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60 Days On the Mat — Day 54: Some Kind Of Ride

BY: | DATE: 19 JANUARY 2013 | CATEGORY:
Some Kind Of RideStoryPeople.com

Some Kind Of Ride
StoryPeople.com

Speaking of letters, I got the most beautiful handwritten note card yesterday with a book from one of my childhood friends, Kelly.  I cried happy tears it was so touching.  I am now more determined than ever to bring the letter back — at least in my life.

After yoga this weekend, I am going stationery and note card shopping.

I came home from acupuncture for fertility and there it was in the mailbox.  The package contained a beautiful note and Some Kind Of Ride, the 8th book of writer/artist, Brian Andreas (founder of StoryPeople).  I don’t know how exactly I missed this in all my years of roaming around, but I did.  I am grateful to Kelly for her friendship and the introduction.

They say things come into your life when you’re ready to receive them.  This becomes clearer to me with each passing day of this journey.  After opening the package and reading the note I sat down at my desk before yoga and read the book from cover to cover.  The art and the stories spoke to me.  I decided — while putting on my yoga pants — I had something new to collect.  My Mom and Annie (my aunt) will be so happy!

I went to the mat at 6:15pm with Hayleigh.  It was a really good class, and I have officially decided, whenever possible, this is my Friday class. She breaks things down in different ways than Ellen.  Sometimes having the same things explained in a new way can awaken the mind and ultimately the body.

On the mat my mind was very attuned to what Hayleigh was saying, but in the moments when I allowed myself to wander I went to the book I had engulfed before I left the house.  The stories were simple, but poetic.  The drawings were childlike, but perfect.  I memorized one of them before I left, it was called Perfect Time.  It made me think of my life thus far and right now and in the future simultaneously.

When I grow up,

I want to remember

that I always wanted

to be a thousand

different things

& one lifetime

didn’t seem

nearly enough.

When I grow up,

I hope it’s at

the very end

when it doesn’t

matter anymore anyway

It was so fitting; so perfect for my life.  Maybe all of those things I did and all of those places I went were just me being all the things I wanted to be when I grew up?  Or maybe they were just me discovering what I didn’t want to be when I grew up?  Or perhaps, it was all just part of growing up?

But, I’m not done growing up just yet, am I?  I decide I’m growing through, as opposed to growing up.  We grow through things in our life.  We are always learning and morphing and wondering.  We carry one growth spurt into another whether we are 7 or 77.  Isn’t that what life is all about?

Whatever it is, I know I’m not done doing it.  This makes me smile.

On the mat in final resting pose, my mind drifts into the future.  The future of me as Mom.  Without much deep concentration, I simply hope I can teach our children the practical and the impractical.  Life lessons and street smarts with a side of sense-of-wonder. These are just a few of the many things I hope they take into the world as they grow through life.

Jonathan and I walk to Nicola’s and he says,

Do you wonder if all of this blogging is the right thing?

Every day, I replied, but I feel more present and happy than I did two months ago when I left for that yoga retreat.  I have to trust my gut on this.

He agreed he had no idea what the answer was and held my hand tighter.

I spent three years in relative isolation and life-limbo between who I was and who I wanted to become.  I was unable to move in either direction.  I was burying one part of myself in an effort to give birth to a new me.  Terry as Mom.  Terry as Homemaker.  That Terry never came and never came and never came.  I was somehow lost between worlds; unable to move forward or back.  My creative self was slipping away, while the infertility nightmare consumed me.

I think this journey has simply given me the chance to look back and merge the old me with older me, the mature me; the Mom me.  Bringing them together, making peace — sharing the stories not only with others, but most importantly remembering them for myself.

“There is something magical and beautiful about this invisible string that keeps us all connected.  When people have the courage to tell their story — speak their truth — it makes us all feel a little less lonely and a little less crazy in this life.”  ~ Kelly

I read this last sentence of my note card from Kelly again when I got home and I thought to myself — Yes. Yes.  This is why I tell my stories and read others.  Stories do connect us; ALL of our lives are some kind of ride.  

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