A tree pose selfie for fall.
***
I brave the early morning chill and walk barefoot into the
canvas of fall leaves blanketing the backyard. I step into a circle of gold
tinted and red hued leaves. I turn my gaze up toward the tree graciously
greeting autumn by letting go and making space for change.
“The trees are
showing us how lovely it is to let go.”
I take a cue from the trees and surrender the mental
chatter and the worries by breathing deeply. I let myself unfold into the
richness of the moment, to be present in the shift, to be consciously anchored
amidst change. I savor the pause.
I realize I haven’t let myself pause too much lately. The
current pace of my life is one that is simply too fast for me. I feel like my
life is living me instead of me living my life. I jump from one commitment to
the next with little to no pause in between. There are people who thrive off of
going and doing, and way to go them! I’m not one of them. My work is primarily
public speaking and my introverted self needs quiet to effectively prepare and
restore.
I know a new balance must be contemplated, cultivated and
cleverly created, but I am not like the autumn trees, I resist letting go.
I resist creating space that I need for myself because all
my commitments bring me tremendous joy. I want to passionately pour energy and
enthusiasm into my new position. My dream job is now a full-fledged reality and
I love it. This is my soul work. It’s the ideal balance of passion and
heartache, of academia and community engagement, of independent work and
collaboration with amazing people. The contented balance I find in this
position however feels different from my personal life. I know in order to be
brilliant and bright at my job, I need down time to feed that inner flame.
That inner flame is also fed by teaching yoga. Each class
I teach has its own unique character and sense of community. It is my bliss. My
heart breaks at the thought of relinquishing a class or two, but I know that if
I continue at this pace I’ll become stressed, uninspired and not able to give
and hold space the way I deeply want to for my students.
I am capable of doing it all, of striving to be super
woman, but by doing, going and speeding to the next, I’m losing a critical
aspect of myself in the process: my creativity.
Looking at my planner the other day, I realized why I feel
a sudden burst of stress whenever I glance at it: there’s not enough blank
space for creativity. I miss writing. I haven’t posted a blog in over a month and I cringe at that fact. The way I write requires mental
space to roam, muse and properly edit…in other words, a lot of blank space.
It’s just how my muse operates. I feel like I am betraying myself by not writing.
By being too tilted to working and teaching, I found how essential writing is
to my spirit.
We all define balance differently. There are times in our
lives when that definition dramatically changes because we change and our
lives, naturally, change. We ebb and flow, expand and contract, hold on and let
go on a daily basis. Right now, I’m in my mid-20s and am exploring the type of
work that sets my soul on fire. I seek to cultivate a balance between my work
with the community, teaching yoga and writing. Attending to these diverse
passions will provide the wholehearted grounding that frees me to be vibrantly
present with family and friends. Achieving perfect balance is not the quest;
I’ll always lean a bit more to one or the other, but having an idea of what
balance would look and feel like for me is comforting and steadying.
I find steadiness in rewriting how I perceive letting go.
I’m holding tightly because of the fear that I could make an irreparable
mistake and will miss out on an opportunity that won’t come again. Letting go
of fear and being comfortable in uncertainty is part of my growth. By letting
go, I create space to deeply nurture my passions, my loved ones and myself. And
as the trees so wisely remind me, this letting go process can be incredibly
beautiful and lovely.
