On The Tracks: Finding My Soul Tribe

I breathe this memory into my bones: the beautiful blossom of morning light reaching across train tracks, the touch of air on my skin, the steel beneath my heels, the soul tribe friends guiding me along my path.

Photos by the wildly talented Misty Pittman . Roam and revel at http://mistypittman.com/collection/ . 

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Walking in heels along tracks is a balancing act. There is the terrifying and thrilling fear of falling, losing all composure and stumbling into gravel and unforgiving rails. Dwelling in the fear of falling makes it only more plausible. The security is in the present: an unwavering commitment to the NOW to guide my steps.

I am comforted by the presence of my friend, my kindergarten soul mate. She takes graceful steps in lace up boots. The black lace of her dress flutters in the breeze. Her serene aura ripples out and embraces.

I find my breath. I find a gaze to guide and mindfully direct my steps. I am safe.

The photographer captures the journey of my kindergarten soul mate and I traveling down the tracks through her poised iPhone. I feel safe in front of the camera. I trust the exquisite artistry of the photographer. She invites me to step in and see pockets of missed beauty in our raw and metal surroundings. In the fresh world of the morning, this industrial playground of breweries, train tracks and abandoned cars is curiously enchanting. We see beauty in the weeds growing beside discarded tires; in the street puddles left over from the night’s rain; in the bleach white bones of cat who perished by the train track.

She is an artist in full focus – angling the camera to catch a change in light, directing with a few, concise cues. For once, my usual self-consciousness is gone. Typically, I feel uncomfortable in the direct gaze of the unwavering lens and these feelings of unease appear in the photo, much to my chagrin.

Today, though, I am freed from the strains of insecurity. I don’t strive to be model perfect. The wilder my hair is the better. Spontaneous dance sessions celebrated. Carefree laughter welcomed. Heart-shaped sunglasses, Jeans, scuffed boots and leather jacket complimented and praised. I let myself be seen because I am in the presence of two people who see me and radically accept me.

Radical self-acceptance is part of my soul work. The work always begins from within. The daily commitment to practice compassion toward self and show up authentically in the world starts with wild permission to feel what I need to feel, process what I need to process, and love myself through all of the lessons.

I am blessed to have people in my life supporting me through the journey. These rare and treasured friends are my soul tribe.  My soul tribe speaks the language of intuition and of the heart. My soul tribe feels deeply, lives passionately and loves fiercely. The two women walking beside me are my heart listeners: I turn to them when I’m in joy and when I’m in pain. They hold space for all of expressions of me, and I hope I hold space for them, too.

Looking at the photos, I instantly feel a sense of belonging. We need each other on this journey. We need a soul tribe, a community, a few friends who applaud us along as we travel down uncertain roads, or bravely tackle train tracks in heels.

***

Cultivating Balance

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. 

Nurturing Softness: Staying Open-Hearted to Life

Nurturing the inner muse by reveling in the enchanting photography of Misty Pittman: https://instagram.com/misty_pittman/.

***

Monday late afternoon, the blues descend. The anger from the previous week that lingered through the weekend fades and reveals a sinking disappointment and heavy sadness. I prefer anger. The lividness fuels action; the sadness slows and paralyzes. The temptation is to indulgently dwell in the sadness, but a promise to be at a party pushes me to rise. I put on red lipstick, pop on an adored glittery bracelet and take off into an evening cooled by the afternoon rain.

Any remaining heaviness dissipates once I arrive to the backyard affair and am warmly greeted by friends. The gathering is of kindred spirits, sipping margaritas and beers in a free-spirited garden. The back porch holds tables overflowing with local deliciousness: hotdogs from a nearby farm, watermelon slices, fresh salads and a platter of homemade oatmeal cookies.

The conversations flow with ease around recent movie releases, podcasts, travels and politics (for once, I’m joyfully with members from my own political tribe). Beneath the melody of conversations is an indie playlist of Glass Animals, Tycho and alt-J.

There are toasts at the end of the evening, celebrating a departing friend as she embarks on her journey to graduate school. Included in this circle of kindhearted people, I feel an overflowing of joy and love. I let the goodness sink in. I revel in it; this summer evening of friends, margaritas and uplifting conversation is a balm to my heart and rejuvenates my soul.

From this space of belonging, I am able to access my softness. I connect back to my own kindness and feel such relief. My fear that I am losing my sweetness dissolves as I welcome this joyful moment. From this softened perspective, I see the past few weeks of difficulty and heartbreak are part of my growing, not my hardening.

The questions that always emerge during times of hardship return to me again: can this wounding open my heart even more to life? Can the difficulty be seen as invitation to expand and not shrink? Can I see people in all their glorious imperfections from a place of understanding and compassion, and not bitterness and judgment?

I intend for the answer to be a wholehearted yes: a yes to embracing the challenges, learning the lessons and remaining open to life; a yes to falling fiercely and beautifully in love again; a yes to recognizing that people’s imperfections are my own and we’re in this life journey together.

Recently, this daily practice of staying soft and remaining open-hearted is a challenge. The hurt seeps out into bitterness; the disappointment reshapes into sarcasm. I fear that my genuine softness is lost to the rough tides of life, but then a beautiful summer evening spent with friends grants access to the compassion dwelling deep within the core of my being.

In all my consuming anger and difficulty, I forgot the simple and magnificent power of genuine laughter and pure-hearted fun. I remember that to stay soft I must take great, gentle care of myself. I nurture my softness by surrounding myself with uplifting people, by taking sacred, steady breaths beneath a night sky. I stay soft by marveling at the universe and returning to the truth of my being, and knowing that all is going to be just fine. 

The Walk After The Rain

Dreams of the future bring me back to the paths of the past. 

***

I feel the certainty of my decision. I notice the clarity, the light-heartedness and the determination accompanying the decision. It’s a commitment that liberates. A calling that resonates in the deepest fiber of my being. 

So these days, I’m contemplating the future, strategizing the needed steps to manifest this decision into a full-fledged reality. These thoughts of the future curiously carry me back to the memories of my past. I turn the pages of the past, carefully studying the moments culminating to this dream that sings in my soul as purpose, as my reason for being.

I am led to revisiting the walk after the rain. This is the beginning of the new chapter. I see the lampposts lining the paths of the campus, their golden glow rippling soft light into the mist. I feel beautiful in this memory. I walk slowly, swaying along in a lace dress that reveals sun-kissed shoulders and in boots that click against the rain streaked pavement.

I walk with my first love. He listens to my day’s adventures, exploring a new city that is now his home: a graffiti garden, funky coffee shops, and vintage stores. Two cameo necklaces are treasured finds from the vintage stores and I proudly wear both, an over-the-top fashion decision that tonight feels right.  The cameos watch over my pounding heart, a heart yearning for a subtle sign from this boy that he loves and cares for me.

I silently wish he would reach out and close the distance between us by taking my hand. Instead, the distance is filled with conversation and a shared enchantment for a place of learning illuminated by gold tinted light.

At the time, I believe I delight and see these sights for him. I speak words of support and take the sights in twice because I want to envision a piece of his life I will not be in. I am brilliantly aware of his presence, his movements, his words, his entire being; and simultaneously, incredibly sensitive to my own presence, my own stride, my choice of words and the murmur of unspoken thoughts. I am present and removed; I watch us walk through the mist as a distant observer.

The remembered walk pulls me to the walk that follows a year later. I am alone this time. I retrace the steps of our walk not for the sake of nostalgia, but to reestablish my sense of direction in this sprawling city that is both new and homelike.

Curiosity and spontaneity guide my steps into the academic buildings, secluded courtyards, paths traveled by students now on spring break, leaving an empty campus for me to fully take in and in the company of my thoughts happily explore.

I think of him, naturally, but there is no sadness that comes with the fading photograph of us walking after the rain. Instead of the familiar pang of heartbreak, there is a deep sense of gratitude for his role in my journey. I’m thankful for the evening stroll that left me - not in his arms as I originally thought - but at the beginning of a new chapter. Now I walk alone and brave in my decision to follow a soul calling that all began to whisper my name during that one walk after the rain. 

Compassionate Attentiveness

Softening Into Surrender: A Yoga Moment Beautifully Captured by Mothwing Photography.

***

Today, I stop fearing the pause. I drive with the windows rolled down. The air after the rainstorm is fresh, soft, and cool. Evening gently spills over a darkening lavender sky.  For once in a long time, I don’t turn on the music. I have been taking shelter in loudness, in pop songs, recycled playlists, and anxiously searching for new songs to dive into and let those catchy lyrics replace the repeating lines in my head.

I’m running from being alone, which is uncharacteristic for this introvert. Typically, I revel in moments of stillness. I crave alone time to sort through thoughts and get swept into daydreams.  I delight when my seemingly full schedule offers pockets of peace, a sweet time for non-doing, just being.

Lately, though, stillness is unbearable. I am relieved by the amount of work required for my summer position coordinating summer camps. I escape into an endless stream of music. I avoid my journal. I’m afraid of turning inward. The words are not ready to be formed; the emotion is raw and tender. I wildly flee into a week of doing, busying, loud listening, and lean on discipline and sweat breaking exercise to fill the in between time.

I know this pattern. I let myself run because I trust there will arrive a time when I’ll be ready for silence.

And that time is tonight as I drive through twilight.

I dare to not turn on the music. My thoughts wander. I jump forward into the needed to-dos and prep for the week ahead. I fall back into the past. I get lost in the realm of future and past and then awaken to the sounds of traffic surrounding me.

“To pay attention. This is our most proper and endless work.” Mary Oliver’s words emerge with the stars, giving me the courage to just be in my own company.

I gift myself with my own generous, compassionate attentiveness. I come home to the breath. The breath meets me with ease, generous, full and spacious. The tidal rhythm of breath echoes the ebb and flow of thoughts, emotions, sensations: a beginning, a middle, an end, and then the cycle begins again.

I notice where my thoughts travel with a sense of curiosity: they scan the week ahead in the attempt to be better prepared for the start of a summer program. Behind the analytical preoccupation is the cooing, mournful song of the heart.

Staying connected to the breath, I brave the quiet. I feel the intensity of ache. I am present with the hurt, but I no longer identify with the emotional pain. I marvel at the depth of my emotion, my ability to love fiercely and hurt deeply, and the heart’s ability to hold the entire spectrum of emotion in one breath.

Embracing myself in compassion, I let myself feel what I need to feel.  Taking steady and slow breaths, I let my thoughts unfold without judgment. I meet myself here - in all my uncertainty and vibrancy - with wholehearted attentiveness. 

I am tempted to turn on the radio and do a few times only to turn it off. By the time I arrive home, there is only the song of wind and a rush of tires on pavement. The stars are in full bloom across the summer sky.

This is my simple act of courage: to mindfully and wholeheartedly be here in the pause. 

Courage: The Word For My 25th Year

Thoughts of courage take me back to the wild edge where Texas ends and Mexico begins.

A moment captured by Ann Sydney Taylor .

***

“You’re twenty-five now. How do you feel?” The question nonchalantly appears in a car ride conversation with my baby sister (who is no longer a baby, but a fiercely bright eighteen-year-old brimming with opinions and keen insights). It’s a polite question she poses in-between text messages to her fellow graduating friends, and though I know it’s benign, the question startles me into a panicked realization : I am indeed twenty-five and I am  still piecing my life together.

A sense of desperation frazzles my wellbeing. I abandon my personal power and shine to a projected idea of what society and those linear journeying folk define as success and it doesn’t reflect my current reality. I momentarily forget the validity and beauty of my own path.

Teetering into falling prey to the crowd of inner critics, the spirit word for my twenty-fifth year arrives just in time. Courage commands me to rise above the luring voice of the inner critic. Courage reconnects me to back to my power source, my life force, my steady flow of breath. Put to the test, this car ride moment confirms that courage is the rightful companion for my twenty-fifth year – it brings me back home to myself.

Since sparkle has taken a glittery bow, I’ve contemplated a new word to be this year’s spirit guide: a word to encompass how I intend to grow; a word to hold a vision of what I plan to manifest; a word with the power to center, positively challenge and heal; a word like courage. 

How do I feel now that I’m twenty-five? I want to feel courageous. The courage to keep on sparkling, to trust my own intuitive whispers, to say yes to what lights me up and say no to what feels like overwhelm.

I answer with “want” because fear is here, too. I’m slightly petrified of stepping out of my comfort zone. I’m afraid of failing. I fear being exposed in my inadequacies, but the fear to not stretch my wings, to not follow a calling is greater than the desire to remain complacent and content. Or as Anais Nin exquisitely writes, “And the day came when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to bloom.”

By embracing courage, I also confront my fear. The fear cautions me that I’m exposing my authentic self to the world – through writing my truth, teaching yoga from a tender heart  – and the courage grants me the confidence and the softness to live and express myself from a vulnerable and true place. Fear and courage coexist, and I’ll be well acquainted with both players by the end of the year.

Courage promises to test, dare and push me; it won’t be a glittering dance like sparkle, but I’m up for the challenge.

Courage, I’m yours. Let’s see where this journey takes us.