Big breath in. H-A haaaaaaa. Home from Morocco. What a gift to have taught there for a month. A fabulous trip for so many reasons.
One of which I suppose was because I was in a nice little bubble safe from reality. Safe from having to face the aftermath of losing my business. Of a financial crisis. Of the void left from the studio that was my dream.
Although I know moving forward is the only way, it has not been easy. I hear the words in my ears “You have to let go” and in fact it has turned into a constant, very loud ringing. I hear loved ones around me “You have to let it go”. I KNOW. How much do I talk about this when teaching class? The art of surrender and the jewel of Ishvara Pranidhana. Yes folks, I have as much to learn and practice as you my fellow students do.
The philosophy is very clear to me. Practicing it is quite another and man, have I fallen off the horse again and again. When I witness friends around me going through their own catastrophes and troubles, I feel very small being stuck in my little mud puddle. Everyone has troubles, some mammoth, some minuscule, all valid. For some reason, I have trouble giving myself permission to be sad, upset, turned upside down.
Turns out, my little stint in the emergency room that I wrote about in the first post was.......drum roll please.....a nervous breakdown. Whaaaaat?? Yup, it's official, I am a member of one flew over the cuckoo's nest. I saw my doctor upon returning home (mandatory after ER visits) with my novel size stack of paper work and tests. He said that after all the strain from the last few years that my body gave up when I finally decided to relax, let go, that my trip to Morocco was such a relief of carrying the weight that my body said “Enough”. Wow.
Part of me feels better to know that it really was a lot to handle and the other part feels extremely vulnerable admitting this. Like my dirty little secret is out of the closet. This was a dream that my husband I put all our money and soul's into. A state of the art yoga studio that cost roughly $9-$10,000 per month to operate and it did well from day one. It was a mission to offer a beautiful space that was financially and physically accessible to all.
The cherry on top was that it was built to make difference in people's lives. 10% of all proceeds always went to my dear friend Molly's orphanage in Africa- Springs of Hope Kenya. Since the time we were open, almost $15,000 was sent directly to this life saving place as well as to local charities like Family of New Paltz. The reasons behind the studios struggles has it's own story that involves others. I have always chosen to remain quiet on this as I would not want to hurt someone the way we have been. Instead, I am more interested in how I co-created what has happened and how to move forward. The studio always paid for itself which is no small feat for a small town. The thing it did not pay for was me working around the clock to keep it a float. After 4 years of this and as much as I loved the studio and it's community like a child, I realized this was not a sustainable way to live.
So how are we going to deal with ourselves? The situation of losing the yoga studio hit us hard in the pocket but it's the emotions that are harder to deal with. The love and care we put into creating this place from the ground up- from the blue-stone floor my husband cut by hand, to the paint color right down to the kind door knobs installed were part of the vision, but it's the relationships with students and community that has left the biggest hole.
There's the teacher's voice in my head again yelling so maybe I can finally hear- “This is attachment! You have to let go! We are not our situations, or job or debt, or material things! The obstacle is here to teach us. Surrender!” Blah, blah, blah. Oooooh I get it- yet it's been a rough ride and I keep falling off the horse.
The crush of finances left from the studio and me wondering if I somehow were a better teacher or worked harder, I could have saved the business has kept me in the murky mud puddle. Ding! There it is! The voice of the inner enemy.... a killer for many of us. How long I have battled that inner foe thinking that If I were better..... And never mind that thinking this way probably did in the end shadow me in classes.
I felt so transparent trying to keep this face of strength on for the past couple of years. It did not matter how many emails or testimonials that said the opposite of my internal thoughts. I could only hear my own tiny voice. It drove me to be almost fanatical in my own training, study and growth. This part I am thankful for, as I am better all the way around for it, but funny when my therapist (Oh God, I really am a walking soap opera!) said “No more yoga!!!!!' No more reading about yoga!” He said something key- that I also heard from my mentor Nikki- To trust myself. To know I had the light inside me and that I already know. It's just me that's in the way.
It is not acceptance that I needed for the issue- it was and is acceptance for myself. This is the truth of surrender. It is not giving up and turning into a marshmallow on the couch watching 18 episodes of Game of Thrones in a row (although, I admit enjoy especially on a rainy day). The surrender is to stop the internal fight. To recognize the situation so that a fresh perspective can enter our tiny pea brains. It means putting a halt to the inner enemy, the questioning self and get back up on the damned horse to embrace new possibilities.
I love Hafiz's quote -”We have all the ingredients to make our lives joyful and all the ingredients to make it a nightmare.” I have been making mud soup at times through this process-Sorry to my friends and family who had to endured me! - but I think part of the problem is not giving ourselves time to grieve, time to not be perfect. The guilt I had from feeling this way only fed the beast to make it worse. Tearing ourselves apart for how we feel does not help with the healing.
Ah. Can I finally learn? Can I finally understand that it took something this massive to reach my true inner voice- the one that is a divine light that each and every one of us has?
Time to pull up the boot straps and ride.
“Resistance is Universal. We're wrong if we think we're the only ones struggling with resistance. Everyone who has a body has resistance.” -Steven Pressfield in the The War on Art
Resistance meaning self doubt, fear and all those thoughts of I'm not sure, what if I fail, maybe i'm not good enough....
I have been saying I want to write a book for while. Starting with a blog although not sure where to begin. So much has happened I feel slow doing all things. Even figuring out a name for the blog seems daunting. Hmmmmm, maybe some of that resistance thang happening. What I can say, is that I am full of gratitude.
SO, no thinking, just writing and we will see what flows. Here I sit in Morocco. Must say, it's quite nice and surreal at the same time. Hard to believe I was sitting in the ER at NYU a week ago from today. Have to admit, that was scary in big letters. For the 1st real time in my life, I felt grateful for all the things my body could do (at that moment, it could not do much/scratch that, more like nothing much). The slightest movement seemed to send a searing pain in my chest which made it harder to breath. The pain I can take, the weird fuzzing in and almost out of consciousness, not so much. I kept repeating to myself, slowly breathe in, slowly breathe out and thank you God for all my blessings with a good dose of Help! Please! p.s. If you have not read Help, Thanks, Wow by Anne Lamott you must! When they shuttled my hubs out and the cardiac and neuro docs flocked into the party with a few nurses, it excelled to uh-oh serious. Hours later, too many blood tests to name, spell or heaven forbid, pronounce, eccas, echos, cat scans and a fuzzy, few dizzy spells later, I was admitted for observation. They said it could be anywhere from 2 hours to 2 days to....kind of a bummer since my flight for Morocco was scheduled to depart at 10pm that night. Was not looking good. Needless to say, I could almost hear my Mother from Florida screaming: “absolutely not” and my brother saying this once again might be God trying to get my attention about going away for a month. Maybe I was not suppose to go. Even I at this point was having doubts. Especially, if I am not interested in eating, then we know there's some kind of issue.
I am a pretty head strong person and have been told by family members that there's a pretty big slab of concrete across my forehead housing my brain and my ideas. My idea that morning when I got up and could not move was to go to a hot yoga class. I was really sure this would help! But after not being able to hold or sip a cup of coffee (which is mandatory upon waking), I started to think maybe not. It elevated to a loud no when the first dizzy spell came and I felt like I was on a really bad drug leaving star trek style to go somewhere else. It did not feel very exciting like I am sure it was when they said “Beam me up Scotty” on the show. It felt downright terrifying. I was not sure if I was having a heart attack...well, I did hit the big 5-0 this year. And well yes, there's been a little strain lately.... My husband John was having his own heart attack watching me come unplugged. Before I was going to fuzz out Jimi Hendrix style and made it to my hands and knees, I squeaked out to call 911. And I HATE hospitals. No offense! But I can't get blood drawn without turning into a hot, clammy mess. After I came back to planet earth (kind of) we decided walking to the ER was faster than an ambulance (especially in NYC) since we live right around the corner. Somehow I got it together- well, as much as someone can be together like this with my shirt on inside out and at that point, thank God I had pj pants on because I don't think I could have managed that part. So we hobbled sloooooooooooowly to the NYU Emergency. The good news was they took me right away. The bad news was I looked that frightening that they took me right away. Scarier still, that after a little while, they gave me a second EKG because I looked worse than when I had arrived. Oh boy.
Checked in 8am. Cleared and checked out 5pm. Two doctors declaring there were no problems with my plumbing, many more Thank you Gods and I was on my way to the airport. I was pumped with a bit of valium and was feeling slightly strange, yet slightly wonderful. A little concerned what would happen when the dose would ware off in the middle of the night on a trans-Atlantic flight. Am i bullheaded to be going? All tests clear and had it in the back of my mind that I am replacing a teacher in Morocco and what happens if I did not show up? I was responsible for taking over someone's business and not likely I can be replaced at the 11th hour......Ate a huge tasteless sandwich the size of a small log to load up on a mega dose of motrin, ativan and off I went. This is where the “Wow” comes in regarding Anne Lamott's book. I woke up feeling.... fine. Argh! Fine is a non-word! I could breath! I could move! Yes! Hallelujah! Sore like I had been beaten in the back with a bat, but GREAT.
So, Wow! So here I sit with camels out my window trying to figure out the next phase of life. . The pit-stop in the ER certainly kicked off my soul-search with a good dose of gratitude. There have been painful things leading to this phase but I believe they happened exactly as they were meant to so that i can learn to get out of my own way. As one of my favorite poets Mary Oliver said- "What will we do with this precious life?" Hmmmm. Time to kick resistance in the arse and shine bright.