Funny thing happened last week, I got another check in the mail. Oh, no, not for cash. No. From reality. Again.
Thanks for that universe.
There’s a yoga axiom, “Exercise and REST are essential for human health” that’s been screaming my name for a bit. In fact when I first saw it my initial response was “see, look! Even ancient yogis knew exercise was important. Ha. Reason number 999 for why it’s “okay” for me to do what I do. . . found. Boom. Done. Fabulous.”
I sort of just ignored the second noun in the sentence, ‘cuz um, that’s not my thing.
So…. as of yesterday(ish) though, I am officially on a rest period. Yep. Me. resting.
Oh, not by choice. Hell no. Nope. Life, the universe, karma, etc… has a lovely way of reminding us of the lessons we struggle most greatly to learn.
I’m not resting because I want to, I’m resting because I have to. I have several sublaxeted ribs (I believe the current count is four, maybe five?) and they keep popping back out of place. It probably has something to do with the fact that I didn’t exactly take an intermission in activity, despite being advised to do so after the first one lost its way, but you know, it’s for sure a total mystery as to why they came out, in increasing quantities. . . two more times. . .
I didn’t stop when I should have, I ignored my conscious, I pushed too hard, and I broke, a little.
It’s nothing major right now, it’s not something I can’t recover from with care. But, if I don’t actually take rest, it might be. As a dear friend of mine recently warned me, if I’m not careful, I’m going to become an “ex-athlete.”
But, rest? Really? Ressssssstttttt? Ugh. Yucky. No thanks.
Unless, well, my ass is parked in the sand and there’s a cocktail in my hand, then by all means, let’s rest away. Waiter, bring me another round of “stayrighthere” with a chaser of “dontmove.”
However, in the midst of life, real life, parenting, working, day to day stuff, resting is uh, not on my agenda, not on any level.
Exercise is how I maintain my crazy life. It’s what keeps me level, keeps me going, fuels my body, mind and spirit. It’s how I hide my crazy people, and in the words of Princess Vespa, “It’s my industrial strength hair dryer, and I CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT IT!”
Really though, gulp, I am not entirely sure how to function if I can’t do my thing.
Perhaps though, I can see it differently. I can find a way to get comfortable with this discomfort, or at least, to experience it on a fully aware level.
Maybe this is the time to explore the second half of the axiom, the rest part. Shudder.
Possibly now is the time for all the frenetic energy, all the massive shifting happening in my life, all the decision making headaches and the positively humming vibration of my soul singing “change is coming, change is coming, change is coming” to have a place to land for a bit.
If I don’t give myself a space to listen, what good is it to talk anyway?
I’ve been pushing it physically, but I’ve also been pushing it mentally and emotionally. Too hard. Too fast. Too much.
The number of questions I have has exceeded the answers. The ambiguity has overcome the known.
I love it, and I hate it. And, I hate that I love it.
This is when amazing happens. I know that. This is when I experience more glitter bombs, more life explosions, more positive advancement. However, it’s also when mistakes can made, big ones. Ones that are difficult to repair. Like, uh, my ribs, or something.
I am starting to lose my breath, literally, and it’s time to take child’s pose. Home base. Be still. Be quiet. Observe my reality for a moment instead of spinning in it.
I can do this. I can. For real.
Damn it all, I think I might need to just meditate again.
Coffee, you’re on the bench. Advil, suit up.
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