Hitting the Mat

“The definition of insanity is to do the same thing over and over and expect different results.” – Albert Einstein

So here is how this is going to work.

There will not be another blog post with a list of action items that I will reflect upon 6 months from now and then whine about when I didn’t accomplish what I set out to do. Been there, done that, over it. I have action items in my head of course (it is a universal truth that nothing gets done with out them) but this obsessive list maker is not going to make a list.

The plan is to actually DO stuff, and if I feel like it, write about it.  I do like writing.  It’s therapeutic, it helps me feel connected to the world. If all goes well, you will see more posts about stuff that I actually DO.

Starting now.

Today, I left the house for my Sunday morning Yoga class.  My favorite yoga teacher in NYC  is back from maternity leave and I am SO happy to be reunited with her. Her classes are 1 1/2 hours of crazy (sometimes confusing) poses, being there for yourself, and thinking about what’s important.

If I had not gone to class today, I would not have heard this reading, which I loved.  Apparently it was inspired by a cocktail party where the author answered inane questions all night (read more about that and the author here).  I am sure I am breaking all kinds of copyright laws but including here.  If you continue on to read this, you have to agree to bail me out of copyright jail if necessary:

 “The Invitation” by Oriah Mountain Dreamer

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain. I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it, or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul; if you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see beauty even when it’s not pretty, every day,and if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes!”

It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up, after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

If I were a yoga teacher, could I just sit around and think about this stuff all day? Are yoga teachers happier than other people? Every yoga teacher I have ever met seems pretty darn happy.  Until I can figure out how to stand on my head without envisioning my neck breaking and balance in tree pose for more than 15 seconds, this is probably not in the cards for me, but I am going to do my best to hit the mat more often…as a gift to myself.

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