60 Days On the Mat — Day 25: Don’t Over Think It


Ice skating in Los Angeles.  Yes, we went ice skating in Los Angeles — in full winter wardrobe.  I was an excellent roller skater; never a good ice skater — but tonight, we were spinning around that mall parking lot skating rink like this was something we did on a regular basis.

“Jill and Norm invited us ice skating tonight.  Do you want to go?” Jonathan asked.

“Sure, but I have sushi with Heidi at 6:30 — we can go afterwards or I can meet you.”  I replied.

We had been talking about going skating in that silly mall parking lot since we moved into this house more than three years ago.  Tonight we finally did it.  My husband always says, we have time to do everything we want to do, we just have to make the time.  Don’t over think it.  

This exact phrase is one I am constantly focusing on because it’s something I struggle with daily.   I always over think it.  Always.  I’m not sure if I was waiting for the perfect winter scene to appear with a frozen lake or what — but tonight the mall parking lot seemed like a great option.  We both acknowledged the music was awful; it did not stop the joy — Jonathan wants to come back in the afternoon when they play Christmas music for the ‘old people’.

Apparently in ice skating rink demographics, we are the old people.  I do not let this distress me.

I constantly put work before joy.  Or future babies before joy.  Or fill in blank before joy.  Joy seems like such a complete indulgence.   In an effort to combat my personal war on joy, I bought a Christmas tree skirt that says JOY on it at Rite Aid —  just so I can remember to try to have a little.

I arrived at yoga late today which put me in a completely different part of the room.  It was so strange to not be in a corner or against the wall.  I was right out there in the middle of everything.  I had been running around all day saying to myself — we have time for everything we really want to do.  Don’t over think it.  It was actually calming down my rushing and I got a lot done — even managing to eat lunch.

I owe this fine calming technique to my husband, the self-help guru.

Today’s practice was completely different from yesterday.  I actually like the lighting better in the Tarzana studios, or maybe it’s the wall colors?  I hadn’t really put my finger on it before today — but I realized as the flow started that I am much calmer in this location.  However, class was different beyond the ambiance.  I was different.

Ellen helped me to place my arms correctly so I could flow more easily between chaturanga and upward facing dog.  This was a huge physical breakthrough for me.  Once I feel something in my body, it’s easier for me to come back to it.

I wasn’t over thinking — I was feeling it.

I am not a person that thinks life should be lived on how you’re ‘feeling’ every moment, because that would probably make most of us appear CRAZY — hence, that uneasiness you get when you see a grown adult act out in public with an inappropriate emotional outburst.  It happens to the best of us; I know.

First thing this morning we got the contract from the lawyer for the egg donation.  It’s an odd sounding sort of contract from a Family Planning Law Center, but it all makes perfect sense.  Both parties need this protection.  If all goes well, it’s our first order of business in 2013.  Literally.

2012 has not been a great year  — so we are both actually relieved it is happening in 2013.

As I am signing it, whatever fears or worries I had about it have all disappeared.  I’m excited.  We’re excited.

During bridge pose James Taylor starts singing Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.  This made me so happy.  I’ve seen James Taylor live now more times than I can count.  JT definitely brought a little joy into my practice today.

Driving to meet Heidi for sushi, I’m sitting at a stoplight and Miranda Lambert starts singing House That Built Me.  I have heard this song a hundred times.  For some reason, today I just burst into tears at the stoplight.  When she sang the lyrics, If I could just come in, I swear I’ll leave ... I just broke down.

It was flashes of houses, really.

My footprints are in the backyard at Memom and GranGran’s house.

I think about Mawmaw’s house and the kitchen table — it was a great table.  So retro.  And her alarm clock — I loved that it was just a clock that rang, loudly.  My current alarm clock does just about everything but freaking wake me up.

When I was in Arlington earlier this month I drove by my old house on Ridgedale where I spent most of my childhood; the garage door was open and there was a man working there.  I almost asked if I could come in and see my room.  It’s the house I accidentally drove a car through the garage wall when I was learning to drive — my Mom got a bigger kitchen as a result.  I always loved our sunken dining room and the backyard.  We had a great backyard.

My Dad and Sandy’s house has an amazing backyard.  They’ve been there 30 years.  My favorite color when they moved in was peach — it’s still reflected in my room, where my tap shoes sit on the shelf and my childhood Winnie-the-Pooh.

If I could just come in, I swear I’ll leave                

Won’t take nothing but a memory

From the house that built me

I think about all of the things we all have and try to hang on to — sometimes there is so much, you lose sight of what you actually want to hang on to.  Jonathan’s Mom never knew he loved the clay bells; and trust me, he’s way over it already — especially since I told him how absolutely cool the pinecone gnomes that she did find are.  They are really cool!

The same thing happened when I told my Mom I wanted to frame a blown-up picture of Mawmaw’s farm that they had taken from their plane.  She had thrown it out!

“Terry, we have a million pictures of that farm,” she said.


I had never told anyone I loved that picture.  I honestly don’t think I had ever thought about it until she sold the farm, and then I wanted it more than anything.  Jonathan had probably never thought about the clay bells until we had an ornament-less Christmas tree.

Sometimes you just don’t know until something is no longer there that it meant anything to you at all.  Our things ebb and flow just like our life.  We can just hope that we end up with enough meaningful ‘stuff’ to fill in the story of us.

As I sit in bed and type this — Jonathan and Boomer are asleep on the couch.  I’m grateful for the day we had together.  It’s well after midnight on December 21, 2012 — we’re still here, so I’m glad I went ahead and decorated the Christmas tree.

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