On a different day a different Terry would have not gone to yoga, stressed out for at least an hour and ranted about all the reasons this is the worst thing that can possibly happen roughly 15 hours away from traveling for ten days.
It appeared to be raining chaos in my home office. So, I went to yoga.
The result of any situation is how we react to it, and today I chose not to. Or perhaps I was in denial. The only witness to any of it was Boomer, so you’ll have to trust me.
I have several days to figure this out before I actually have to work. If I forget something, there is Fed-ex. Target and Wells Fargo are both in Austin. American Express works almost everywhere. Visa works everywhere. I’ll be back in a state that knows how to cook BBQ brisket. Best. Mexican. Food. Ever. I’m good.
I love it when you are on the mat and you feel your body changing. Muscles moving you either never knew you had or you never thought could actually move. Tonight, with each pose, old injuries were waking up and moving through my body.
Why do I have a picture of myself from 1986 dressed up like Tigger in Winne-the-Pooh?
1985-1986 were horrible years for my body.
My back pain started with this play. I bounced out on stage wearing this costume without any resin on my feet and literally flipped up in the air and landed flat on my back. I was so flat on my back, they called the ambulance. I compressed my t-spine and spent years in so much pain. Doctors would x-ray me, put me under all sorts of machines and tell me there was nothing wrong, just some compressed vertebrae. Nothing to do except take some ibuprofen. Finally, I just got used to the pain. It was a part of me.
After that accident, I was in a car accident. I was blind-sided by a City of Arlington truck that ran a red light without using any sirens and my peripheral vision was blocked by a van. Being a young, inexperienced driver — I darted out into the intersection. Manic Monday was playing on my radio on the impact. I remember thinking how appropriate that was, since it was a Monday. The door was wrapped around my legs. When they put me in the ambulance I remember looking at my Mom and saying, “Mom, I actually don’t have any underwear on — I was at ballet.”
I fractured the left side of my pelvis. I could barely walk for weeks. I remember the doctor telling my Mom that it would probably be difficult for me to have a baby naturally. He meant I would need a C-section because of my pelvic fracture, but I think back now and wonder if he knew something I didn’t.
I do have a point to my accident history — tonight on the mat, my mid back moved in places I had literally never felt before. I stretched places I didn’t know could stretch. I opened things I did not know could open. When I rolled down from plow some part of my spine unwound so deeply I just started crying. I was not sad. I am always so taken aback when that happens to me.
And then the same sorts of physical things happened in my left hip. I felt it move in a place that almost took my breath away because it was so foreign.
These old injuries were trying to get my attention.
Physically, there was a lot going on inside of me tonight, and it brought to the forefront how important it is to nourish all the aspects of ourselves. The physical – mental – spiritual – emotional.
Sometimes I get so caught up in one microcosm of one aspect, I lose sight of the big picture. I get bogged down living with pain that started in 1986. When is the statute of limitations on the Tigger injury, really? When do you let that go?
Long ago, I tried to read and watch my way to perfection via Oprah and every self help book you can imagine. I owned all of them. Louise Hay. Scott Peck. Julia Cameron. Sark. And I am sure somewhere in this brain of mine a lot of it sunk in, but the only thing I really learned from that period of my life is that nothing meaningful happens in your life until you decide to live a meaningful life. So several years ago, I donated every self-help book I owned to Goodwill. I knew the only self-help I needed was to just help myself, not read about how to help myself. Plus, self-help books encourage too much list making. Which is not allowed.
It’s not lost on me that I am addicted to yoga. I know my 60 Days On the Mat is a self-induced challenge. A place to focus my energy, while hoping to get pregnant — instead of just waiting to get pregnant. A way to occupy my mind and my heart, keeping them afloat — while I am in a sort of life limbo. A place to put all the energy I would rather put somewhere else if given a choice — but instead I breathe. Deeply. And I hope that, perhaps on the other side of this, there will be something even greater.