The First Sentence

The hardest thing about coming back after a long hiatus is the first sentence. 

Oh, thank goodness that’s over. 

What a long, strange few months it’s been. Since I was last here I’ve worked myself to the bone, attended my moms’ wedding, polar plunged in the Atlantic, put on a rad conference for an even more rad reproductive justice organization, joined a yoga-teacher-training team, gotten a tan and played my guitar. I’m doing more birth-work, freelancing full-time and I've taught a lot of yoga. I’ve held space until there was none left to occupy, laughed until my cheeks ached, and cried until my eyes went red and puffy. I’ve edited a bunch of great writing and scored a few new private yoga clients. 

What I haven’t done is taken a whole lot of time off. I haven’t treated myself they way I would a pregnant mama or yoga student. I haven’t supported my own work and goals the way I support the dreams hopes aspirations well-being of others.

I don’t know if there’s something missing here about how I value myself or if it’s just, quite frankly, that I need the work (read: money). But what I do know: This is not sustainable. 

It’s hard to complain when your life rocks. Well, and because complaining is annoying and doesn’t solve anything. But there comes a time when things are hard and changes need to be made, so you name what you don’t want by saying it out loud and using it as a catalyst for change. Or so one hopes. 

Actually making a change is far more difficult than naming what we want to be different. Most of us approach change running at 100 miles per hour, gung-ho and determined, in hopes of getting it over with as soon as possible. Enthusiasm is a useful tool, but at that speed we're likely to stumble and fall, requiring us to pick up shattered egos, question our intentions and struggle to recommit. Some of us will do this many, many times.

(You know what I mean, don't you? What were those New Year’s resolutions again?) 

In my experience, this is where a lot of us get stuck. Bruised egos can suck us dry. But read my (blog) lips: the stumbling is a necessary part of the process. The faltering is the gift (yep, gift) where we can choose to try again instead of beelining it back to complaining. This is an integral part of our reprogramming. Breaking old habits is hard, but the good news is that we’re trainable. So when you stumble en route to change, pick yourself up and keep going, and rest assured that this is the simple irony of forming new habits. Without repetition, new patterns can’t be created. 

I could get real vulnerable here and tell you about what I’m looking to change, but I’m not sure if that’s where I am today. Today was really about the first sentence, part of my reprogramming, if you will. I can however, offer this glimpse through a quote shared with me by a wise and thoughtful friend: 

"What a long time it can take to become the person one has always been. How often in the process we mask ourselves in faces that are not our own. How much dissolving and shaking of ego we must endure before we discover our deep identity—the true self within...that is the seed of authentic vocation." - Parker Palmer

What a long time it can take. You know? 

I’m approaching my 38th birthday this year. And my life is extraordinary—in the way that the ordinary comes alive for me everyday. Today—besides writing the first sentence—I’m opening myself to more of that. I’m embracing the stumbling and moving boldly beyond. I’m holding space for myself too, or at least, figuring out what it would mean and how it would look if I did.