Woke up this morning to streaming sunshine and a heavy heart.
Sunny mornings combined with deep melancholy always does that to me. Add a bit of loneliness and looking back with regret and you have all the ingredients for a right old pity party.
‘I’m so alone, I’ve wasted so much time, should have done this, should have done that, what am I going to do, it’s too late to change, I might as well be dead…..blah, blah, blah……’
Then I checked this blog and saw that I had more likes, more followers and more messages. From amazing people with great blogs who have lived extraordinary lives, met major challenges, battle conditions worse than mine with courage and humour, who would probably pass me in the street without a second glance, but actually seem to like my writing.
Sorry to go all Gwyneth on you, but the more I think about it, it’s fucking amazing, it really is, and it’s taken me this long to really appreciate it. This blog has been the one constant in my life this year and probably the only thing I’ve kept at, so when some beautiful, talented girl half my ages call my page her new guilty pleasure, some lady with depression on Twitter says I made her laugh, and a couple of young hip boys think I’m cool enough to follow (unlikely they’ll share that with their mates though!), it gives me a bit of a thrill actually. No not that kind (I am not a cougar), but a feeling that I’ve only just begun to recognise as gratitude.
I also made a return to the mat this afternoon and did a 3 hour yoga workshop, and whilst there’s no point in banging on about what’s gone and now in the past, once I’m there I always wonder why I deprived myself of it for so long.
People get bemused by yoga because there are so many different kinds, styles and philosophies, or they’re intimidated by some of the showboating poses and the odd body fascist that puts them off even trying to do it, but the bottom line is yoga isn’t about looking hot in your harem pants and vest (that’s just an added bonus 😉 ), or being able to twist yourself into impossible shapes, well at least it shouldn’t be.
Yoga is about tuning into your body, moving in time with your breath, tuning out all outside distractions, grounding yourself and getting in touch with who you really are. I’m not saying that’s easy. I’ve not only got a monkey mind, I’ve got a big old tit thumping gorilla mind and it’s hard to shut out its deranged jabbering and shrieking (my arse is cold, what time is it, I want a wee, my knickers have twisted, etc, etc.) but those precious minutes when I do manage to gag it, well everything kind of falls into place.
Even if during Savasana (‘corpse pose’, which is one of hardest to crack as you are lying on your mat in silence) you are super distracted and think you haven’t benefited, I can guarantee that you have.
Doing a long savasana is a bit like sleeping in a first class cabin on a long haul flight as although you’re lying down, you still have to put up with everyone else’s groans, snores, lip smacking and farting (a lot of people fall asleep) and it’s very hard to block out the noise and tune in/not get irritated/not laugh. That said, I guarantee that when you get up to leave, you will be glowing or at the very least will have benefited inside whether you notice or not.
Finding the right teacher is the key. Don’t just settle for the nearest one.
So, I’m a bit more at peace with myself tonight and whether it’s down to you lot, this afternoons yoga, scary man juice or all three, it doesn’t matter.