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
 
 
 
 
 

Lighting the world, one candle at a time

Good morning.  Another week, but a special week indeed, as I have completed my training … oh my, I think I’ll be posting about this for quite some time, just so much to share.  The weekend came and went in a heartbeat.  Each drive in, Friday, Saturday and Sunday I spent reflecting, remembering all the pieces of this journey that went together to bring me to the ending of our class.  Like a projection on a screen, my mind replayed image after image of the moments that made up this journey, the faces and hearts of those I shared this experience with, the personal triumphs I enjoyed myself, and the triumphs I watched others experience.  Like any good movie, our story did not come without the instances that surely felt like failure, but in the end there is no such thing as failure.  There is only growth, a need to keep trying, and keep trying and never give up trying until you have reached your goal.
I can’t really even put into words what a unique experience this has been, getting to know these wondrous spirits, their stories, (who doesn’t have a story?) their sorrows and their joys.  Fifteen special souls came together and created a divinely positive force, lifting each other, but if I know anything about it, helping lift more than just ourselves.  We did our tiny tiny part toward raising the universe’s vibration, because we each will take that love and positivity and share it with those we encounter going forward, our loved ones and friends, but also strangers.
I keep thinking about the 70-year old gentleman I told you about in an earlier post, the fellow who does work at our house once a year, this being our third year, who told me in our phone call how happy I sounded.  When he came out a few days later, he seemed so genuinely happy to see me.  I have to wonder … was this because I shared my happy heart with him in our phone call?  Maybe.
All I know is that this stranger, for all intents and purposes, offered me a hug after he finished his work with us.  I gladly accepted even though he was covered in dirt and I was dressed to go out.  I was not going to pass up that gift.  How many workers that come to your home want a hug when they leave?  I’ve had a ton of people work on my houses over the years.  They’ve never been in the habit of hugging me when they left.  I have to think this nice man felt what’s filling me these days, and took a chance at asking me to share a bit of that with him.  I was more than happy to oblige.
I’ve always loved math, and I find myself contemplating the possibilities … all the billions and trillions of individual spirits, if united with other kindred spirits toward a common positive goal, taking the risk of being vulnerable, sharing their tender hearts, working together helping each other to heal and create and inspire and conquer, and then taking that back out into the world, compounding exponentially, what could we accomplish?  I’m a dreamer, I know, but I do believe there is nothing we humans united could not accomplish, no hurt in the world we could not heal.  Our united hearts could light the world.
Just the beginning of the end … will be back soon.  I have so many thoughts swirling around inside the waves of my mind.  It’s high tide and there is much activity.  I have nothing but gratitude for this time in my life.
Namaste
 
Photo:  Candle made by my classmate, Kim, Tipsysisterscandles@tipsysisterscandles.com

The River

The weekend was definitely a little stressful with our finals.  I always feel happy for the drive in, and enjoy the time to gather myself before heading into the storm, so to speak.  My emotions ramp up somewhere between my driveway and the highway.  I’ve learned to expect that now on Friday nights and just let it be.
Friday night was spent practicing in our groups for our final which was scheduled for Sunday afternoon.  Nerves were running rampant.  By the end of Friday night, the teachers proclaimed that none of us were ready for the final.  (Yikes.  No, wait, blimey!)  We decided the decision could be made Saturday morning after another practice, and if we needed to move it to the final weekend, we could.
Saturday morning I drove slowly, not in any hurry to arrive at the Perfect Storm (another of my favorite movies.)  I missed my mom.  And I felt grateful for that sorrow.  There was a time I would not have believed I could feel this.  Through our later years together, the movie I felt more of a connection with was “Throw Mama from the Train.”  I used to joke about that all the time, and I have to say, my mom really did remind me at times of Anne Ramsey.  She once gave me a portrait of herself she had taken at Sears, she was probably around 70 at the time, and I’m not sure what prompted this gift (maybe she was upset with me that I didn’t have enough pictures of her in my home) but when I opened the box, it was scary.  It was a close-up head shot of my mom with a completely serious look on her face.  No smile, just completely serious.  I was a little speechless, but thanked her and put the picture away, far far away for safe keeping.  If you don’t know who Anne Ramsey is, google her.  I’m looking at her now, and by God, they could have been sisters.
My friend, Peter (at that time we were just getting to know each other) came to my mom’s place to notarize some papers for us.  My mom was pretty hard of hearing, and actually wasn’t really listening to others too much anyway (a lot going out, not much going in) and she was in a mood.  About half way through as she was bad-mouthing me to whoever in the room wanted to hear it, I leaned over to Peter and quietly asked him if he’d ever seen the movie Throw Mama from the Train?  His eyes grew wide in disbelief, and I think probably that moment was when our friendship was cemented.  A sense of humor is your best friend sometimes.
These days I reminisce about our antics, and because we did have it so rough for so many years, I feel such gratitude for the simple blessing of missing her company.  Like I quoted a few posts back “Unthinkably good things can happen even late in the game.  It’s such a surprise.”
Appreciating my feelings, I drove slowly sorting through my emotions, enjoying the beautiful moon greeting me, shining ever so brightly to light my way. The day would be eventful.  We collectively decided before lunch that our group was ready, and would lead the way.  We would perform our final Saturday afternoon and Group 2 would follow up on Sunday.
As I think I already mentioned, we each had sections to lead, a total of a 90-min class, so eight people in the group, we each were responsible for about eleven minutes.  I was the greeter, opening the practice and guiding everyone through a meditation, breathing, chanting, and relaxing.  If you had told me 40 years ago that I would one day be sitting in front of a group singing a chant, I would have told you, no way.
When I was in about tenth grade, I was in a drama class.  Much like this class, we were divided into groups and had to prepare a skit that we would perform for our final, on stage.  I had one of the opening lines, and also the closing line.  I was so nervous that I entered the stage, said my first line, followed by the last line, and the curtain went down without any of my classmates being able to say a word.  Hilarious in hindsight.  We got a courtesy D from the teacher and my classmates were, to say the least, not too happy with me.
Well, good news, I didn’t let my yoga mates down on Saturday.  I definitely was nervous, but I managed to for the most part, park that anxiety and get through my eleven minutes.  I joked, and taught, and sang and read something I wrote to the group.  I fought back tears while I read it, and let that be okay, because that is me.  I received nice feedback afterwards, as did the rest of our group.
The knowledge I came away with this weekend, and have continued to contemplate yesterday and today, is how important it is in life that we bring our authenticity, even when we might think we are showing our weakness.   It’s also what I have been learning throughout this blog.  When I am vulnerable and blog about something personal, that’s when I feel the warmth of others come flooding back.  I have learned this lesson before in life, but I think more from the perspective of loving others who showed me their underbelly.  If someone cries with me, they become a friend for life.
This time around I’m learning the lesson from the reverse side, me opening up and being completely blown away by how great it feels and how truly accepting and welcoming others are.   Our journey is much like going to school.  You have certain courses, maybe a foreign language for example, and you learn a word and move on to more words, but at some point you circle back and truly begin to learn the proper enunciation of that word and the exact way to roll your tongue through the new and uncomfortable sounds, and at some point, the lesson is over and will not appear again in your curriculum.
I am witnessing first-hand that it’s our weaknesses that collect us and draw us closer, as we can see ourselves in others if they are willing to show us that they are fallible.  If someone does not show me any vulnerability, I can’t see them, and when I can’t see them, I find it hard to trust them.  Much like if I were walking through a forest at night, if I can’t see my way, I am going to feel frightened and guarded.
Something I probably enjoy the most about blogging is when someone says, “hey, you made me think and I’m going to give that a try.”  If you decide to try this vulnerability idea out, I would say this, remember that what you are giving is a gift.  You are sharing a part of yourself, and you are a GIFT.  If someone doesn’t seem to care for it, then oh well, bye Felicia.  Just means maybe they are not open to feeling at that moment, and that’s okay.  They may have a mountain of their own to move, and your openness scares them for fear they might have to look at themselves.  Their reactions will always be more about themselves than you.  And trust me, the truth is you’ll be enjoying yourself so much with those who do gravitate toward you, that you really won’t have much time to be looking in that rear view mirror for Felicia.
I’m planning to move forward in life embracing this new-found vulnerability, one day bring it to my yoga class, and create my own little yoga community filled with those who enjoy what I bring, people who are looking to improve, heal, and move whatever is in their way.
Will close with sharing my opening in our final practice.
“Welcome all of you.  So happy you are here with us.  We wanted to set a theme to our class today, and we’ve decided on dedicating our practice to the beauty of the majestic rivers we are graced with in our world, and especially here in our little community with the American River.  Ally has a gorgeous reading she will share with you at the end of our class.
And I will begin with something I wrote.
Please get comfortable on your mats, cross legged. Eyes closed.
 
Tap into your body, pay attention to what you’re feeling.  Just take note, is your mind quiet this afternoon or lively?  Notice the flow of your breath.   How is your spirit feeling today?  No judgement, just acknowledge where you are this morning and greet that spirit.  If you are feeling happy, remember what a blessing that is and please share that with us.  If you for some reason are feeling sadness, try to nurture yourself during your routine.  And if you are angry for some reason, maybe your boss pissed you off at work or your mate, kids, whatever, remember that there’s much power in anger so use that to do something amazing on your mat today that typically you might not have the power to do.  Take this time and make it yours, as for some of you, this might be the only time you have to spend on yourself today.   And remember, above all, you are right where you are supposed to be in this moment.
 
As you breathe in, take that breath all the way down to your sits bones, and then let it out through your mouth.  Inhale,  hold at the top, exhale.  Breathe at your own pace.  As you do, adjust your posture if needed, sit nice and tall.  Soften your brow.  Relax your jaw, your neck.  Lift your rib cage.  Drop your jaw ever so slightly.  And settle in.
 
 
All rivers begin with a droplet … one droplet after another of melting snow cascading down from our majestic mountains.  It almost seems impossible when you think about the wonder of nature.  Yet it’s true, snowflakes come down one at a time from the heavens above, form together, freeze together and then at some point melt together, making their way down the mountain sides toward our rivers.  We see the streams every day moving down the canyon toward our beautiful American River.
There is no end to the number of tiny individual streams trickling down to the river where they will become strong and united.  They will learn at times to rage and destroy much in their path.  They will change the shape of our land.  They will move what gets in their way.  They will dance in the sunlight. They will be a vessel for creating and sustaining life.  And sadly they will die in time if they lose too many of their droplets.
Are we humans really any different?   We are a million and one snowflakes, each one bringing our own beauty, but traveling in unison, creating a universal flow.
Our tiny tribe has united for our short journey, and soon we will all be off to the oceans, but for this brief moment in time, we have come together to move what’s in our way.  And I think we’ve done an amazing job.
I hope when you each practice this morning, you keep in mind your power, what you’ve accomplished in this six weeks, what you’ve helped others to accomplish in this six weeks, and know your power going forward.  You are the river.  We all are.
Namaste
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Believing

Good morning!  It seems like I feel the same way every Monday morning during this experience … that I just can’t believe how much has transpired over one weekend.  And every week that feeling seems to exponentially grow.  On Fridays when I think back to Monday, it lately feels like weeks have passed in that four days.
This weekend, just like the last four, was packed with emotion and an enormously wide range of feelings.  You know those toys we grew up with, they are still around, the little paddle with the rubber band connecting the little red rubber ball, and you try to hit the ball over and over and it usually wildly flies around?  We actually have one in our little toy box that always awaits our sweet little nieces, Zoe and Ashlyn, when they visit, a simple little bounceback.   Well, that’s what I felt like this weekend, my emotions being yanked in every which direction.  All good in the end, but it’s a little like being wrung out.
When I wake up these mornings, my mind is like my sweet Little Cat (that’s actually her name, we got creative) who just sits there staring at me waiting for me to wake up, licking me occasionally hoping I will rouse.  From my first wakeful moments, my mind is active and seems to have been impatiently waiting for me so that we can replay all the moments that made up another amazing week, thinking plotting planning scheming dreaming about whether I might really be able to make this idea of becoming a yoga teacher work, chronicling and thinking through the changes taking place in me, both physically and mentally, and of course, already starting to hear in my head what I want to write about to you this week.  Six weeks ago I was pushing snooze and then 20 minutes later dragging myself a bit grumpily down the hall to start my job on the phones at 6:00 every morning.  Don’t really need that snooze button these days.  By 6:00 I’ve been awake for some time and my mind has been contentedly sorting, and when I finally make it to the phone at 6:00 there is no longer any room for grumpy.  That’s a pretty amazing transformation in five weeks.
Talk about taking a left turn and venturing down a new path.  A couple of thoughts are resonating with me this morning (they are working hard to make their way through all the other thoughts ping ponging off the walls of my brain).  The first one is just a passing comment the teacher made at the beginning of the class.  “You can all be at a very different place in your life in six weeks.”  It doesn’t sound like much, and I actually overlooked it myself.  But one of my classmates brought it back up to me later and made me think about the enormity of the statement, but more importantly the reality of that statement.  And what I just wrote in my prior paragraph seems to validate my teacher’s claim.
I know I’ve been saying this throughout my blog, but the realization keeps surprising me over and over again, each time as if it’s a completely new concept.  I have the power to change myself any time I choose.  And timelines will always be different depending on what’s on my plate, but that is really an incredible power I possess and underuse.  It’s very easy to get inundated with life, right?  And there are going to be times when making a change can just seem impossible, and maybe that means I have to be patient and wait for the time when I can take that turn.  But even the planning and the dreaming are still very important steps down the path.
The second thought I am just shaking my head about, in a good way, is what I was talking about last week, the universe supporting us, even when we can’t see it at the time.  This weekend, and yesterday in particular, I began to truly believe that I will be a yoga teacher, and that may sound strange since I’m in a yoga teacher training class and telling all my readers about it.  But all that was required to get into that class was taking that leap of faith and writing a check.  It did not require a belief in myself, nor did writing this blog.  It required only a dream and some courage.
These stages of belief as I’m starting to think of them unfold slowly.  Every week I venture further and further toward that belief.  At the close of this weekend, I saw a vision of an amazing yoga teacher through the mist, and she looks an awful lot like me.  Six weeks ago I would have been a little embarrassed to even say that to Rick, and now I’m blogging about it.  THAT is a lot to be thankful for, and it just makes me shake my head and cry  (one of these days we will talk in depth about crying, that’s a topic for a whole blog or twenty in my case).
So back to the universe supporting us, seeing it in hindsight … this morning feeling a high from the weekend and enjoying the confidence I’m feeling in my plan, I thought back to last year when my mom was so ill, and my future at work was hanging in the balance.  Just a quick explanation, our company was bought by another, our team was offered positions, but it would have required I move to another state, so I declined that offer, and decided I would have to try to find some other position within the new company.  Not really what I wanted to do, but what I thought I should do.
What I WANTED to do was write (a book, possibly a blog) and somewhere along the line I started telling Rick I wanted to be a yoga teacher.  Did I believe I could do either?  That’s an interesting question to answer, but in hindsight, maybe not.  But I certainly spent time dreaming about it and talking to Rick about it.
And the universe (of course) sent my angels.  I remember one day meeting one of my co-workers, Keana, over in Benicia for a glass of wine.  It was a beautiful day overlooking the bay, and we sat at one of the tables outside of the little restaurant drowning our sorrows, so to speak, about the end of Virgin America.  Coincidentally???? right next to us were two people who we ended up having a great time with.  They heard us talking about Virgin America, and they chimed in saying how much they loved flying Virgin, and next thing you know we are all talking about our jobs, and life.  Well, coincidentally what do you think the fellows’ job was?  He was a motivator at the company he worked for, and by the time we left, he was high-fiving me telling me I had better not settle and that I needed to pursue my dreams, that it was my time, and the universe had given me a personal invitation by eliminating my job.  Seriously, a jovial genuinely nice guy, anyone around us heard our banter.  It was great fun, and I left flying high, ready to make it happen.
That was about 2 years ago.  In the ensuing two years, I did hire someone to help me move toward my writing dream and have put many hours towards a book that I plan to one day publish.  But there were many roadblocks along the way, so I speak from experience when I say, sometimes it’s just not the right time, but I never lost sight of my dream.
And then, completely not listening to my inner voice, and forgetting the sage advice of the guy in Benicia, I applied for a job within the company that I knew in my heart of hearts I probably wouldn’t like.  And trust me, had I gotten that job, I would NOT have started this blog.  I would NOT have taken this teacher training class.  I would have been floating around in the waters of discontent, getting by, and I’m sure, still dreaming.
I really should have gotten that job, it was a no brainer.  I walked out of the interview thinking “I’ve got this,” ignoring the fact that I wasn’t really all that happy about it.  A few days later, I sat by my mother’s bedside.  She had a long hard road at the end, and this particular day I felt she might be leaving (in fact, she rallied after that a few times) but this day I was actually afraid to leave her room.  My phone rang and I realized from the number that it was a call about my interview.  I was in a state anyway that day, feeling so overwhelmed with my mom’s condition, really in a fog.  I stood by the little window at the end of the hall expecting to hear, congratulations, when can you start.  Instead the woman was babbling on thanking me for applying and interviewing …  I think because I was in such a fog it all seemed to go in slow motion … but as I began to clear my mind I realized she was apologizing that I had not gotten the job, but she would encourage me to apply again.  I thanked her (not really sure why, but at least I didn’t apologize, ugh) and as I hung up, I knew instantly that even though my pride was a little hurt, what I was actually feeling at that moment was relief and joy, because the universe had just said, “wait a minute, little buckaroo, not so fast, what about your true desires?”  She (I like to call the universe She, even though I think of God as a He, interesting) had given me a get out of jail card this once, turned me around, and patted me on the butt telling me to “get along little doggie.”  I was free, I had done my responsible duty to get that job, and they did not want me.  All I had to do was face those few embarrassing moments when I had to tell coworkers and friends and family that I didn’t get it, and then I got to move toward toward what I really wanted to do.
Even with my belief system fully in tact when it comes to manifesting, I still did not manage to do this on my own.  I needed that assistance from up above.
I will share what I ended with a few blogs ago.  “Any arbitrary turning along the way and I would be elsewhere.”
This morning I feel beyond blessed not to be elsewhere.
It’s like I said two posts ago, manifesting, you get to leave it up to the universe to figure it out, because in many cases, what you plan or do might even be counter-productive to getting what you want.   I’m believing these days, and trusting, and oh, what an amazing feeling it is.
I am full.  I am content.  I am thankful for all of you who follow and dream with me.  Whether I ever hear about your quest, know that I don’t even need to, I will always be sending my positive thoughts your way.  It takes a village, right?  Be back soon.
Namaste

Loose ends in Green Acres

I think this title is appropriate for how my brain feels when I’m studying my anatomy, Second Edition of Yoga Anatomy by Leslie Kaminoff and Amy Matthews.  My partner, Julie (we have yoga partners assigned in class) loves anatomy and suggested this week we all do more reading in this book.  (Definitely not my strong suit.)  External intercostals, internal intercostals, innermost intercostals, external and internal obliques, my brain felt just like the picture in the book, like a bunch of red bands stretching in all sorts of different directions (if this was a map, I’d be lost in some hay field in Green Acres.)
I must have stared at the picture for 15 minutes, and all I could hear was the soundtrack from Green Acres.  Remember that television show?  I know some of you do!  My wonderful teammates in the guest relations department at Virgin America chat on our trillion throughout the day.  And the other day our beloved Paulie who simply loves the old stars, brought up Green Acres, good old Eddie Albert and Eva Gabor, and he quoted the first line in the theme song, and in no time we were all chiming in and every one of us remembered those silly words.  And remember Arnold, the pig?  I have always had a thing for pigs.  (No, I’m not making a derogatory comment about Rick.)
So there I was a few days later trying to make sense of intercostals while singing the Green Acres theme song …
“Green Acres is the place to be, farm living is the life for me, land spreading out so far and wide, keep Manhattan just give me that countryside.”
I think those red bands in my brain are tied a little too tight.
The post I’m looking forward to writing is going to take a day or so, so that will be next week.  Thought I would end this week with loose ends.
I’m continuing to practice speaking the instructions.  Like I said a few weeks ago, not as easy as you would think.  “Inhale arms up exhale forward fold, inhale half lift, exhale forward fold.” It’s not just the words, it’s important that your intonations match what you are saying.   I practiced on Rick the other night while I was cutting his hair.
Cutting his hair is an event that happens about once every six weeks.  We set up shop in the bathroom, and I get three pairs of scissors out and razors and the electric hair clippers.    (Seriously, all of this paraphernalia is a total overkill, but we have fun.  I can’t believe this dear man trusts me to do this, but my mother was a beautician so I must have some talent for this, you would think.  My mom is probably getting a good chuckle out of us these days.)
I was chanting my instructions “inhale, exhale” and he calmly replies, “as long as you don’t cup my balls and ask me to cough, we’re fine.”  I assured him I had no intention of studying to be a doctor, especially after reading that anatomy book.
This weekend we were supposed to go on another all-day hike on Sunday.   Scott, our teacher, loves to take people hiking and/or sailing.  Someone last weekend suggested to him that we go sailing on Sunday instead of hiking.  It’s been reported that it was my idea, but that can’t be confirmed at this time.
The great news is, we are going sailing on Sunday on the San Francisco Bay.  I am beyond excited because sailing is definitely on my bucket list.  I have only been sailing once, and hope to do much more of it at some point in my life. And as far as the hiking is concerned, there is one final hike on the last weekend, so I’m sure we’ll more than make up for the missed hike at that time, and we can also hike at Angel Island this Sunday as well.  Fun stuff.
Lastly, I ordered some of the cutest business cards for my blog.  I absolutely love them.  Since I’ve got more than I will ever know what to do with, if you want some to put on your refrigerator, hand out to strangers on the street corner, line your drawers … just let me know and I’ll send you a few.  If you are a friend I see regularly, no worries, I’m sure I’ll have a handful for you when I see you next!
All right, I think that’s it for the silly stuff.  I bid you all a wonderful weekend.
And please dear readers, send your positive thoughts on Sunday for a beautiful day on the bay.
I’m hopeful no one will chunder (another handy British term) on the boat.  Tally Ho and all that good stuff.
Namaste

Enough

One of the major themes throughout our two weeks in class has been self-acceptance.  Our instructors have done a fabulous job of teaching us to look at how we speak to others as well as ourselves.  It’s a bit surprising to realize just how much I apologize, for this, that and the other.  In the first few days, our teachers would stop us in our tracks when the words  “I’m sorry” came out of our mouths.  By the second weekend, the teachers didn’t even need to say a word.  If one of us was speaking in front of the group and began to say “I’m sorry” you’d see the speaker’s face flinch as if they’d been jolted with a small amount of electricity.  We looked like a bunch of Pavlov’s dogs.

It’s not as easy as you’d think to stop saying you’re sorry.  Tess, our female teacher, is such a little spitfire, I just love her.  And man, she just peers into your face and asks you, “WHAT ARE YOU SORRY FOR?  WHY ARE YOU SORRY?”  And she means it, she wants an explanation for why you are sorry.  In most cases, I find myself realizing I’m not really sorry at all.

There has been a major focus on the idea of being enough, and accepting that we are always enough at all times, regardless of what we can and can’t do, what we do and don’t have, that we are right where we need to be at that moment in time.  Interesting concept for some of us.  It’s so easy to always have my eye on something I think I want or need, or something I need to change about myself.  And not enough time is spent appreciating what is, right now, just this, just me, nothing more, nothing less, this moment being perfect.

The instructors have definitely gotten their point across in a short time, as  I am finding myself contemplating the concept of acceptance and enough throughout my days.  I think of myself as a pretty confident and happy person, but I have to be honest, I say I’m sorry a lot now that I pay attention.  The hike I talked about in my last post, I spent the whole way up saying I was sorry and thanking my angels.  They kept saying, no need to be sorry.  And they were right.  Why would I need to be sorry to someone else for my fear, and needing to take breaks to catch my breath when I’m not used to a hike like that.   WHY WOULD I BE SORRY FOR THAT?  Yet, there I was … sorry.

Check it out yourself, just pay attention to your thoughts, how many negative thoughts run through your brain in an hour, or a day?  We humans can be damn tough on ourselves.

With this philosophy in mind, I will share a really nice realization I had on Saturday evening when I left yoga.  Part of our homework has been to clean and clear our spaces, both internally and externally.  We were asked to purge our surroundings of unnecessary objects.  Since Rick and I moved in the last few years, I don’t have very many items left that need purging, but I did have a pile of old videos from my mom’s stuff sitting on my dresser.  It seemed the perfect place to start my assignment.

On Thursday night after dinner, I got comfortable and started to play each video.  Some were my kids from their preschool years, but there were two in particular that were films my mother had transferred onto video, and they dated back to when I was a toddler.  It was a collection of images, no sound, myself and my cousins going down a slide at the San Francisco zoo, our parents dressed in their Sunday best laughing among themselves, chasing after us, and others with just my parents and I.

I sat somewhat mesmerized studying the films, yearning to see more, searching their faces and actions for some clue as to how these seemingly happy people became what I would remember them as, two very unhappy and unfulfilled souls.  I finished looking at the tapes and went to sleep that night feeling so sad.

As I drove to yoga on Friday night, I was listening to the Beatles station on Sirius radio.  They were playing a collection all weekend of the Beatles’ top 50 love songs as voted on by the listeners, I’m sure in honor of Valentine’s Day.  For anyone who hasn’t listened to the station, they will put together a collection and then play it over and over all weekend, it just loops around and around.  I came in at the beginning of the songs working down from No. 50.  As I came through the canyon they played Julia, which is a song written for John’s mom, I believe, after her death.

I couldn’t help thinking about my mom, and still feeling melancholy from watching the tapes.  I found myself thinking how sad our life together had been, so much unhappiness and turmoil, and feeling like we had wasted our precious time on this earth together.  The mood hung in most of the night, and when I drove home around 9:30 coming through the canyon, Julia played again.  And then again the next morning, and then again the following evening. Coincidence?  I’m only in my car 20-40 minutes depending on where the class is, Auburn or Roseville.  I’m not sure what the odds are of coming into the rotation at the same place every time I get in the car, but I thought about heading to Reno to do a little gambling since my mom seemed to be in my back pocket.

Saturday morning my mood shifted and I welcomed the song, enjoyed my drive through the canyon and greeted the new day with an open heart.   What would day five of this adventure bring?  It was an eventful day in class, lots of yoga and instruction, but what would be the most important part of the day would come as Julia once again played on my way home (of course it did).

Instead of thinking my mom and I had wasted our time together, I asked myself “what if what we had together was enough? What if it was just what it was supposed to be?”  With that door open, my mind raced remembering what I’ve always believed, that we come here to learn and that sometimes our lessons are hard.  With that thinking in mind, then truly my mom and I kicked some ass in this lifetime.  We’d hiked our own trail straight up a rock hill and parachuted down to the river below.  Just maybe I had this all wrong.  Amazing.

And if all that is true, then it would explain my reaction when my mom did finally pass. Hospice had called early that morning to let me know she was close.  She’s been close for three months, but this day was different and I knew it the moment I walked into her room.  I settled into the big blue chair next to her bed with my book.  I’d pretty much said everything I needed to her in the previous three months, so there was no need for words at this point.  She was already somewhere far away.  I watched her breathing all morning, reading a page or two, and glancing up.  Although her breathing was labored, she was interestingly very quiet.  I could not rely on sound to monitor her.

At some point mid morning, I glanced up and found she had made her way ever so peacefully after such an arduous journey.  I sat watching her for a few moments and once I knew for sure her chest would not rise again, I said, “Mom, I didn’t even hear you leave.” I let the tears come, and after a few minutes, the next words out of my mouth were, “We made it, Mom.  We did it.”

They are interesting words for someone who has just lost her mother.  They were not words prepared or thought about beforehand.  They were the words of my heart, and what I was feeling.  And I don’t know about you readers, but to me, they sound like the words of a gal who made it with her mom to the top of the lookout.

I will close with the words of one of my favorite songs from You’ve Got Mail, hauntingly beautiful lyrics and melody.  For some reason, I do believe,  in this lifetime we choose to forget what we know in order to learn our lessons.  It’s nice when we remember …

“Long ago, far away

Life was clear, close your eyes

Remember is a place from long ago

Remember FILLED WITH EVERYTHING YOU KNOW

Remember when you’re sad and feelin’ down

REMEMBER TURN AROUND

Remember life is just a memory

Remember close your eyes and you can see

Remember think of all that life can be

Remember-

Dream, love is only in a dream, remember –

Remember life is never as it seems. Dream

Long ago, far away

Life was clear, close your eyes”

 

Remember lyrics – Harry Nilsson

http://www.harrynilsson.com/

 

If I walk away from this class with nothing more than this realization, it will be enough. But between you and me, I’m not thinking that I’m done.  Until we meet next week,

Namaste

 
Picture taken on our sunrise hike to the outlook over the American River, Overlook Park, Auburn, Ca.

Giving Thanks

Had one short post for you guys this morning, only to thank you for joining me on my quest.  Your responses mean a great deal to me.  To hang yourself out on the line, so to speak, can be a bit daunting.  But this journey with you doesn’t feel that way at all.  It feels so good to have my long-time friends and loved ones near, my new friends joining in and people I’ve never met reach out.

And I wanted to give thanks to a friend from high school, Doug D’Anna who is usually one of the first people liking my post every morning while he drinks his coffee (guessing) and peruses the Wall Street Journal.  Doug has been a writer for years.  Some 20 years ago when I picked his brain about what I should “write” about, he gave me the best advice I could ever get.  He said to me, “Write what you know.”  I’ve never forgotten his words of wisdom, and am putting them to good use.

Thanks, Doug, for the great advice, and thanks to each of you for tuning in and for those of you reaching back to me.  Will be back tomorrow with my post about Saturday.  Have a blessed day.

Namaste

Angels

I don’t even know where to begin with this weekend.  I think I’ll work backwards and share in two posts.  So let’s start with Sunday, a day I will surely remember for a long time.  Our group began our five-mile hike (one mile down, four miles up … I know, it doesn’t add up, but that’s sure what it felt like) at 5:30 a.m. through the canyon to reach a beautiful outlook where we could watch the sunrise and meditate.

Typically hiking for Rick and I consists of a nice wide carved out path, some hills, but in most cases just a nice Sunday hike by the river.  Let me also say that as I’ve aged, I’ve come to fear some things I did not fear in my youth, such as jumping from rocks into the water below and … wait for it … climbing rocks, especially a rock hill that from my vantage point looks to be about a 90-degree climb.

I was in the group bringing up the rear, so most of the tribe was already half way up the hill, maybe more.  I literally stopped in my tracks when I realized I was being asked to go UP the hill.  I glanced around for the trail that most assuredly must be off to the left for the peeps who don’t mountain climb. No such luck, no trail, and time to climb.  Oh, and by the way, careful cuz there’s moss and water in quite a few areas.

It’s been quite some time since I can even remember reacting like I did yesterday, I just dug my heels in and started crying. Anyone who knows me knows I’m a crier, but not usually because I’m afraid.  I cry when I’m happy, when I’m sad, when I’m grateful, when you cry, when the sky is pretty, you name it, I cry … but not usually because I’m scared.  In my head I was screaming, “No, not happening! I didn’t sign up for this.”  (Yoga … yoga is what I signed up for, not mountain climbing.)

But you see, yoga is about self-discipline, moving beyond what you believe you can do, into what you actually can do.  I feel certain our teachers thought long and hard about the group and its abilities before they chose this hike, and in the end, they were accurate in their assessments.

I had a handful of angels surrounding me, as always, but these were the kind that I could physically touch and lean on, which came in handy.  I told them in no uncertain terms that I was not going up the hill, and that I could sit on the rock right where I was and meditate and watch the sunrise and that I could rejoin them when they came back down the hill.   My classmates, Kyleigh and Molly, reluctantly informed me that the group was not coming back this way, it was up and out from the lookout.  (Seriously?)

I’ve never really liked being left out of something, so thank goodness for that yesterday.  And thank goodness for my angels.  They just went into action like a team, Kyleigh and Molly offering their hands to hold, climbing ahead of me to pull me up, Molly giving me her headlamp to light my way, Kyleigh supplying the Kleenex for my running nose thanks to my tears, Patrick taking my backpack to lighten my load and offering a shove up on the first rock, which was a large rock to climb for these short little legs.  He offered hesitantly, as the only way to shove me was putting his hands on my ass.  My answer, “Shove away, Patrick.  No room for modesty at this point.”  (I later joked with him that it was the highlight of the hike.)

I cried probably the first five minutes of the ascent.  I’m not sure what was worse, my fear, or my bruised ego.  I’ve always been a doer, and not let too much get in my way.  And having grown up an only child of two alcoholics, I learned at an early age to count on myself, so it’s not easy for me to ask for or to accept help.

My inner voice was screaming at me, but as I negotiated each new rock, she started to quiet down a bit (man, is she ever noisy when she’s upset.)  And by the time we reached the midpoint of the hill, I found myself welcoming the help that was being given.  It’s nice to receive without resistance, but not easy.  Many of you who are also independent might relate to that tendency to want to decline accepting help, in whatever form it might take.  It’s so much easier sometimes to say, ”no thanks, I got this,” than “yes, that would be nice, thanks for the help.”  Right?

Kyleigh’s mantra every few minutes was “Only five more minutes, Sue.  Only five more minutes.”   It had a nice rhythm to it, with a hint of humor, and she made me smile every time she said it.  We ascended and rested, began again until the next break, and slowly but surely, we made it up the hill.  I was greeted with applause and hugs by the tribe when I finally got to the outlook, and of course, Scott, our teacher, with the all-knowing “I told you so” look.    Amazing, my team of angels.

The vista was amazing, and as we sat facing a gorgeous sunrise, each of us in our own silent worlds, I couldn’t really meditate because my inner voice just had too much to talk about, but I was content to listen to her in that moment.  Meditation would be saved for another day.  She was proud of herself, and very happy she had taken the chance, defied her self-imposed limitations and conquered a fear.  That’s a lot of work to have accomplished by 6:00 a.m. on a Sunday morning.

As we began our jaunt back to the cars, we again were faced with the same type of rock climb , but this time I just found my girls, grabbed their hands and up we went with no hesitation, taking breaks when needed along the way.  The difference for the balance of the hike A) I wasn’t afraid any more, and B) I continued to hold their hands not so much because I needed it, but because it felt good to stay connected.  As adults we grow out of some lovely behaviors like friends holding hands.  We shouldn’t.

Close to the top, Kyleigh slipped and fell.  And guess who was holding on to keep her from sliding down?  Interesting?  They had listened to me all the way up thanking them for helping me.   In contrast, she said, “gee, if I hadn’t been holding your hand to help you, then you wouldn’t have been able to help me.”   Great food for thought.  I believe in life, we are all teachers and we are all students … it just depends on which lesson you are studying as to who is teaching who.

Our day was to continue with a 90-minute yoga class at 8:30 followed by observing a second 90-minute yoga class at 11:00.  As we gathered at the cars discussion was had within the group about all of us actually participating in both classes instead of just observing one.  Again, I thought … well, I think you guys can figure out what I thought.

But … once I got in my car and relaxed for the 20-minute drive back to the studio, I found that I wasn’t really feeling all that tired, and that if they could do, so could I.  By 12:30 p.m., much to my surprise and delight, I finished my second yoga class after a five-mile hike.  The second class was a restorative yin class, which if you’ve never taken a yin class, is an amazing experience.  Lots of deep stretches for longer periods, so relaxing.  Toward the end of class in what’s called a pigeon pose, I was lying on my stomach face down on my folded arms, soothing music filling the space.  The tears rolled down my face for the entire pose.  My heart was filled with so many emotions, pride, excitement, relief, wonder, but most of all … gratitude … for this day, for my angels, for the sunrise and for my body which has infinitely more strength than I give it credit for.

Saturday was an equally powerful day, but I will save that for my next post.

I will end with this thought … when you think you can’t … think again … and then do it even if you have to work through tears to get it done.  We have the power to create amazing possibilities in our lives.

Namaste

P.S.  Getting closer to that skydive.

Jalopy girl

Good morning, or night or afternoon, wherever or whenever you join me.  Time to fill you in a bit more about my class.  While I knew I’d be learning a lot about yoga and stretching, I had no idea how much of the class would be spent looking beyond my postures and into my heart.  I think we all to some degree spend a fair amount of time considering ourselves, our actions, our thoughts and our feelings.  It’s human nature.  But life is busy for most of us, and distractions are ever present, so we can sail through days, months, and even years in a kind of status quo.

That’s been the case for me the last few years.  I had my plate full taking care of my mom, moving, working and commuting regularly to the bay area for work, and making time to enjoy my loved ones.  This class is clearly going to allow me the opportunity to reconsider old ideas or patterns, decide if they are still working for me, and change them if they aren’t.

Each student is required to spend a fair amount of time speaking in front of the group.  After all, public speaking is a prerequisite for teaching yoga, so it’s important to become comfortable with that. Unfortunately, it’s NOT comfortable for the average person, and especially if you find yourself in front of a room of strangers and you are being asked to tell the group why you are crying.  (Do you guys have some time on your hands?  This may take a while.)  I’m not certain if all yoga instructor classes are like this one, but our teachers encourage each of us to share what we are feeling as we go through this process.  There was no shortage of tears last weekend, and I’m confident that was only the tip of the iceberg for this group of amazing old souls.

You see, each student came to this class with different desires and needs.  And after listening to each of my classmates over the weekend, I would have to say that even though we package our needs in different wrapping, bottom line is that we are all there to heal in some way.  I was so touched by each story, and so happy to be connecting with these souls for the next five weeks in their individual journeys.

You might ask, what are some of the reasons my teammates have chosen this class.  And I thought it would be nice to share a few of the backgrounds throughout my posts (of course, with their permission) but to serve as an inspiration for anyone who might be reading this blog and have similar feelings or know someone who does. Yoga is just one approach to healing or change, but the bottom line is, there is always help if we put our need out to the universe.  It’s up to us to be brave enough to, at least internally, acknowledge our true feelings.  But once we take that step, it is amazing how quickly life answers us.  Kenny always rings true … endless second chances to take it one chance at a time.  It is never too late to reinvent yourself when makin’ it don’t make it any more.

I wrote in an earlier blog what my reasons for joining the group were …  generally a desire to return to taking care of my body.  This old girl (referring to my physical body) has been taking good care of me without proper maintenance or nurturing these past few years.  She’s overdue for some attention and a good old-fashioned overhaul (I’m sounding a bit like a jalopy, right?)

But one weekend into this experience, I’m a little suspicious that my needs go a little deeper than that, and that I’ve manifested this experience to also help me heal and mourn my mom’s passing.  And most likely, there’s more I’m still unaware of.  But at this juncture, this is the view I see on my horizon.

I was so moved by each person’s story, but the one I will start with is a woman in her forties who was diagnosed with breast cancer five years ago.  Outwardly she is the picture of health … strong, fit, with an outgoing and friendly personality.  But when she began to speak, I doubt there was a dry eye in the house as she described the fear she lives with on a daily basis … afraid she is going to die of cancer.  She expressed how tired she is of living in fear and that she chose this path to find a peacefulness and heal not only her body, but maybe more importantly at this point, her soul.

I doubt there’s many readers that can’t relate to this in some form or another, whether it’s cancer or some other life-threatening disease, and whether it’s fear for yourself or a loved one … we’ve all been there.  It’s a lonely and frightening place.  I look forward to watching her crusade against the fear, and have no doubt I will learn much from her journey.

On a lighter note, there was no shortage of down dogs, up dogs, and my body was doggone tired by Sunday afternoon (by about 2:30 all I could think was enough with the dogs!!)  We practiced both instructing and being instructed.  And you’d be surprised how hard it is to guide a pose when just learning, “inhale plank pose exhale …  uhhh …. uhhh …. inhale again … no, exhale again …. long pause … people’s faces turning red … need to think … what’s next … mind is a blank …”  It really was hilarious.  We all were novices and everyone held poses for prolonged periods of time while the “practicing teacher” was working through the mixed up jumble of words clogging their brains. It was a pretty good workout.  Lots of laughter and camaraderie as we each struggled with what might seem to be such an easy task.

But isn’t that life?  All beginnings can be challenging as we slowly learn  to master the baby steps, until one day we sail through that which at first seemed so difficult.

Tonight we begin weekend 2.  I’m looking forward to seeing everyone again.  And this week when I pass Carmelita’s Restaurant next door, I may still eye the good-looking meals, but I will not be yearning to duck inside and call Rick to come rescue me.  I will be content to try their cuisine at some date in the future when this adventure is complete.  I have no doubt I will most likely be sitting there in tears as I wax nostalgic about my experience in this amazing class.

Moving forward … baby steps.  Life is good.

Namaste

Opening Doors

 
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.
Namaste