Each step forward makes a cloud of dust underneath my worn out Nike’s and the endless mind chatter loses steam; both the winding path ahead and the wild heart within liberate me.
I’ve been highly critical of myself as of late based on how I’m choosing to spend my “fitness funds” and where I believe I’m deriving newfound mental energy. The answer to both of these propositions lies on the cushy floors of the bougie yoga studio down the road from my house. I started the free trial membership two weeks ago and was hooked. It really is worth all the pizazz. I’ve been obsessed with this notion that I am somehow a less authentic person because I’ve been moving my body in a warm, scented room with a bunch of other privileged individuals. I feel like I’ve been sneaking around, having an affair of sorts and cheating on my down-to-earth movement routines that feel like a symbol of who I am… and loving every second.
Then, the breeze across my cheeks on the trail calms my mind chatter and I am allowed to settle into myself. This breeze is an old friend and she reminds me that I’m okay and everything is exactly how it’s supposed to be.
It seems like such an obvious thing, but perhaps I was never taught that it was okay to be all the things and to keep exploring, to be unsure and curious. Maybe we all need to be reminded sometimes that impermanence is our only constant and we can do so many things that are new, scary, and interesting and still come home to our authentic selves, however evolved she might be by now.
The truth is, I think it’s bullshit that we get to be only one thing. As it turns out, I am allowed to love hiking, big ass trees, and getting unmentionably sweaty and dirty and be intoxicated by the experience of practicing yoga in a community that challenges and inspires me. It is permitted that I am equal parts invigorated by the rocky hillside and the smell of the spring air and scared absolutely shitless of any rustling brush because RATTLESNAKES. It is completely okay to be mutually devoted to the idea of getting lost in unnamed campgrounds and sleeping on the ground underneath a blanket of endless stars and that of a weekend on the couch with Sean, drinking our favorite wine and watching How I Met Your Mother.
It is my intention to accept myself in this new practice I’ve been enamored with.
It is an intention in love.