our group community. This incredible spirit was gone. His body was tired, and he’d given it his all. It wasn’t only a loss because my dear friend had passed, but the void left behind from the end of our group hit me hard. I can so clearly remember having to take deep breaths at the thought that I would no longer have this phenomenal community around me, this ability to connect with souls, truly connect with souls. I told myself I would find a replacement.
But, where do you go to find a group of people willing to bare their souls to you, to share their HEART with you? I saw no path, and luckily for me, my children were young, and I could pour myself into their sweet young hearts.
I continued to tell myself that I would one day find something that would replace this experience. I didn’t. My heart took years to heal, truly. But little by little I began to forget, and the ache lifted. My kids filled the void, as only children can.
And here we are, all these years later, at yoga teacher training. I pursued this training with different ideas, but once I read the website about last year’s TTI, I knew in my heart, I had found my way back. I knew exactly where we would be going, and I couldn’t’ wait.
And this class has not disappointed in any way, shape or form. It feels good to be back with that grit, for lack of a better word, true, raw, wonderful emotion. It’s in these waters that we learn how to really trust human nature. And I know my friend, Ron, is cheering me on.
It’s been a long hiatus, but this time, Ron has sent a few replacements … I can’t outlive all of you, although my mom did live to 99.
This experience with you has for the first time in twenty some odd years measured up. It has filled a very old void and I thank each and every one of you for that. A lesson to never give up …
What I want to say to each of you about OUR experience is … thank you. Thank you for sharing yourselves with me, such a blessing, every single one of you … amazing souls. I love you all. Never ever forget how precious you are. ”
 
Lynn, dear friend, I know you are reading.  We were … beyond blessed.  It’s nice to be able to send a nod off in Ron’s direction.
Continuing down the path, next post.
Namaste
 
 
 
 
 

Crying

I mentioned in an earlier post that I would need to address crying at some point.  The next few posts touch on the subject of crying, so I wanted to chat about that at this juncture.  I told you I could win an Olympic gold medal in the art of crying, and I’m quite sure I could.  I seriously do not know anyone who cries as much as I do.  It’s just not something I can control, and I’ve long since given up the need to even try.  It is as much a part of me as my arm or my leg.  To quote an old song I love, Cross to Bear, I wear my heart like a wrinkle on my sleeve.  The picture above is part of a complicated caricature that a dear old friend drew of me years ago.  I was always known for my crying.
My dad was the same way.  I couldn’t even begin to count how many times I saw his eyes fill with tears, an emotional man.  I thank him for that.  My mother, on the other hand, I probably only saw cry a few times in my life.  Clearly, in this respect, I took after my dad.
A humorous story, when my mom was a few months from the end, she one day became so upset she started to cry.  I reacted so strongly (me, who doesn’t think twice about crying).  I ran to her caretakers telling them they needed to “help my mom, she’s crying!!!!  My mom doesn’t cry.”  They, of course, did help her, and her tears dried.  But I had to laugh at my reaction to her crying.  I wasn’t really one to overreact in these matters, but that day, I sure did.
When my kids were young, my son came home with one of his school art projects.  He had to make a drawing and a description of his family.  Of course, we were all stick figures, but he wrote something about his mom always crying, or there always being tears in his house.  It shocked me truly.  And I’m sure the teacher probably wondered if I was depressed, but Jordan had drawn an accurate portrayal of his family.  And I did always cry, but for so many different reasons, and thankfully, most of them had nothing to do with being depressed.  I think what actually makes me cry is feeling.  I’ve come to treasure the depth to which I feel things, and yes, sometimes it’s brutal, but when it’s good, it’s oh so good.  The pendulum always swings both ways, but in the end, I would never give up the joy to avoid the pain.
Probably because I have been such a crier in my life, I’ve done a lot of thinking about how our society treats the subject of crying.  For the most part, it’s considered a weakness.  For instance, someone who loses a loved one, is described as “holding up well” if they are not crying in their grief.  Or “she is being strong.”  I’m sure you have heard that one before?
Well, I actually think it’s the opposite.  What’s strong is feeling the pain if you really think about it.  So many other countries not only embrace grieving and crying, they encourage it.  We hide it away like some awful step child.
I say this, if my loved ones are NOT crying at my funeral, then I’ve done something way wrong in this life.
Another belief I have about crying is this (can you tell I’ve given this a lot of thought?) pretty much everything we have been equipped with in our bodies serves a purpose, right?  We would never entertain the idea of trying not to urinate (unless there’s no bathroom handy).  Of course we wouldn’t, because if we did have the power to control that function for weeks or months, it wouldn’t be long before we’d be sick.
I think our tears are no different.  We cry to release our pain.  Crying releases endorphins similar to exercising that bring about a feeling of well-being.  I believe that a lack of crying creates an illness, so to speak, in your soul, that over time can become an illness in your body.
I say, have a good cry!  It’s so damn good for you.  Encourage it, put on the saddest song you know or watch a tear-jerker, and for once, don’t fight back the tears.    I’ve learned that crying establishes a clarity in my thinking and reasoning powers.  It’s healing in every way.
I feel lucky to be blessed with a happy disposition, but I wonder … how much of that might be because tears are never too far away for me?  The saying “wash away your sorrows” rings true. I can certainly say I wash away a lot on a regular basis.
If I’m writing and I’m not crying, it’s probably not a very good piece, because it means I’m not feeling it.  And if I’m not feeling it, how can I expect someone else to feel it?  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had this conversation with my kids on the phone.
“Hi mom.”
“Hi honey.”
“You crying, mom?”
“Yeah, just writing.”
“Oh, okay, good.”  And that’s the end of that subject, not even worth a second thought.  They start in right away to tell me what they are calling about.  It’s just status quo.
I cried a lot in the yoga class, of course.  And it was nice to be in an environment again that treated it just as my kids do, status quo.
Some might say I take things too personal.  And maybe that’s true.  But there’s another line in my favorite movie, You’ve Got Mail, that runs through my mind often.
“What is so wrong with being personal anyway?
Whatever else anything is, it ought to begin by being personal.”
I so agree.
Finally feeling better.  Back tomorrow.
 
Namaste

Goodbyes

As I near the end of week five of my six-week course, I am flooded with conflicting feelings.  That’s typical of life in general, I guess.  On the one hand, I truly can’t wait to spend a leisurely weekend with Rick, sleeping until my body decides it’s time to wake up, working in our yard, planning a great dinner in or out, either way, running errands, such simple pleasures that I have truly missed these last four weeks. Even last weekend heading out, knowing the weekend would be great fun because of the sailing trip, I still yearned to stay home.  I guess that might just be the definition of lucky, right?

On the other hand, I have come to feel so much for the members of the group and it makes me sad to think our time, at least in this experience, will be coming to an end.  I’m sure I will share more about that in the next two weeks.  But I can already feel that tightening around my heart which I recognize only too well as sorrow.

I have never been good at goodbyes.  What’s good about goodbye when you love someone and will be missing their company going forward?  I have no doubt that I will stay in touch with many of the members of the group, but I also know from my experiences in life that I will also lose touch with some.  And that is as it should be, I know that too, but unfortunately that knowledge does not alleviate my sorrow in the moment.  It never has in the past, and I have no doubt this will be any different.  I’ll be crying all week.

As a matter of fact, I think it’s already starting because yesterday morning when I was trying to meditate, the tears started streaming down my face thinking of one of my classmates whose child became very ill last week.  I had to smile at myself, up early to start the day on a positive note, wrapped in my blanket in my favorite corner … crying, remembering how vulnerable it felt being a young parent with a sick child, and also an adult child with an elderly sick parent.  Like I said, I have a feeling this is going to be an emotional week. I don’t define that as a bad week though.  I think in the big picture, if we have feelings of sorrow at parting with a loved one, we have had the blessing of a special bond to begin with.

There’s talk of doing our final this weekend if the class is ready for it, so that we can spend the last weekend reviewing and doing a group event on Sunday (hopefully no mountain climbing).  Our final consists of teaching a 90-minute yoga routine.  We are divided into two groups, and each group has about eight members, so we each take a portion of the 45 minutes.  My part will be opening the first ten to twelve minutes, so I will be welcoming the “class” and introducing our theme, reading something I’ve written about our theme, teaching a chant, and leading a breathing exercise.  Cross your fingers.

And in case you were wondering, I never got a call back from my number last week, nor did I leave myself a message.  I loved the different responses I received from you guys about who that was calling.  My sister-in-law, Lorene, said she thought it was my mom.  I wouldn’t put it past my mom, if she could manage it.

Whenever my mom would call me, she had a way of saying my name, there was a question mark at the end of “Sue” and she held the note for a few seconds, Sueeeeeee?  (Well, in print that looks more like a pig call, and even though I love pigs, that’s not how she said it.)  More like Suuuuuuuu?   And I always knew it would be followed with an important request like, “could you get me some more depends.”  I have to admit, I thought about my mom as I stared at the phone ringing with my name on the screen.  If she was trying to reach across the great divide, maybe she wanted to wish me luck on the final.  I’m doubting she needs depends where she is.

I hope you all enjoy your weekend.  I’ll be back next week with more tales about the weekend and our final.
Namaste