Dreams are funny things. They are wonderful. They help us to set goals and have something to look forward to. They can also hold us back from living in the present moment, from enjoying what is right now. As always there is this healthy balance we want to cultivate. Can we set goals without overlooking the beauty of now? When I was a little girl I dreamed of going to college. I dreamed of being a mother. I dreamed of being a teacher. Whenever anyone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up I would say, teacher.

When my children were young there was a time of day in the afternoon that I called quiet time. It was a very important time, maybe I would even venture to call it sacred. It was usually early afternoon and it was a time I would need to recharge to make it through the rest of the day without losing my mind. Full time mama-ing is no joke. I could have called it nap time but as my children got older they resisted taking naps so I just got into the habit of calling it quiet time. Then there would be no fight. They didn't have to sleep, although they often did. It's still an important part of my day now even though my youngest is fourteen. Sometimes it's just ten minutes breathing deeply, or reading a book. No talking, just listening, feeling, replenishing.

From the moment a mother finds out she will have a baby a story unfolds. The story of that child's life from the moment of their birth, through early childhood, the first day of school, the high school graduation, college, marriage, children etc...We always know that it will one day be time to say goodbye. Our child will leave us just as we left our parents. We know this and still when the time comes it is a mix of joy and utter sadness. How did we get here so fast? Wasn't I just changing your diaper? We know we will not stop them or even tell them that we want them to stay. We will do what our parents(hopefully) did and simply support them in whatever decision they make. Even though we want to tell them, wait, are you sure, are you really, really sure? We can’t do that and we know this is the moment we saw so clearly when they were just the teeny tiniest little seed inside of us. We knew this day would come and so we smile, we hold back tears, we tell them we are proud of them. Even when we see them struggling to decide what to do, we do not pick up the pieces for them and tell them what the right thing to do is. The time for that has passed. It flew by just like all the other precious(and not so precious)moments of their childhood.

This photograph has always fascinated me. I look into my own eyes and see so much. I am sad. I am overwhelmed, I am tired. My three year old self had no idea what life had in store for her. I was always quick to tear up, my feelings were hurt easily. Now I think of that little girl and think it couldn’t have been so bad. We are each in our own bubble of despair or happiness or anger or frustration or joy or uneasiness and a moment later it can change. So maybe in that moment when the camera clicked it really was that bad. Sometimes I think I can remember what was happening when this picture was taken but more likely it’s just that I remember that little me. So tender, so full of feelings, that frequently overflowed. At that age I wanted to be told what was right and what was wrong. It gave me a sense of security, an ordered world. I followed my mother and my big sister around like a shadow. Whatever they did was right. Lately as ordered as I try to make my life it seems there is no order. 

Lately I feel like two different people. The first feels stronger than ever, beautiful, wise and at peace with herself. The other me has her eyes open looking in a mirror, in shock at what she sees staring back at her.

I am getting older. It’s really happening. I remember my mom complaining about her body, calling herself fat, complaining about her stomach. I remember her talking about getting a face lift. It must have been hard for her to see her daughters becoming senoritas and feeling a little lost in her body. I wish we could sit together and talk about it. I didn’t know how it felt, I didn’t understand then but I do now. The cycle of life. It’s my turn to go through this and with my eyes closed I am that wise woman welcoming these changes- but then I am not. I am resisting, kicking and screaming, looking back at what was, even though that was never enough either.

Here we are more than a year later on the precipice of opening up. Can this finally be happening? I stopped waiting back in the fall when we were also on that same precipice and it didn’t happen. It’s been a long year, a year of getting used to doing less and being home(a lot.) I have taught hundreds of zoom classes and there is this beautiful little community that has gotten used to coming together on our screens. We breathe, we move and then we do it all over again. Many of you have heard me say that this practice has sustained me during this past year. The fear, the uncertainty, the complete upheaval of life as I knew it has been so much to process whereas the simplicity of getting back on my mat each day, week, month has been a comfort. A way for me and for us to ‘touch base’ and say here I am, I am still here. One step at a time. Simplifying life to breathing and moving while the world swirls around us.

So what happens now? There are shifts happening. Yoga studios are opening and planning to open each in their own time. I am so ready for this and yet...am I? Change is difficult. I’ve gotten used to what life is, I’ve been sheltering in place, holding tight and even if I miss the way life was I realize there is no going back. I am moving forward not back so a new path must be paved. NEW! This is the scary part for me.

February is a rough month for me. It used to just be the short month with only 28 days(except for once every seven years) and the month of my favorite and only sister’s birthday and it still is but now, well now, it’s also the month leading up to my mom’s death. For the last six years February has been about remembering the last month of my mom’s life. Should I think about it? Should I avoid thinking about it? Should I talk about it? Will I make everyone uncomfortable talking about it? I miss my mom. Every day. I miss her. Every February I replay the last month of my mother’s life by reading my journal that chronicles her last days. Yes, I cry. Mostly silent tears that come down one after the other as I read and remember. I am so grateful I wrote it all down even if it is painful. I want to remember all the little details. Her last words, her last meal, her last moments, her last breath. They are crystal clear because I wrote it down. I don’t always do this and there is so much I don’t remember but when I knew my mom was dying, not just someday in the future, but with a certainty that the day was drawing near I started writing again. I wrote down the details of our last days together….

Strangely enough 2020 was the year I found my voice…again. Over the years so gradually it is imperceptible I just sort of let myself get buried under the weight and seriousness of life. The weight of trying to be perfect at everything and failing. I’ve been playing it safe. I’ve been hiding. I don’t really think I deliberately went about doing this. I didn’t make a conscious decision, it just happened. I got buried layer by layer and my light has been a little dimmer.

It’s strange that this year that has been filled with so much sheltering in place has been an opportunity for me to wake up, to remember what makes my light shine brightly and not be afraid to let it shine, let it shine, let it shine. Being at home day in and day out did not make me feel depressed. There have certainly been difficult days and so much uncertainty but in truth I like being at home. I’m an introvert and while I do love being with people I am very comfortable at home, reading, writing, listening to music, finding inspiration.

Has the last eight plus months felt like a waiting game? Have you been waiting to get back to ________ ? Does it feel like you are not in control of life and that when you feel like there is a glimmer of hope returning the door gets slammed in your face? When shelter in place began I really had no idea how it would affect every aspect of my everyday life. I had no idea it would go on as long as it has. I honestly and naively thought it would be a few weeks maybe a month tops before we were back in the studio or back in school or back to a million other everyday things. I kept reading those posts that said ´there is no going back to normal´ and nodding my head yes but then thinking to myself surely we’re going to get back to normal? 

When I was in high school my choir director, a grumpy, music obsessed, tantrum throwing teacher took an interest in me. I was a real mess when I was fourteen(as many fourteen year olds are.) Mr. Maxson decided the quiet little girl that sat in the corner trying not to be seen had a good voice. I was new to the school and was quite intimidated by the girls in the choir and the show choir(think Glee). They would put a finger over one of their ears so they could hear themselves as they sang, they read music, they harmonized together, several had perfect pitch. I knew nothing about music, I hadn’t wanted to join the choir but we moved and registered late and my counselor said I had no choice. I could not read music but my terror at not picking up the alto part quickly enough to avoid the wrath of Mr. Maxson made me learn quickly or at least fake it until I did figure it out.

A few weeks ago my dad woke up with his whole body aching. He stayed in bed that morning and I thought he was just having a slow day. He's eighty years old and some days are a little slower but for the most part my dad is very active, he has a schedule, a routine and he sticks to it. I taught my morning class and then went back to his room to check on him. He was still in bed, he hadn’t eaten breakfast. I touched his forehead and it was hot. This was the beginning of a very difficult week for my dad(and for me in a different way.)

When I was a little girl it drove my mom crazy to see us laying down or taking a nap during the day. I grew up feeling like it was a bad thing to do nothing. A constant refrain for my mother was, ‘Que perezosos!!!!’ In English this translates to ‘how lazy!’ Later on when I learned that the word for sloth in Spanish was also perezoso I laughed out loud. Ha, what sloths we were! I imagined sloths laying around the house.

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about my tendency to want to lean into something, someone. I feel this great support when I can lean into a person or a place. You know the song, Lean on me?

Lean on Me…when you’re not strong, I’ll be your friend, I’ll help you carry on…

Hopefully you clicked on the link, listened or are listening to the song and are now reading the rest of this blog. It’s a great song. Your heart may feel full as you sway and sing along and you may feel supported. That’s not a bad thing, that’s good. It’s all about balance and sometimes I feel like I get a little out of balance with all my leaning.

Don’t put me in your box

You may not know what I am

But I know

That’s what matters

I see the question in your eyes

Your confused look

The need to label me