Conviction….realized

Conviction….realized

This morning, my sweet, pregnant and sassy colleague Brianna and I took our usual pit stop at [insert Brand Name Bagel Shop] for our morning coffee and snacks.  The song piping in over the sound system was Paula Abdul’s Promise of a New Day. 

“See!” Brianna sassed, “It’s an omen. You did the right thing and better times are coming”

Brianna was referring to my recent resignation from the office job I’ve held all of five weeks before cashing out.   

It’s true that I need money to pay my bills and support myself.  It’s true that Las Vegas has the highest unemployment rate in the nation. It’s true that jobs are simply not available. Those jobs that are available are the ones nobody wants because the sacrifice and suffering that accompanies them surpasses the paltry paycheck in return. 

I am grateful for the awareness that I cannot be confined to a 4×2 plywood desk for nine hours a day, 5 days a week.  I am grateful that I have been blessed with a  companion willing to cover me on his modest-at-best earnings so long as it takes.  Love at its shiniest, I say.

When I relocated to las Vegas, I was determined to submerge fully into all things Yoga.  That determination dissolved as quickly as my savings account in a devastated economy.  Sheer financial panic prompted me to pursue “a full-time job” with impenetrable obsession. 

For tax purposes I pulled together the numerous receipts for various vaccinations, health cards, alcohol awareness cards, three sets of fingerprints, drug tests, duplicate transcripts, $150 application fees,  even a CPR class  that I was required to take in order to get a job.     In sum, I spent over $1,000.00 just trying to GET A JOB (that I never got)

Point is this….when you disregard your instincts for the sake of ‘reason’ or ‘practicality’ your chances for success (however you define it for you) drop dramatically.

Something clicked inside me over these last few, frustrated weeks imprisoned in my office.   I know what I must do.  I know where I must go.  The momentum is as palpable as fresh cut onion.  As solid as lonsdaleite. 

At last my heart and mind reconcile.

“Cliché of the day – the journey is the fun part; the real part….where life is lived” –Michael Lechner

Promise of a New Day

Eagle’s calling
and he’s calling your name
Tides are turning bringing winds of change
Why do I feel this way
The promise of a new day

Chorus:
The promise
The promise of a new day
as thru time
the earth moves
under my feet
one step closer
to make love complete
what has the final say
the promise of a new day

And so time over time
what will change the world
no one knows
so the only promise
is a day to live, to give
and share with one another
see the wisdom
from mistakes in our past
hear the younger
generation ask
what has the final say
the promise of a new day
-Paula Abdul-

The Parts

As if I could come up with a better title than that? My yoga practice has been compartmentalized to precisely that: parts. I’ve resumed work in a dismal office to make ends meet; thus sacrificing the great American dream to pursue my ambition as a small business owner (yoga studio). Rest assured I am working twice as hard to kickstart my business while simultaneously juggling this full-time job. I am weary of everything in and around me. I cannot be certain this job will sustain me. Each moment that I am hear my spirit whimpers with grief. My heart is absolutely clear on my path, however my bank account begs to differ. As I try to sort out the parts: the important, the essential, the indulgent, the glorious, the shed-able, I find my yoga practice to be little more than a stretch behind my office chair here and there. I’ve tried to practice in my residence however there are obstacles that prevent a deep and meaningful practice from occurring; namely the fact that the carpet is saturated with dog urine. I occasionally become so desperate for yoga that I lay a sheet down over the soiled carpet and attempt a few postures. I’ve tried attending local yoga classes at my gym. There are two teachers whom I trust to take me from my suffering to bliss however I doubt most yoga instructors at this particular location have ever undergone formal teacher training. It’s alarming that so many unsuspecting yoga students entrust their bodies to instructors who “teach” (i.e. act) for their own gratification. As a result, my yoga practice, my understanding and appreciation of my own body, my awareness of spirit, mind and wellness have dwindled to this: parts. As I write this, my body aches every where. My neck is an inch shorter than normal. My shoulders slouch around me like a limp, wool blanket weighing me down. My fingers are brittle. My arms are noodles. My sacrum aches. My belly swells. My legs fold uncomfortably under a cheap desk while my crunched, suffocating toes are confined to old heels I wore in my former life. I hurt. I know how to not hurt. It requires more than parts. It requires a WHOLE…..thing. A whole session. A whole day. A whole year. A whole commitment. A whole person.

All things change…as will these parts….as will this job….as will my attitude.  Holding on to the idea of prosperity.  Let me be a part of Prosperity.