The person I want to be climbed rocks

I went bouldering in an indoor rock gym tonight.  It hurts now in my hands, in a very ‘ouch’ way.  My palms felt like fire when I showered in the warm water, and it felt like I was rubbing them raw when I was merely soaping up my body and washing my hair.  I imagine that even more of my body will ache tomorrow, in a good way.  I’m glad I went climbing with this old friend.  Apparently I am terrified of jumping down while facing a wall… I’d never noticed that it made a difference to me, jumping down from something forward versus backward… I guess I just hadn’t ever considered a blind and backward jump for anything before tonight.  Anyway…

And now, since I gave the girls an assignment on it today when subbing for creative writing, I’ll throw in a bit of free poetry, slam style, but typed…

I got a few scrapes and bumps,
and even drew blood on one skinning spot.
But I climbed a lot
for having done
little comparable activity
in the past several months.

And it felt good.
And I felt like I was being
the person I wanted to be.
The person I want to be.
Yes.  The person I want to be.
Me,
myself, and I are good people,
but there’s more to me
to who I want to be.
And she
yes, she
stopped in to smile tonight
to show how I might
could be.
Truly.
Would that she
come sooner
and wait no longer,
but it is I who must go to her.
Let it go, let it go, just let it all go…
Or Beatles-ly
let it be…
then shall I be she
proud and powerful and humble and beautiful
as can be,
being the person I want to be.

 

Post-a-day 2018

 

 

Early to bed, and you’ll miss the stars

It is difficult for me to go to bed early at night, even if I am exhausted.  I drag on the process of getting ready for bed – one which already usually takes 30 minutes to an hour – , adding in tasks that, while useful to have accomplished, are by no means necessary to accomplish that night.  Tonight, for example, I took the time to trim all of my nails, to roll my feet twice (or was it three times?) on the massage roller, to turn on and refill my little water fountain, and even to open up my laptop to write, instead of just doing something quick and short on my phone… all things that were not necessary tonight, but that I did along the way anyway, and naturally.  As I did these – rather, as I noticed that I was doing these extra steps that were making my sleep more distant than originally perceived – , I began to wonder.  And I came up with a theory.

I think it is difficult for me to go to bed, and especially to go to bed early, because I feel that there is so much to do in life, and that I am not taking advantage of my opportunities if I merely go to bed.  Sure, I could do them in the morning, as you might say, and going to bed early would allow me to get up early to accomplish things.  But what guarantee have we of there being a morning for us each day?  Yes, it is highly likely in all forms of statistics, but it is not a guarantee.  My life is right now, and who is to say that I ever will get to these things tomorrow (or any other day, for that matter), after I’ve slept and forgotten everything I’d considered tonight?  The only part where I have control is the part where I can do something now.  I am young and vibrant and here right now, so now is the time (and potentially could be the only time).

And as much as it seems absurd, I think that I genuinely feel that way about it all.  That’s why I go to sleep so late on an incredibly regular basis.  I began readying myself for bed tonight around 20h30 (that’s 8:30pm for those who don’t do the 24-hour thing… in French).  It is not after 10pm, and I still have to do my reading, which will take another fifteen-is minutes after I finish writing this.  At night, I feel as though anything is possible.  Nothing is waiting for me or expecting anything from me, and I am free to do as I will.  Tomorrow, there will be expectations of various sorts from various people for me.  But tonight, after the day’s and evening’s events are finished and the expectations met (or at least let go after failure), I am free… and what better time to do the things I’ve been wanting to do than when I am free and available and able?

Plus, I know that, if tomorrow comes, I’ll see the sunlight… I can only see the stars at night, and I can only stop to enjoy them when I have finished with the day’s requirements of me.

Anyway, those are some of my thoughts on that for tonight… goodnight!  🙂

Post-a-day 2018

Being a Teacher

I watched tonight a lecture from Yogi Bhajan on the matter of being a Teacher, as part of my yoga teacher training.

It really got to me, down deep and all throughout…

The meditation at the end was 11 minutes of a certain exercise and mantra, which began as easy and became very difficult by the end of it (as is often the case)….

… but I broke down in tears for the first few minutes of the meditation, as my body and mind began to process further and to accept what Yogi Bhajan had said in the lecture.

It was so powerful for me, I think, because I am not only just doing this yoga teacher training, but have found myself already being a school teacher these past several years… I am not just here to be a yoga teacher, it seems, but to be a Teacher through and through.

And that scared me.

I think it still does.

Post-a-day 2018

But I love to sleep

It’s almost midnight, and I’m waking up at 3:40am…

My Sunday went from too much to empty relaxation to beautiful difficulty and relaxation.

Actually, today was quite similar…, I just wish now that it had wrapped things up sooner this evening, so I could have slept some more tonight.

Perhaps I can nap tomorrow.

(Mmm, naps…)

So, it’s a total yikes for tomorrow, but I expect it to be really good, and on many accounts.

Post-a-day 2018

Sleep

The importance of sleep has never evaded me…

I just forget about it from time to time.

And then I am brutally reminded of it in situations like tonight, when I am practically breaking down in tears over my first assignment in grad school, which happens to be one that really is not a big deal, but that I just dislike and don’t want to do, and my tired brain cannot cope with the task at hand combined with exhaustion and dislike and rustiness of subject.

Sleep is a blessing, and withholding it (i.e. not being responsible about it to where I have enough of it) is somewhat self-destructive.

Post-a-day 2018

Freshly Sliced

I am the epitome of sliced white bread, as I enter campus.  I have on my dance top and shorts and my hipster tie-dye Oakley sunglasses.  I am eating a Trader Joe’s snack bar and holding a large bottle of cold Trader Joe’s electrolyte water, and am walking with a cool green backpack on my back, and my dirty blonde hair in a messy bun on top of my head.

Two black guys are walking towards me.  The larger of the two, a very large and very dark guy, asks me how I’m doing and what I do here.  I tell him that I go to school.  He asks if I do any sports or anything, because I look like I do long-distance running; I look very thin and fit.  I say that I did.  He says that ‘you see there, I was right – you look like it’.  I notice that I’m also wearing running shoes – the ones I used to wear for all my walking and bike riding at my Japan job – and that I haven’t just been doing exercise, despite my complete outfit for it.  He hands me a flyer while saying that they hope I can join them on the 20th, and then I continue onward.  Based on the flyer, it looks like some sort of DJ dance party with stereotypical black advertising and expected attendees.  Not that I’m opposed to the party, but I’m not exactly the target audience of the flyer, making it surprising that this guy would have stopped to invite me…I mean, did he see me?  Again, not opposed to it.  I’m in full support of it.  I’m just a little surprised by it.  However, I recall that this is a college campus, so they’re probably inviting just about any girl they can find (who doesn’t look like a total nerd, that is), and my surprise lessens significantly.

After a few hundred yards of walking onward, I see what I originally think is a dead snake on the ground.  As I approach it, I see that it is a strand of weave, of false hair.  A gurgling chuckle rises within me.  This is definitely not my typical territory, and I feel as though my thoughts of being stereotypical white bread have just been proven by my surroundings of very much black culture  – not to mention the fact that almost everyone I can see is black to some degree – showing up in stark contrast to me.

And then I remember that I also am wearing a drape-y scarf, despite the fact that it is still technically summertime.  I’m even more white bread than I had thought.

Post-a-day 2018